Lilith and Bob studied him. The silence stretched a little too long to make their half-hearted head nods seem anything but extremely reluctant acknowledgement. They were the kind of people he found when he went on the Children of Tricksters Support Group website. He’d checked it out a couple of times, but found the chat rooms both dull and intense, like listening to Richie grind on about football or Sarah lecture him about the real corporate agenda. Jared didn’t think being the spawn of some shape-shifting horn-dog made anyone special, but his opinion seemed to be the minority.
“Do try some pie, Jared,” Aunt Georgina said. “I made them myself.”
He nodded. “Later,” he said to his half-siblings.
The other people at the barbecue had facial features that were similar enough that Jared suspected they were family too. He could see the same nose, the same triangular jawline repeated. The group around the barbecue smiled when he came up to them.
“What’s your poison?” the guy with the tongs said, pointing to the assorted meats cooking on the grille. Some of the steaks were barely seared. Jared wasn’t a big fan of raw.
“Hamburger, please. Thanks.”
At a small picnic table, Jared loaded his burger with ketchup, mustard, lettuce and tomatoes. The vat of potato salad was largely untouched. The rest of the table was taken up with pies. Jared smiled at a group of women sitting under a patio umbrella. One of them patted the fold-out chair beside her.
“Hey,” Jared said, and sat.
“Howdy,” the woman said.
They were comfortably quiet. The kids ran around the dusty yard shouting happy instructions at each other. Jared ate his hamburger quickly then got up for pie. It turned out Aunt Georgina was a master of crusts. He could hear Lilith and Bob still arguing about the responsibilities of being half-god. The kid who’d led him into the compound paused in the middle of a game of tag, reached up and dug his fingers into the back of his own skull, pulled his skin up and then apart, revealing wet fur and then a snout, a large wolf’s head on top of a boy’s body. As Cedar continued pulling his skin off like an uncomfortable snowsuit, a gangly wolf pup emerged. He shook like a wet dog as he went down on all fours. Jared felt the food in his mouth go dry. He swallowed hard. The little wolf yipped as his playmates smacked him. Everyone but his half-siblings turned to watch Jared. He heard growls in his head, warnings, as the people who were at the barbecue waited to see what he would do.
Lilith and Bob, oblivious, kept talking. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Cedar, who leapt about, radiating delight. Aunt Georgina tsk-tsked as she picked the boy’s human skin up off the ground and draped it over her free arm.
Cedar, you need to learn to put your things away, she said.
“Oh, God.” Jared stood, dropping his paper plate.
“The river otters that tortured you were deranged with grief,” Aunt Georgina said. “You can’t use them as a yardstick for all animals. It’s not fair.”
Had he told her about the otters? He must have. He couldn’t remember, what with his adrenalin rising, memories flooding and panic crawling around inside him like a chest-bursting alien. He wasn’t so sure it had been his idea to come here. He wasn’t sure if she was siding with the otters, the ones that had wanted to snack on him, their bait, while they waited for his mother, the main course.
One of the women at his table reached up and started peeling off her human skin as well, revealing first a wolf head and then shaggy, dark-grey shoulders.
“I have to go,” Jared said, and got up to walk away.
“Jared, wait,” Aunt Georgina called.
His body became slow as if he was wading through quicksand. Yet he wanted to go, he wanted to leave, he wanted this place in his rear-view mirror. He fought through the heaviness, ignored Aunt Georgina’s voice in his head telling him to calm down, as he remembered what it was like to be eaten alive in the most literal way possible. Chewed and raw and bleeding. His vision narrowed until he couldn’t see anything but what was directly in front of him. He could hear himself fumbling through tarps and felt the plastic flapping around him.
Suddenly the weight lifted and he could run. He sprinted clear of the compound and kept running, and ran, and ran. He wasn’t sure where he was going, only that he could hear someone pacing him and he looked down and found Cedar loping beside him, tongue lolling out.
Stop it, Cedar, Aunt Georgina thought.
The wolf cub sat with a thump, whining as he broadcast an image of Jared in frightened flight, triggering his urge to chase.
Aunt Georgina said, Jared, we’re not hunting you. You’re family.
He only stopped when he was too tired to run anymore, when his legs shook and his breath hitched. He sat on a bench in a bus shelter and, when his hands stopped trembling, used his phone to find out where he was and how to get home.
He listened, but there was no voice in his head. He scanned the street carefully but couldn’t see anyone following him. His guts remained clenched. His body felt light. He was here, physically, but in his memory he could hear the excited chitter of the otters. He could feel the bones on the floor of the cave, could remember crawling over them as if it had happened yesterday. Aunt Georgina was definitely not someone he wanted in his life. She hadn’t warned him she was living with a pack of wolves. She’d sprung it on him like some kind of test.
Jared wanted to scrub his brain. He wanted to un-see the compound. He wanted to be blissfully unaware like Bob and Lilith. He wanted the world to be a simple place where animals and humans stayed in their own bodies, where people who claimed to be family didn’t turn out to be monsters.
7
On August 25, one year after his first sober day, Jared sat on one of the lower hostel bunks with his roommates, who’d snuck in backpacks full of beer and had a liquid lunch. Half-cut, they were waiting for the happy hours to start so they could bar-hop again. They said they were from the Hub of the Universe. Here for the pah-tay.
One of them lifted his butt cheek off the mattress and farted. They all laughed like it was hysterical, helplessly teary-eyed.
“Come on,” the guy sitting on the desk said. He cracked open a can of Kokanee beer and handed it to Jared. “Why so glum, chum?”
Jared hadn’t realized how much he missed the easy friendship of drinking buddies. Mr. Wilkinson, his first sponsor, had been his non-stop sobriety buddy, driving him to and from meetings, sending daily texts, and conducting long phone conversations despite the awkwardness it caused with his own son, whom Jared had once considered a friend, a party dude busy rebelling by drinking as much as humanly possible. Then Mr. Wilkinson was laid off and was sucked into work camps, first Fort Mac in northern Alberta and then Labrador on the other coast of Canada. Bianca, his manager at Dairy Queen, had stepped into the sponsor role, but she’d spent most of their time together detailing the ins and outs of her divorce.
These random dudes didn’t know Jared’d partied with the hardest of the hard core. That he had supported himself and his family selling pot cookies. That his brain had melted and he’d gone insane and his girlfriend had gone insane. They just saw some sad dude and they wanted him to join their fun and stop being sad.
Jared held the sweaty beer can as the guys traded jokes. He rocked when one of them slugged his shoulder, emphasizing the punchline with a punch.
Beer splashed on his hand. The room smelled yeasty and sweaty. He used to have a few with his mom, watching the boob tube or gaming. She loved first-person shooters: Call of Duty, BioShock, Doom. She hated narration, overly complicated backstories told with earnest computer animation.
“Fucking get on with it!” she’d shout at the TV screen. “Jesus, these cock-teasing geeks and their foreplay.”
Why was he doing this to himself? Who was he kidding? Sober Jared was a loser. A friendless, lonely sad sack whom his bunkmates pitied and tried to include in their woozy hop of the bars.
He’d spent the morning under his blanket. Three days left in his hostel reservation
and then probably a homeless shelter, if he didn’t get his shit together. But he couldn’t face the dining room, much less calling strangers and inquiring about rooms.
“Why so blue? Girlfriend dump ya?” one of the dudes said, thumping Jared’s mattress.
My five-hundred-year-old aunt married into a shape-shifting wolf pack, Jared thought. I’m being stalked by a dude who likes breaking children’s ribs slowly. I may be homeless in three days. And that was just this week. “Something like that.”
“Been there, igit. Come on. The first step in healing is getting thoroughly hammered.”
So easy to take a drink. Simple lifting of the arm. White crescents against his tan skin. Moon-shaped scars on his arms where he’d been bitten. Like freckles. Stitches. Lots of them.
“I’m in AA,” Jared said, handing the can back.
“Poor bastard,” one of the guys said. “What’s the point of living?”
Jared forced himself to a meeting, but was too shy to ask for a one-year chip in front of so many strangers. Walking back to the hostel, he worried that David would be waiting in the lobby, or in his room, but the person he wasn’t expecting to see, not in a billion years, was Nana Sophia.
Not Nana. He had to stop thinking of her as his grandmother. But there she was: Sophia Martin with her hair cut short, finger-waved like a flapper, no longer dyed black and permed but silver-white with a sparkling barrette holding her deep side part in place. She wore a white suit and a silver shirt with a plunging neckline. She didn’t smile when their eyes met. She simply waited, ankles crossed demurely as she sat on the lobby sofa.
“Hey,” Jared said, not sure what to call her, not sure if he should sit near her. He stood, shifting from one foot to the other, trying to think of something else to say. Sophia Martin also had a creature under her skin, but it wasn’t showing right now. He’d only seen it once, when she learned he wasn’t really her grandson. That his mother had lied to Sophia and married her son, Philip, under false pretences.
“A rotten little birdie told me you were coming to Vancouver,” Sophia said.
“You talked to Dad?”
“My son is not your father,” she said.
“Then no one is,” Jared said.
Their silence stretched. She smoothed her skirt.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” Jared said. “You know, ever.”
“So David Thompson is back,” Sophia said.
“You don’t have to get involved. I’m handling it.”
“Yes,” Sophia said. “Facebook drama solves everything.”
“I’m doing the best I can.”
“Why don’t you sit?”
A crush of teens poured into the lobby, all wearing the same orange hoodies, excited, shouting and shoving. Jared sat beside Sophia. They watched the teens.
“I need you to stop giving Philip money,” Sophia said.
Ah. The real reason she was here. “It was twenty bucks.”
“I gave you money to strike out on your own, did I not? That was for you, you silly thing.”
“He paid his rent with it. That’s why he’s not homeless.”
“Isn’t there something in your AA about enabling?”
“He needed some help. I helped him.”
“But you aren’t helping him, Jared.”
“No more helping. Got it.”
“That money was for you.”
“I didn’t think there were strings.”
Sophia didn’t smile, but her eyebrow quirked. “I expected you to blow it on your mother’s unfortunate habits, not my son’s.”
“Richie’s supporting her in the lifestyle to which she is accustomed.”
“I’ve spoken with my lawyer. I’d like to help you get another restraining order on David. I can set the wheels in motion if you want.”
Conversations with Sophia were like this. She liked to keep people off balance to get a real reaction rather than a rehearsed one. “Why?”
“I loathe Mr. Thompson. Such an unpleasant man. Why hasn’t your mother vaporized him?”
“She tried. Her curses didn’t work.”
“He probably sold his soul for another inch of penis.”
Jared snorted. Sophia Martin had a way of hammering down to the brass tacks.
“Thank you,” Jared said. “But I think it would just make things worse.”
“Most people would have kept lying to me. You didn’t. You told me the truth.”
Jared shrugged.
“I have three granddaughters your age,” she said. “One of them would be happy to marry you if I bribed them with a fat trust fund. We could be family if you’re amenable.”
“I missed you, too,” Jared said. “But maybe we should start with coffee.”
“With me or my granddaughters?”
“You,” Jared said. “We’re not related, you know.”
She laughed, a big, head-thrown-back belly laugh. People in the lobby turned to check them out. “So you’re trying to give your mother a heart attack?”
“She’d be your mother-in-law.”
“Now there’s a particularly daunting version of perdition.”
He wanted to hug her. He wanted to kneel down and put his head in her lap and cry. She had been a bright spot in his childhood when everything was dark and he’d say that to her, but she hated it when people got maudlin.
“You’ll have to dump what’s-his-face,” Jared said instead.
“We have a pre-nup,” she said. “I want the island.”
“Our love is all the island you’ll ever need.”
She laughed again, eyes sparkling. But then silence fell and caution came back, a hesitation, an awkward pause, and they continued to sit apart, close but not touching.
A man in a black uniform and a cap walked into the lobby and nodded at Sophia.
“My island man awaits,” she said. “What about a peace bond?”
He didn’t want to drag Sophia into the mess. David would put her through the ringer, and he didn’t want to be responsible for any more of her pain. “Thank you, but no. We’ll deal with it, me and Mom.”
“Hmm. I see that ending well.”
“I’m not your monkey,” Jared said. “This isn’t your circus.”
She smiled again, wistfully. “Goodbye, Jared.”
“Bye, Sophia.”
The room reeked because the party dudes had crammed all their cans into the garbage. Jared brought the cans to the nearby Safeway for the deposit and then bought himself a coffee at a Starbucks. He sat on the sidewalk patio and pulled out his cellphone, typing in the wi-fi password.
Seven messages from his mom. Her cell number had left three voice mails, the maximum his phone plan would allow. He fought the urge to delete them and block her number. He didn’t want to listen to them just yet. Messages from Sarah and Crashpad, who had texted: What happened wit David?
Jared texted him back. Dude backed off. Howz trix?
Teacherz strike still on & skoolz supposed 2 start next week. Mom signed me up 4 a study group 4 home skoolers.
No rest for the wicked, Jared texted him.
Suuuuucks. Every1 gets 2 have fun but me. Did u find a place?
Working on it.
Herez a link to indig youth apts. Mom says hi.
Hi back.
They chatted until Crashpad had to go help with supper. Jared downloaded the application. He’d fill it out and hand it in, but he suspected there was a wait list. Jared stared at Sarah’s name on his phone.
U ok? she’d texted.
And then, later, Jared, come on. Sound off.
I’m ok, Jared texted her back.
His Facebook wall comments had slowed down, but at the very bottom of the comments about David, a reply from the man himself:
Yeesh. Try to say hi to an old friend. Gotta love drama queens.
David had also sent him a private message: Do you understand libel, Jared? Expect to hear from my lawyer.
I’m not eleven, Jared told himself
, even as he did a quick scan of the street. Even as he decided it was time to check the texts from his mom. It was always good to have the nuclear option in your back pocket.
Jared Benjamin Martin, his mom’s first text read. U der? Helllllloooo.
And then: Painting on my sarcasm lines so u no I don mean nothin.
Fuck off, he thought.
But then, in her next text: Dead man walking. I’m on it.
Her voice mails told him not to worry. To keep his head down and stay in public for the next few days. Public meant witnesses, alibis. His mom was entirely capable of taking it to the next level, to all the levels. His mom in prison? Fine, but not because of David. He’d done enough damage.
I got this, Jared texted his mom.
His phone pinged. Not his mom, but Sarah. Glad ur ok. Is that the same David?
Ya.
Fuck. Sorry.
David hasn’t shown since the FB-bomb.
That’s good. Gran’s in Brno. Děda can’t remember English anymore. They’re staying with his fam. Last minute thing. She told me 2 tell u but I lost phone privileges for 1 week.
Where r u?
7th level of hell AKA self-harm retreat. The folks did an intervention. This or institution.
Holy crap.
Ya. Should have emancipated the 2nd I turned 16. Stuck @ Camp Cutter. My minutes r up soon. Bye.
L8r.
Damn it, Jared thought. They’d slid into casual conversation after a year of not speaking. Directly. The whole shit show of their breakup not mentioned. Well, maybe they were capable of simple friendship. No expectations on anyone’s part, his or hers. Maturity, maybe.
Bastardz gone 2 ground, his mom texted.
Jared chugged the last of the coffee. Don’t do anything slammer-inducing.
Why arent u @ Mavez?
U bit my head off 4 writing ur mom. Not staying with ur sis. Not interested in vomiting up my guts.
Jesus. Sensitive much? I wuz hi. U don’t take that shit srsly.
I didn’t mean to hurt you, Mom. I’m sorry. I was going to tell you about the letters. I feel really shitty.
Trickster Drift Page 5
