Trickster Drift

by Eden Robinson

  “So your mom’s Maggie, huh?”

  Jared studied Kota. “Yup.”

  “She was here last spring. I met her and Richie in a booze can in Surrey. They sold me some shit.”

  “Yeah?” Jared had wondered where they’d gotten to when they’d disappeared. They’d been gone for a few months.

  “She’s pretty hard-core.”

  Jared shrugged.

  “Solid, though. I knew if things went haywire, she’d have my back.”

  “She would,” Jared said. “And then she’d break a bottle in your face for looking at her wrong. Especially if you’re her ungrateful kid who joined a sobriety cult.”

  Kota snorted and stomped out his cigarette. “Yeah. Well. Dad kicked the shit out of me when I told him I was gay and said he’d kill me if I ever came back. I had to move in with Hank’s gran to finish high school.”

  “Sucks to be you,” Jared said.

  Kota gave him a friendly shove. “Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  16

  Sarah walked out of the woods in a white dress, feet bare. Like a time-lapse movie, the sun whipped overhead and set. The moon rose equally fast and the stars wheeled through the sky. Shadows crawled through the underbrush behind her. Her eyes were all black like she was possessed. She smiled. Then Jared jerked awake, startled by a bang as loud as a gunshot. He woke in time to see a fuzzy shape disappearing from his bedroom window. Bat. Early morning bird. Extraterrestrials driving their spaceship under the influence. Some loud-ass thing.

  He yawned. He must have dozed off while texting because his phone was dead when he picked it up off his chest. Sleep wouldn’t come back. He pushed the quilt off. Brought his phone to the desk and plugged it in. One of the faces painted on the wall winked at him. He rubbed his eyes. The face was serene again, and he decided coffee was more important than brushing the gunk from his teeth.

  In the hall, Jared stubbed his toes against a stack of books and hopped around, biting his lips. The apartment was like a cave spiked by stalagmites. He picked his way to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The meat compartment had no bacon, but a large, expensive bison roast was hovering on the edge of expiry. Jared pulled it out and gave it a rinse in the sink. He let it sit while he chopped then browned onions in a frying pan and hunted for a roasting pan. Even better, his aunt had a slow cooker.

  He checked out her cupboards, pulling out ingredients for pot roast. All of her flours were gluten-free, which meant she was celiac or trendy. He decided on an all-purpose gluten-free flour blend and then salt and peppered the roast. He kneaded it automatically, then dusted it with flour. He grabbed a plate and used the edge to beat the flour into the roast.

  “What’re you doing?” Mave said, standing in the doorway with her eyeshades pushed up on her head. She was wearing a Canucks jersey and a pair of shorts.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Mave sat on a stool. “Why’re you making supper at this ungodly hour?”

  Jared shrugged. “Your roast is going to go bad.”

  “I meant to cook that sooner, then it got hot. You don’t have to cook for me, Jared.”

  “I can’t just sit around. I get restless.” Jared moved the onions out of the frying pan and then seared the roast. He popped it in the slow cooker, topping it with the onions and some broth. “Potatoes?”

  “I’m off white starches,” she said. “Sweet potatoes are in the bin in that cupboard.”

  They were small, hard, organic sweet potatoes. She had blue heritage carrots in the vegetable bin, which would probably not hold their colour but would be a break from all the orange. He scrubbed and chopped and dumped them in, then put the lid on the slow cooker. He cleaned the coffee press and filled it with coffee. The kettle boiled in less than a minute. They watched the grounds colour the water a rich chocolate brown. He poured them both cups.

  “Where’d you learn to cook?” she said.

  “I had a neighbour who used to watch me. She loved to cook.”

  The sun broke over the mountains, washing the sky soft pink and blue, promising another scorcher. Jared sipped his coffee and considered his day. Probably another meeting to settle in. Maybe a jog to get the stiffness out.

  Mave yawned. “You can’t be getting much of a student loan if you’re only going part-time.”

  “I’m going to get a job.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to focus all your attention on school? If you really want to get into that programme, I mean.”

  Jared shrugged.

  “My writing grant is paying my rent and bills until January,” Mave said. “But after that, I’ll need a roommate.”

  Jared studied her, waiting for her to ask him to leave so she could rent his room.

  She sipped her coffee. “I was your age when I went out on my own. Mother and I had…differences. I made mistakes I regret.”

  Jared studied his coffee cup.

  Mave said, “What did the Heiltsuk band council say about funding?”

  “Mave.”

  “Did you even talk to them? To Bernie, the education coordinator?”

  “They don’t know me.”

  “Jared.”

  “It’s…I dunno.”

  “You’ll get funding, Jared. Maybe not while you’re upgrading, but next year.” She reached over to touch his hand. “You could stay here rent-free and then, next year, when you get funding, you can pay rent, okay? I wouldn’t have to look for a roommate. So you’d actually be helping me. No obligations at all.” She grinned. “Think about it.”

  She grabbed two eggs from the fridge door and peeled them. She handed him one. They’d been boiled a while ago and had a telltale black ring around the yolk. He salted and peppered heavily.

  She raked her hair with her fingers. “I’m going to do a load of darks. Do you have anything?”

  “That’d be great,” he said.

  Jared went to the bedroom and emptied his jean pockets. He added his T-shirt and socks, but couldn’t make himself put his underwear in the mix; he’d give them a scrub when she was out. He tucked them under his backpack. One of the faces on the wall opened its mouth. Jared moved in to stare, and then shook his head. Lots of fluids today, he thought. Maybe get his eyes checked. He carried his laundry out to Mave.

  When she came back, they sat at the dining table and surfed, but it was a holiday and no one was posting anything interesting. Jared felt cooped up. He didn’t want to spend the whole morning inside.

  “Going for a jog,” he announced.

  “Mmm,” Mave said, staring at her screen. “Have fun.”

  He threw on some shorts and a T-shirt and sprinted down Graveley Street, which slanted downhill away from Commercial Drive. The streets were lined with small bungalows in between large, older apartment buildings. He hit a busy intersection and turned right, planning on making a large square route. But then he found a park with giant maple trees. He liked the big, leafy trees and the spotty grass, the red swings and the sunny sky. He thought about doing some crunches, and lay down. Then he put his hands behind his head and looked through the branches and sighed. He hadn’t lived in a city before and he thought he could put up with it for school, but he had never expected to like it. Maybe in December, when it was dark and grey and had rained non-stop for a few months, he’d sour on it.

  The jog back was all uphill, and he slowed to a brisk walk. He yawned and wasn’t sure if he was going to shower or soak. He turned the corner onto Graveley and stopped dead.

  David’s silver Lexus was parked directly in front of the Lu’ma apartment building. David held his phone up, probably recording Jared. He wished he wasn’t standing there like a dummy. David started his car, signalled and drove away.

  Move, Jared told himself as David drove past him, smiling and giving a happy wave.

  Fucker, Jared thought.

  Shaky anger. All the emotions. Had David been there the whole time and Jared had missed him? A big fat middle finger of an appearanc
e. You and your Facebook drama. Ha. This is what I think of that.

  His feet finally unstuck from the spot where he’d been caught like a mouse on a glue trap. He fought the urge to run back to the safety of the apartment, made himself walk like a normal person.

  “Was that your stalker?” someone said.

  Jared looked up. Above the entrance, just to the right, Kota leaned against the balcony railing, pulling a drag off his cigarette. Because, of course, nothing completed the whole embarrassing scene like a witness.

  “He was across the street until you ran by him,” Kota said. “He moved his car and then waited for you to notice him.”

  Jared couldn’t think of anything to say, couldn’t make words form.

  “That kind of stupid gets you stomped,” Kota said.

  “It’s early,” Jared said. “I’ve only had one coffee.”

  “His stupidity,” Kota said. “Not yours. Between Hank and your mom, that dude’s going to end up an organ donor.”

  “Amen,” Jared said.

  “I’m doing a meeting in an hour. Are you in?” Kota said.

  “Sure.”

  He took the stairs two at a time. The apartment door was open. His aunt had left a Post-it sticker on his laptop: Off with Justice! Back for supper.

  His phone buzzed beside his laptop. Message from Unknown Number: Great seeing you again! We’ll chat soon. I owe you, Jared. I’m going to pay you back every single thing you and your mom gave me.

  He meant to take a shower, meant to change his clothes. He started when he heard a knock on the front door. The clock on the wall said an hour had passed, but he couldn’t remember it. He was standing over his laptop with his phone in his hands. He had no idea how David had his new number. The sweat had cooled and dried on his body. His eyes felt dry. He blinked and blinked.

  The knocking became pounding. Kota called, “Jared! Shake a leg!”

  “Coming!” Jared said.

  Kota had shared at the meeting, and now, as they walked back to the apartment building, Jared didn’t know what to say. When he saw people in Kitimat that he knew from AA meetings, it was weird because you knew things about them, things they probably hadn’t even shared with their partners, but you had to act like you didn’t. In a small town, though, you had to do that with everyone. Kota was a stranger, so to speak. Jared now knew that Kota was feeling like a frequent flyer, fifth white chip in two years, fifth go at sobriety, fifth 90 in 90, the initial ninety days of at least one AA meeting a day. But all his friends were texting him, calling him, inviting him out to the parties. He resented all the fun he was missing.

  Hank’s balcony door was open and they could hear ominous music, sounds of rapid machine-gun fire and then hoots.

  “Just what I need,” Kota muttered. “Heckle and Jeckle. Hank says he doesn’t want them around, but he bought an Xbox he doesn’t play and stocked the kitchen with Pat and Sponge’s favourite snacks.”

  “You can hang at Mave’s place.”

  “Thanks, but she’s got the whole crazy hoarder thing going.”

  “Yeah. Well, if you’ve got nothing to do later and no plans for supper, I’m making a pot roast. It should be ready by six, maybe seven tonight.”

  Kota side-eyed him. Jared kept his expression as blank as he could, knowing what it felt like to have someone pity you.

  Jared stepped over Mave’s shoes and came to a stop at the end of the hallway. Bathrobe hovered near the TV.

  “You can’t get rid of me that easy,” Bathrobe said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Jared got a bundle of sage from the kitchen. Bathrobe sighed heavily, disappearing through the wall. Jared left the sage burning in the living room while he went into his bedroom and checked his phone. No messages. Not a single word.

  He felt strange. Disconnected. He knew he was supposed to be feeling something, especially since he knew David knew where he lived.

  The ghost walked through the closed door of the bedroom. Jared was taken aback because the air still smelled like sage but the ghost seemed to ignore it.

  “I wasn’t even bothering you!” the ghost said.

  Jared dug out his iTouch, stuck in his earbuds, cranked his tunes and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the ghost was gesturing wildly, mouth moving like he was shouting.

  He went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass. Turned on the tap and filled it with water. He glanced around. No yakky ghosts. He washed the dishes. He found a garbage bag and emptied all the leftovers. Took the garbage to the Dumpster.

  When he got back, the ghost stood forlornly in the living room. Jared ignored him, sorting the bulk items on the counter into the cupboards. Behind a monster box of lentils he found a DeWalt twenty-volt MAX Li-ion drill. A zip-lock bag of bits and tips was taped to the grip, each bit and tip with a handwritten label taped to it. His dad was a diehard DeWalt guy. Jared pulled off his earphones so he could hear the drill whirr. The battery indicator said it had a ninety-seven-percent charge.

  The ghost took his fingers out of his ears. “Are you done?”

  Jared pumped the drill, searching the apartment for something to try it on.

  “You’re such an ass,” the ghost said.

  Jared remembered the stack of unassembled bookcases. The job was mind-numbingly dull but required enough focus to be distracting.

  He cleared an assembly spot, grabbed one of the boxes and then carefully used a paring knife to slice the tape open. He grabbed a stack of bowls from the kitchen, a Post-it pad and a marker. Jared studied the parts lists. The only written instructions numbered the fiddly parts and used the numbers to tell you which part went where. The rest of the steps were depicted by pictograms.

  “All I want to do is watch the new series,” the ghost said, parking himself on a nearby stack of books. “They say it’s like the old Doctor Who. Scary. And this Doctor isn’t some pretty boy. He’s an actor. Come on, Jared. It’s not like I’m asking for a beating heart, is it?”

  Jared lined up the parts in a tidy row. He pulled off all the plastic and Styrofoam, and separated the recyclables, which went onto the balcony, from the garbage, which went by the door.

  “Do you want me to beg?” Bathrobe said. “Please. Please, Jared. Pretty pleeeeeeease.”

  Ten boxes equalled ten bookcases, which looked like they would neatly wrap around the living room. Jared took one of the boards and laid it along the wall, wishing he had a pencil, eyeballing the measurements.

  The ghost said, “You’re a very cruel person, Jared Martin.”

  Jared laid out the pieces on the floor in order of assembly. He worked steadily through the afternoon. He spent most of his time shoving books out of the way so he could lift the bookcases over them and plant them in position against the walls.

  The box on the bottom of the pile showed a picture of a desk that attached to the bookcase. Jared was studying the parts list when someone cleared his throat. He assumed it was the ghost, so he ignored him.

  “Hey,” Kota said.

  Jared glanced up. Kota and Hank were staring at him from the hallway. “Hi.”

  “Is dinner ready?” Kota said.

  “Help yourself,” Jared said.

  “You did this?” Hank said.

  “Santa Claus and his elves dropped by.”

  Hank studied the bookshelves, giving one of them a shake. “You should brace these.”

  “I don’t know where she wants them,” Jared said. “And I don’t have a stud finder.”

  “I don’t see where else she could put them,” Hank said.

  “Hey,” Kota said from the kitchen, “this ain’t bad.”

  “Yeah, it’s a good cut,” Jared said.

  “Were you born in a barn?” Hank said. “Get a plate!”

  Kota banged through the cupboards.

  Hank and Kota ate at the counter. As Jared worked on the final piece of the bookshelves, his phone buzzed in his back pocket. Text from Sarah: You still hum like power lines. I hear you everywhere I go.
>
  The feeling of detachment evaporated. Everything hurt, all at once.

  Where r u? Jared texted back. He got up, went into the bedroom and waited for her to respond. The cursor blinked and blinked.

  “I’m not the one haunting this room,” Bathrobe said, peering in from the door. “I’m the good guy.”

  Jared pretended to scroll through his messages.

  Kota walked through the ghost, sucking sauce off his fingers. He stopped. Eyeballed the walls with a grimace. “What a fucking freak show.”

  “It’s okay,” Jared said.

  “Dude, it’s right up there with clowns painted by serial killers.”

  Then Hank walked through Bathrobe, who sighed heavily and blinked out of existence. Hank stood beside Kota and examined the room.

  Jared tried not to be annoyed. “Please. Come in.”

  “Edgar was a troubled guy,” Hank said.

  Kota snorted. “Total whack-job.”

  “Is the stuff by the door for the Dumpster?” Hank said.

  “I can bring it down,” Jared said.

  “We got it,” Hank said.

  “I love the way you volunteer me for shit,” Kota said.

  “I’ve got the recyclables on the balcony,” Jared said. “Is there a place for them?”

  “I’m taking ours to the recycling depot tomorrow,” Hank said.

  “Thanks,” Jared said.

  “See?” Hank said to Kota. “It’s that simple. That’s how you say thanks.”

  “Suck-up,” Kota said, giving Jared a shove.

  Hank shoved Kota, and then Kota shoved him back. He could hear them laughing as they gathered up the crap in the hallway. Pat and Sponge’s voices joined in from the hallway.

  The ghost wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen. The slow cooker was splattered where Kota had simply pulled out some of the meat, and he’d dripped the sauce all over the kitchen floor. Jared plated the roast and dug out the vegetables, automatically arranging them.

  He kept checking his phone. He willed Sarah to text him, to say more.