Trickster Drift

by Eden Robinson

  “Jared?” Mave said. “Who are you talking to?”

  She stood outside her bedroom door, her headphones pushed down around her neck. He could hear her music, solemn drums and mournful voices. He was at the dining table with his physics homework open in front of him. Dent sat in the chair beside him, arms crossed over his chest.

  “Sorry,” Jared said, scrambling to think of a reason he was talking to the air.

  “Tell her it’s your process,” Dent said.

  Mave came over and lightly touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s just a tough section.”

  “You’re just not focusing,” Dent said. “Tell her it’s your process. Or not. Let her think you’re nuts.”

  “Talking it through—it’s, um, my process?” Jared said.

  “Ah,” Mave said. She sat in Dent, who gave a frustrated sigh and jerked away. “I dated a playwright who sounded out his dialogue. Great way to get your own seat on the bus.”

  She laughed and he laughed with her, although he didn’t get the joke.

  “I was just about to take a tea break when I saw you talking to yourself and got worried,” she said. “Edgar used to do that.”

  “Didn’t mean to bug you,” Jared said.

  “You could never bug me, Jelly Bean. Are you doing anything this afternoon?” She checked her watch. “I’m going to do a shift on the picket lines with the Grandview teachers. Could you help me carry some coffee?”

  “Sure,” Jared said.

  Dent rolled his eyes, drifted back to the TV and sat in the recliner. A break would probably do everyone good.

  She wandered back into her bedroom. The kettle whistled on the stove. Jared got up and poured hot water into the mug she’d left on the counter. He brought the tea to her in her bedroom where she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, frowning at her laptop. He waved to get her attention. She pushed her headphones off her ears again.

  “It’s a good thing it’s just tea and not a nuclear warhead,” Mave said. “Ugh. This stupid novel will never end. Kick me hard if I ever decide to write one again.”

  * * *

  —

  After Jared finished his physics assignment, they walked to Tim Hortons. Mave bought the teachers a box of coffee and doughnuts. He carried the coffee and she carried the pastry boxes and a bag of sugar packets, whitener and stir sticks. The school wasn’t too far away. The teachers waved as they approached the picket line. Mave posed for a bunch of pictures and they sat in lawn chairs with signs. She gossiped with the teachers about people Jared didn’t know. The traffic bombed by with the occasional honk.

  “Get back to work, you freeloading bums!” one guy shouted as his car whizzed by.

  “Nice,” one of the teachers said. “I wish him head lice three times a year.”

  “And scabies,” another added.

  The afternoon grew hot. By four, they were all drooping and Mave promised to bring iced tea the next time around. Jared hauled away the empty coffee box and cups. When they got back home, Mave wanted to ride the Vespa while the weather was still good, and took off.

  Before he went in, Jared looked up and noticed Kota sitting morosely on Hank’s balcony. He lifted a cigarette in a half-hearted salute. Jared waved back.

  The apartment door was open. Jared gritted his teeth. Only one person besides him and Mave had the apartment key: Hank.

  He took a slow, calming breath and then walked down the hallway. Eliza looked up from the couch, hugging a stuffed snowman with goofy teeth. He almost didn’t recognize her without her princess costume.

  “Hi, Jared,” she said. “Do you wanna watch TV?”

  “Are you supposed to be here?” Jared said.

  “Aunty Mave said I could. Daddy sold our TV and DVD player. Momma kicked him out. We changed our locks, but Kookum says that’s like closing the barn door after the horse’s ass pawns your stuff.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s okay,” Eliza said. “It’s just stuff.”

  “Do you have a key?”

  “The door was open.”

  Jared patted his basketball shorts and found the keys. He was sure he’d locked the door but couldn’t really remember. He felt uncomfortable alone with a kid he didn’t know that well. “Does your mom know where you are?”

  “Momma’s asleep now. She cried all night. Don’t wake her, okay? She’ll just cry again.”

  “Do you know your phone number? I’ll text her to tell her where you are.”

  “I know my phone number,” Eliza said. “I’m not a dummy.”

  “Sor-ry.”

  They texted Eliza’s mom. Jared brought Eliza a breakfast bar. She looked at it suspiciously.

  Jared took a bite to show her it was edible. “Justice made them. It’s like a granola bar, but with honey, dried blueberries and ground-up hazelnuts and stuff.”

  “Ew.”

  “You can dip it in jam if you want.”

  “Do you have Nutella?”

  “We have a case of Nutella. Help yourself.”

  “Have you ever seen Frozen?”

  “No.”

  “It’s only the greatest movie. Ever. You can watch it with me.”

  “I gotta take a shower.”

  “I’ll start it again when you get out.” Eliza took the bar from him.

  Jared grabbed some clean clothes from his bedroom and made sure he locked the bathroom door behind him. He took a long shower. He brushed his teeth. Flossed them. Dressed very, very slowly. When he opened the door, he heard Eliza talking to someone. He hoped it was Mave, but it didn’t sound like her.

  The woman on the couch had long black hair that tumbled down her back. She wore a crumpled navy blazer and matching pants that were too big on her. Eliza’s mouth was a giant smear of Nutella. She dipped her bar in the jar and tried to feed it to the woman, who turned her head as Jared walked into the living room. She had a pointy chin, like a fox.

  “Hi. You must be Jared,” the woman said. “Thanks for the message. I’m Olive. You left Eliza’s party before I got there. She loved the balloons, by the way.”

  “Yeah?” He bet he was lighting up like a stoplight.

  She tickled Eliza’s belly. “Someone isn’t supposed to wander out of the apartment. Someone was supposed to be napping.”

  “I don’t need a nap, Mom.”

  Olive smiled wryly at Jared. “I’m so sorry—how many times has Eliza made you watch Frozen?”

  “No worries.”

  “Nom, nom, nom,” Eliza said, dipping the bar again. “Nom, nom, nom, no—”

  “Eat the bar, Doodle-bug. You can’t just use it as a Nutella delivery system.” Olive’s eyes were puffy and red from crying, but they crinkled at the corners when she smiled. “Thank you for feeding my little diabetic in training.”

  “She was no problem.”

  “Okay, kiddo, we should motor,” Olive said to Eliza. “Pizza won’t order itself.”

  “But my movie’s not over!”

  “You’ve seen it a billion times. Come on.”

  Eliza clutched the jar of Nutella as she leapt up and thundered down the hallway. He heard the front door whack the wall. Olive yelled at her to bring the Nutella back, but Eliza was already gone. Jared insisted it was okay—they had a case no one was eating. Olive bent over and grabbed the DVD out of the player.

  “If Eliza wanders over here again, just bring her back to me or her grandmother. We’re down the hall in 208.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” she said. “Bye, Jared.”

  “Bye.”

  Dent seemed to have vacated the apartment. Jared wondered where the ghost went when he wasn’t watching the sci-fi channel. He went to his room and scrolled through his contacts. He paused at Mrs. Jaks’s number, hesitated then dialed. No one picked up. They didn’t even have voice mail. It rang and rang. He wondered if they had call display and were avoiding him. More likely they were caught up in medical drama and w
eren’t home.

  He’d said his goodbyes when they thought Mrs. Jaks wasn’t going to make it through the first round of cancer treatment, and then the second. Jared was a neighbour, not family. Sometimes moments like this were too painful to share. Especially with people who’d dumped their granddaughter and refused to consider dating her again.

  * * *

  —

  His night shift was welcome because he hadn’t been able to sleep. Mave’s bedroom light was still on, but he didn’t want to interrupt her writing if she was on a roll. He bounced down the stairs and out onto the street, turning up to the Drive. Traffic was sporadic. He hoped the manager wasn’t napping. If he was, it took him a long time to unlock the back entrance and Jared had to stand around in the alley, which stank and was badly lit.

  As Jared turned into the alley, Shu flickered into existence near the back door of the Donut Hole. The tendrils of her fraying clothes moved to an unseen wind. Jared’s mind skittered over the realization that Shu was a ghost, slipped past it not wanting to believe it. She pointed to something behind him. Jared heard a vehicle speeding up and ran to the safety of a doorway. He didn’t stop to look back. As he neared the door, he heard tires squeal and he was hit, a glancing blow, his backpack pulling on his shoulders, a fiery pain radiating from his funny bone as he was propelled into the wall.

  The truck sped off down the alley, its driver-side door flapping a few times before the driver pulled it closed. It was hard to tell the colour, a dark truck in a dark alley, older, regular cab, open bed, no rear licence plate. The driver only visible from behind, baseball cap in profile for a moment. Still, he knew who it was. Jared limped to the Donut Hole’s doorbell. The backpack had taken the brunt of the blow, but his elbow tingled like it was asleep and now painfully coming to life.

  Shu reached up and put her hand over his and it went cold. She looked up at him and her flesh was full of holes, bones shining yellow beneath.

  We could curse him.

  The thought didn’t come from Jared, but he didn’t let go of Shu, didn’t push her away. Some things were so unfair, you got payback where you could. The cold crept up Jared’s arm and numbed his tingling elbow, his tight shoulders where the backpack straps had dug into his flesh. You could see the appeal, Jared thought. A touch of instant karma in a world where stalky assholes got away with drive-by truck-door hits.

  He was full of cold power from the ghost of a little girl. Power, if he wanted it.

  “Thank you, Shu,” Jared said. “You saved me.”

  She became shy then, taking her hand away from his. My duty, he heard her voice say in his head. She skipped down the alley, giving him a little wave before she vanished.

  He took another moment before he rang the doorbell. He reminded himself that the life he wanted had a price. He couldn’t drink. He couldn’t be with Sarah. He couldn’t indulge this hot surge of fury. Besides, if his mom couldn’t curse David, Jared doubted that he could make a curse stick, even with the help of a ghost.

  But Shu had come to warn him. Through the fog of aches and bruises, he knew that meant something. He pushed the doorbell again, made himself not turn that thought over in his head. He waited for the manager to open the door like any normal person in a normal, shitty job. Fake it till you make it.

  24

  A week later, Jared’s newly assigned physics lab partner returned to their table with another coffee. The dude had some of the worst acne Jared had ever seen and seemed to be trying to hide it by letting his long black hair hang over his face. He didn’t say much. They had decided to work on their lab report at a Tim Hortons near the school. When they were done, they exchanged phone numbers.

  Jared caught the bus home, keeping a wary eye on the traffic. He still had bruises where the pack’s straps had dug in, his elbow ached and his back twinged whenever he tried to bend or turned too fast. He also had a bruise on his forehead. All a reminder that David had always been great at dishing criticism but not so fond of receiving it.

  When he got home, Mave and Justice were packing in her room. He threw his backpack on the desk and then took a long, hot bath in borrowed Epsom salts. He’d been racking his brains. If David kept escalating, and Jared didn’t say anything, things could get Emerg-worthy.

  He couldn’t tell his mom. He didn’t want her blowing into town and meeting Mave when she was already in the middle of Richie’s family drama. Mave, God. He’d tell her if he had to, but she already treated him like he couldn’t cross the street on his own; he didn’t want her getting all riled up. Which left Sophia, whom he mostly trusted. She also had access to lawyers, though he didn’t want her to pay for anything else, especially if he couldn’t pay her back. He sniffed himself. Even after his bath Jared still smelled vaguely of doughnuts and grease.

  Justice had made lentil soup and biscuits for supper. They ate in the living room, watching a DVD of a bunch of hyper puppets called The Muppet Show.

  Out of nowhere, Mave said, “If you won’t come with me to Banff, maybe Justice can stay with you while I’m gone.”

  Jared paused mid-sip.

  “Maamaan,” Justice said.

  “Not because I don’t trust you, Jared,” Mave rushed to say. “I just worry about your stalker. Has David bothered you since you’ve been here? You seem spooked.”

  Jared studied his bowl. He wanted to lie to make the awkwardness of the moment go away, but it kind of went against the honesty he was aiming for in AA.

  “Has he?” Justice said.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” Jared said.

  Mave looked at him over her glasses. “I’ll have Hank keep an eye out.”

  “Justice can stay here,” Jared said.

  “Hank likes you,” Mave insisted. “He does. He’s just not good at expressing himself.”

  “I’ll hang out this weekend,” Justice said.

  “So it’s settled, then,” Mave said, patting his hand. “I promised your mother I’d watch out for you and that is what I’m going to do.”

  “Yay,” Jared said.

  Sarah had texted: I saw the fireflies today! Brite as day just for a minute! Still can’t hear them, but I saw them!

  Jared lay in bed and wondered if Sarah knew her gran was back in Canada. She had to know. Right? Maybe her mom was exaggerating how sick Mrs. Jaks was to get Jared to tell her where Sarah was hiding. To do her legwork.

  Crashpad and his new girlfriend, Muriel, had moved their show to Instagram, where heavily filtered pictures displayed meadows, sunsets and water shots.

  My love for you, Crashpad captioned one photo, is like the stars in the sky: vast and unmeasurable.

  You are my ocean, Muriel captioned another of their pics, wild, powerful and endless.

  Get a room, Jared thought.

  He thought about charging his phone, but the desk was too far—the Advil hadn’t kicked in yet, so he ached everywhere. He could hear Justice and Mave laughing in the living room. His earbuds were in his jacket pocket, which was slung over the chair. If he got up and walked a few steps, he could listen to his music until the battery ran out. He meant to do that, meant to take his clothes off, meant to brush his teeth, but the second his eyes closed, he was out.

  * * *

  —

  The apartment was quiet that Friday without Mave. Dent lived in the recliner, glued to the science fiction channel. Jared and Kota attended an afternoon meeting together, and then hung out for coffee. Tonight, Kota was off to the dry dance in North Van. He invited Jared, who had no interest in going. That smacked of drama.

  Elk! Mave texted him, attached to a picture of elk grazing on someone’s lawn.

  Strike over. Classes start Monday, Crashpad texted, making a frowny face. His girlfriend frowned beside him, cheek to cheek. We’re sad.

  Miss u Shithead, his mom texted him. Fkn txt me.

  Alive, Jared texted. Hi 2 Richie.

  Jared took a shower, and then flopped on the couch and ran through his biology notecards. The cranky-lo
oking Time Lord on the TV screen was frowning into the industrial distance. “Which series is Matt Smith?”

  Dent narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re a floppy-hair fan.”

  “Dude, just because Smith wasn’t all Hamlet about shit doesn’t mean he wasn’t a good Time Lord.”

  “You can’t even remember which season he was in. You don’t get a say in which incarnation was superior. He was girl-bait.”

  “He was okay.”

  “ ‘Okay’? What kind of analysis is that?”

  “I liked him. He was funny.”

  “Oh, sweet TARDIS, give me strength.”

  “I can’t have an opinion?”

  “You can’t defend your opinion!”

  “So?”

  “So this is an argument! You have to argue!”

  “We’re arguing? Why’re we arguing? I just wanted to know what season Matt Smith was in.”

  “Then google it. Stop ruining Doctor Who.”

  “You watched this one last Sunday. You already know how it’s going to end.”

  “You don’t know how to be a true fan, do you?”

  Jared unparked himself from the couch and went to check on the cast iron patio set. It had taken a lot of effort to scrape off the rust and Mave’s half-hearted attempt to paint them yellow. The new, red paint was dry, so he sanded, vacuumed and shook the spray paint can and gave the chairs and table a second coat. The patio set glistened. He’d put down cardboard and plastic to keep the paint from staining the balcony and it looked like someone had been murdered and the murderer had fled the scene before cleaning up.

  He heard a knock on the front door and then the lock clicked.

  “Hello!” Justice called. “Jared? It’s me, your weekend roommate.”

  “On the balcony!” Jared said, exasperated.

  “I’ve brought Maamaan’s bug back from repairs,” Justice said, rolling something that sounded suspiciously like a suitcase down the hallway. “I’m leaving the car keys on the kitchen table.”

  “Okay,” Jared said.

  High heels clicked and then Justice poked her head out on the balcony. “Maamaan wants to know if you need anything.”