by Jones, Kari;
“I like the juxtaposition of the fierceness of the beak and the grace of the wings,” he says.
Which is what I was aiming for. I leave the window seat and stand beside him. We both ponder the painting.
“I need to work on this area.” I touch the tail of the bird and the sky behind.
Bo nods. “But the rest of it—spectacular. What are you going to do with it?”
“I need to finish it before I decide anything like that.”
“Peter would be very happy if you finished it and, you know, showed it somewhere.”
“Yeah.” My voice sounds bitter, even to my ears.
“Whoa. Don’t bite my head off. Don’t show it if you don’t want to.” Bo puts his arm around me. “You know you don’t have to. You don’t have to go to university either, not if you don’t want to.”
I lean into him. Bo, my rock. Somehow I can never stay mad at him, even for a minute. I can never hide things from him either. “Bo, did you ever hear Des talk about Ivan injuring himself?”
He laughs. “Ivan’s always injuring himself.”
“No, I mean really injuring himself. A broken leg or something like that.”
“Not that I can remember. Why? Has he shown up with a broken leg?”
“No. Just something he said. It’s nothing.”
“Speaking of Ivan, you know, Maddie, that tattoo of Smaug you made for him. It was very creative. I think you might have a future as a tattoo artist.” Bo says this with a straight face, but then we both laugh at the idea.
“Can you imagine Peter’s reaction if I told him I was going to be a tattoo artist?”
“It’s just because he sees how much talent you have. You know that, right? He just wants what’s best for you.”
“What he thinks is best for me. I don’t know what’s best for me yet.”
“I know. University is a good first step though. You can’t help but learn a lot.”
“I know. I’ll think about it. But maybe you guys can just trust me, you know?”
“I’ll think about it.” Bo laughs and kisses the top of my head. “Leave this painting here while you work on it. I like how it looks in the room,” he says. He sits at his work table and picks up a book, and with that action he disappears. I’ve always envied Bo’s ability to engage completely and immediately with his work.
I try to do the same, but the passion for the painting is gone, at least for now.
That scar. My mind keeps coming back to the scar.
ELEVEN
Ivan
They’re all on the deck when I go down to Maddie’s house to return the board and suit from yesterday and pick up the clothes I left in the shed. Maddie’s done this awesome painting of a raven—I can see it through the window.
“Hey, I’m here for my clothes,” I say.
“They’re still in the shed,” Maddie says, so I lean the board up against the rack next to the house and head back to the shed to get them.
Maddie follows. I know what’s coming. “That scar.” She creases her brow in a way that makes her look exactly like Peter. “What happened?”
“It was years ago.”
She opens the door to the shed. “You were a kid? How come none of us knew?”
“It was just after my mom left. It was an accident.”
“But that doesn’t explain how come none of us knew.”
“It’s just…it was an accident. I fell over and landed in a pile of firewood. One of the pieces speared my leg.” What I don’t say: Des was drunk, and even though it was an accident, we thought if people knew they might take me away from him. If they thought he couldn’t take care of me.
“So you hid it? Didn’t Des take you to the clinic?”
“Des is good at that kind of thing. He cleaned it up and bandaged it and everything. He even put in a couple of stitches. It looks a lot worse than it was.”
My clothes are still in the pile I left them in, and I just want to take them and go, but Maddie’s still looking at me with that crease between her eyes. It’s a Maddie look, one I know well. Usually I love to see it, because it means she’s sorting out a problem in her mind. It reminds me how smart this girl is. But today I turn away from it, because I don’t want her to dwell on what I’ve just said, and I curse myself. I’ve raised a question in Maddie’s mind about me and Des that I didn’t want to raise. Stupid me for letting her see that scar. I should have known. I should have fucking known.
* * *
When I get back to my place, I hear Des before I see him as I walk out of the path from the beach and into our yard. He’s got the saw out and is cutting into a two-by-four. He’s whistling.
“Hold on to this, will you?” he asks as I come into view.
“How come you’re in such a good mood?”
“I like working,” he says. He’s about to screw two pieces together into a T, so he points to where he wants me to brace the wood. He leans over the drill, using his weight to help the screws drive in faster.
“What’re you building?” I ask.
“Frame for the stage.”
“You’re building it here? Doesn’t it need to be made in place?”
“The space isn’t cleared yet, so we’ll build the frame here, then take it in pieces over there when they’re ready for us,” he says.
“And where’s Pedro? How come he isn’t helping you?”
“He’s doing other stuff.”
“What other stuff?”
Des drives in the last screw and straightens up. He puts the drill down and stretches before he says, “He’s meeting some folks about the space. There’s debris that needs to be cleared away.”
“Isn’t it a bit early?” I ask.
“This is when they wanted to meet him,” Des says.
He keeps working, and I sit down on a stool to watch. He starts whistling again, and it occurs to me that maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe he is trying to get his act together, and he is doing this thing for Bo, and maybe Pedro really is off figuring out how to clear up the trash, and just maybe things are going to be better around here.
TWELVE
Maddie
It’s been a couple of weeks since I painted the raven Bo likes so much. Peter and I have been tiptoeing around each other ever since. Bo says I need to give Peter time to adjust to the idea of me making my own way in the world. I understand what he’s saying, but I wish Peter would get over it. I’ve decided to save money for a flight to Paris. I’m going to live in a hostel and spend my days in the galleries. That’s how you study art.
It’s a sunny morning, though, and I love this time of year, when the village swells into a town and everything’s growing so fast you can almost see it creeping in through windows and around corners. This morning I have to push aside a branch of salal to close my window. Bo will be furious; he hates when the salal grows over the pathways, and he fights it every year, but it makes me laugh. Even now, three weeks after the shed burned down, there’s the stink of fire everywhere, and the scent of fresh green growth makes me sit up and smile.
“Fish and chips?” asks Bo when I go into the living room. “Jane’s opens today. First fishing tours came in. Jane’s will be hopping.”
I hold up my coffee cup and yawn. “It’s only 8:30, a bit early for fish and chips.”
“I meant for lunch. We could all go.” Bo, ever the peacemaker.
“Peter’s coming?”
“It’ll be nice, the three of us together.”
“Sure,” I say, because I do love Jane’s.
I told Alice, Noah’s mom, that I’d help her in her garden first thing, and I told Katia and another school friend, Bea, that I’d meet them for coffee, so I arrange to meet Bo and Peter on the dock at noon and head out.
The walk to Noah’s house is full of the scents of summer, and I whistle as I walk. My plan is to pay for the fish and chips at Jane’s today, to show Peter and Bo that I’m serious about making some money.
There are cars parked along
the road and in the driveway at Noah’s. I wasn’t counting on that. I was looking forward to a bit of quiet time in Alice’s garden, helping her plant her veggies.
“We’ve got a painting party going on,” says Alice when I find her shoveling a pile of topsoil onto her garden bed.
“Looks like a lot of people.”
“It’s amazing. People here are so helpful—it’s been just wonderful. Everyone’s come out.” Her face is full of smiles.
“Where did you move from again?”
“Toronto. But we’d been there for years and hardly knew our neighbors at all, and we’ve only been here a few months and already we know everyone, and so many people turned out to paint the shed.” She seems so happy.
“Remind me not to move to Toronto,” I say with a laugh.
We walk around to the back of the house to get some tools for me. Noah’s thirteen-year-old sister, Laurie, and a couple of other girls are doing cartwheels and handstands on the lawn.
“Hey, Maddie,” they call.
“What’s up?”
“We’re practicing,” says Laurie.
“We’re going to busk on the dock this summer,” says Kyra, Jack’s little sister.
“Are you?”
Alice laughs and says in a low voice, “If they can find something they’re talented at.”
There are a lot of people here. Arne and Jack are standing at the bottom of the shed looking up, and Noah’s standing on the roof looking down at them.
“That doesn’t look like painting,” I say, pointing to Noah.
“Uh, no. The shed’s leaking, and it seemed pointless to paint until the roof was fixed, so they’re starting with the roof.”
“Is it safe?”
“Arne insists it is, and it’s not that high.”
“I guess.” I hate seeing people standing on roofs. Looking up at them gives me vertigo.
Alice and I settle into raking the new topsoil and planting lettuce and spinach and kale. It’s a bit late for them, but they should be okay as long as they’re kept moist. Her soil is good, and it doesn’t take long to get the seedlings planted.
“Thanks, Maddie,” Alice says when we’re done. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Please,” I say.
When she goes into the house, I wander across the yard to check out the shed. Noah’s off the roof, and he and Jack and Arne have joined Des and Ivan inside.
Des is painting the wall with a roller. Ivan’s standing halfway up a ladder, brushing into the corner.
I stand in the shadow of the doorway and watch Ivan finish. He climbs down the ladder. As he steps off it, it wobbles and he stumbles, but Des reaches out and steadies him. It’s a gesture any dad would make, but when Des touches him, Ivan flinches like an ember has landed on his skin.
“Clumsy,” says Des.
Jack laughs and says to Noah, “Ivan is the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.”
But…
He surfs like a seal.
He has a scar on his leg that no one knows about.
Ivan and Des share a glance, and for a second, half a second, a fraction of a second, I see it. The flat face with no one behind it. Then he shrugs and says, “Sometimes.”
But…what am I seeing? Is this a sign of how things are between Des and Ivan? Where did that scar really come from? It’s like looking at Des and Ivan for the first time, and it’s a slap in my face. A hard one. On the one hand, there are all those times Des has helped us out. So many times over the years. But then there are also all the times Ivan comes to our house hungry. How we’re never sure what job Des is currently on. How Ivan never lets me or anyone else into his house. All the little clues I never put together, never thought much of, because that’s just the way it is. Des is a fuckup. We all know that. He and Ivan bumble along. We all know that. But now I wonder if there’s something else there, and it makes me sick to my stomach to think about it.
But then Des puts his hand on Ivan’s shoulder and pulls him into a sideways hug. “It comes from your mother’s side,” he says, and everyone laughs, including Ivan.
So maybe I’m mistaken.
Maybe I am.
THIRTEEN
Ivan
Des and I finish helping Noah and his family with their shed and walk down to the dock for some lunch at Jane’s. People are milling around, waiting for their orders to be ready. There’s a lineup of people like us who’ve come in from all around for their first fish and chips of the season. It’s a ritual. It’s how we know summer is really here.
“Two pieces of halibut and some fries, please,” I say when I get to the counter. “And a Coke.” I pull my wallet out of my pocket out of habit, but Des elbows me in the ribs. “Hey, I’m buying.”
I take a plastic cup and go to the side of the stall to pour myself a glass of Coke. A waist-high girl of four or five lifts her cup up but can’t quite reach the lever to pull it herself.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
She nods and hands me her cup.
“What do you want?”
“7-Up,” she says.
I fill her cup—not too full, so she won’t spill it—and hand it back to her. She smiles at me and walks over to her family, carrying the cup in both hands.
While we wait for our fish to be ready, Des and I sit on the dock. Among the crowd are Bo, Peter, Maddie, Bea and Katia. Bo sees us and waves us over.
“I see you’ve been painting.” Bo points to the streak of white paint along my arm.
“We were helping out Noah and his family with their shed,” I say.
When our orders are called, Des and Bo go get the food and come back carrying our baskets. Noah and Laurie are with them, and the little girl I got a drink for follows them, carrying a plastic bag in her hand. She opens the bag and takes out a piece of fish, which she holds over the water. A snout and whiskers appear out of nowhere and snatch it from her.
“Holy shit, what was that?” asks Noah.
“That was Luseal,” Maddie says.
Laurie peers over the dock, “Look,” she says, and we all lean over the edge in time to see a flash of silver streak by.
“Luseal is a harbor seal. She’s lived here for years,” I say.
The girl takes another piece of fish out of the bag and holds it in the air again. Noah and Laurie lean over with her, waiting for the flash of whiskers and teeth.
“Do you want to try?” the little girl asks Laurie after the seal has taken the fish, but Laurie says, “No, it’s okay. I’ll watch you.”
When the little girl holds up the fish this time, there is no movement in the water, so she leans farther out, calling, “Luseal, come get the fish.”
There are a lot of people on the dock now, and I can see Pedro walking toward us.
Des hands me his empty basket and says, “I’ll see you later, Ivan,” then shoves his way through a bunch of tourists toward Pedro. I’m just wondering about that when a boat comes in too fast, and its wake sends a spray of water over the clump of people on the dock. They surge away from the water, and someone steps back into the little girl. She lurches, her arms flailing, then splashes into the water.
“Holy shit,” says Noah. He slams to the dock and reaches out for her, but I already know that’s not going to work. The current’s not strong here in the harbor, but the tide’s flooding, so it’ll pull her toward the shore, under the dock. She’s so little. Does she know how to swim? There’s a man shouting at us, probably her dad, but there are so many people in the way, he’s having a hard time making it through the crowd.
The little girl’s still flailing; I kick off my shoes and jump in after her. The shock of the cold water sends pins and needles to my brain, but I force myself to open my eyes. I can see for a few feet in front of me, but behind me it’s dark in the shadow of the dock. I swivel, looking for the girl, and see her feet flapping around just as they disappear into the darkness ten feet away from me. My fingers are going numb, but I swim toward her. When I reach where
I think she is, I rise up, take a deep breath and dive under.
It’s hard to see anything under the dock, so I swim with my arms sweeping ahead of me until I bump into something that feels like clothing and grasp it with my fingers. As I pull her toward me, she claws at me, so I have to wrap my arms around hers. Her hair tangles in front of my eyes, and she struggles to get free of my grasp. My lungs are swollen and I’m fighting to keep my mouth from opening, but my brain kicks in and tells my legs to push off the pylon and head toward the light.
As soon as we’re out from under the dock, we rise and both of us gasp for air. The little girl screams and grabs me around the neck, threatening to send me under again, and I have to pull at her arms to keep her from choking me. There’s a flash of movement at the other end of the dock as Luseal heads toward us. The girl is screaming in my ear and tearing at my hair, and it’s all I can do to tread water fast enough to keep from sinking.
“Get her out,” I yell at the arms stretched out to us, and someone grabs a handful of her shirt and an arm and pulls her up. Other hands take me by the shoulders and pull until I’m sitting on the edge of the dock. I raise my legs out of the water just as Luseal streaks past. The thought of her teeth makes me shiver. Luseal may be cute when you’re standing on the dock, but she’s way too fond of snapping her teeth at whatever comes her way for my liking.
There’s a blanket across my shoulders, and someone’s rubbing my arms. I can’t think of anything but breathing and blinking away the stinging in my eyes. My fingers and toes are numb. Sometimes, late in the summer, it’s okay to swim here a bit, but it hasn’t been that warm and sunny so far, and the water still feels like liquid ice cubes.
“You saved her life,” Noah says. He hands me a cup of hot chocolate, which I hold in both hands for the warmth.
Des sits down on my other side. “You okay, buddy?” he asks. He puts his arm around me and pulls me into a hug. His body is warm and big.
“Yeah, just cold.”
“You’re a hero,” says Noah, to make me laugh.
“How is she?” I ask.
“She’s fine,” says Noah. “Her dad took her up to their car to get some warm clothes on.”
