Three Little Words

three

little

words

sarah n. harvey

ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

Copyright © 2012 Sarah N. Harvey

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Harvey, Sarah N., 1950-
Three little words [electronic resource] / Sarah N. Harvey.
Electronic monograph.

Issued also in print format.
ISBN
978-1-4598-0066-3 (
PDF
).--
ISBN
978-1-4598-0067-0 (
EPUB
)

I. Title.
PS
8615.
A
764
T
47 2012        j
C
813'.6        
C
2012-902263-2

First published in the United States, 2012
Library of Congress Control Number
: 2012938211

Summary
: When Sid leaves his foster family on their remote island home in search of the mother he doesn't remember and a brother he's never met, he's ill-prepared for the surprises he finds.

Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

Cover artwork by Mike Deas
Design by Teresa Bubela
Author photo by David Lowes

www.orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.

15   14   13   12   •   4   3   2   1

For Robin Stevenson

Contents

Have a Heart

It's All Good

Laugh Out Loud

Hear Me Out

I Don't Care

Watch Your Step

Make My Day

When in Doubt

No Such Luck

What the Fuck

Not So Much

Join the Club

When Pigs Fly

Go to Hell

Oh My God

Make It Stop

By All Means

Can't Make Me

Now You Know

Over the Moon

Acknowledgments

Have a Heart

“S
id, this is Fariza.”

Sid looks up at the sound of Megan's voice. She is standing in the kitchen doorway, her hand resting lightly on a little girl's head. The girl is wearing a long baggy gray T-shirt that stops just short of her knees. Her feet are bare and dirty; flakes of sparkly purple polish cling to her toenails. Her curly black hair is long and matted, like a feral poodle's. A beaded bracelet encircles one skinny brown wrist. She must have arrived in the night, on the last ferry. It is only seven o'clock now, barely light. Sid isn't usually up this early in the summer, but he has promised to help Caleb on the boat today, getting it ready for another charter.

“Hey,” he says to the girl, “want some Cheerios?” He gestures at the yellow box on the table in front of him and stands up to get another bowl from the cupboard.

The girl flinches and ducks behind Megan. Sid shrugs and goes back to his newspaper. Not that he was reading the news. He never does. He figures if something is important enough—Canada going to war, another oil spill on the coast, Brad and Angelina breaking up—he'll hear about it soon enough from his friend Chloe, who lives next door. Chloe doesn't read the newspaper either. She gets her news online: CNN, TMZ and
The New York Times
. She says news reporting is like eggs: hard-boiled, soft-boiled or medium.

No, Sid is reading the comics and grappling with the same questions he has asked ever since he was old enough to read a caption: Why is
Family Circus
still in print? Who reads it? Who likes it? Why do the kids never grow up the way they do in
For Better or Worse
? Why is everybody white? Why are their heads shaped like soccer balls? He hates
Hi and Lois
too. And
Blondie
. He imagines they all live on the same boring street in the same boring suburb. All their houses are identical and all the fathers mow their lawns on Sundays before they fire up the barbecues and char some meat. Sid smiles. Maybe the
Family Circus
mom is having an affair with Hi. Lois and Blondie become lovers and leave all the kids with the
Family Circus
grandma, whose bingo addiction gets out of control.
Family Circus
dad has a breakdown and is arrested after he robs a convenience store at gunpoint, wearing only one of his ex's aprons and high heels. Dagwood writes a tell-all memoir, gets rich and dies of a heart attack in bed with two underage male hookers dressed as Batman and Robin.

“What's so funny, Sid?” Caleb sits down at the table and reaches for the cereal.

Sid shakes his head. “Nothing. Just reading the comics.”

“Did you meet our new arrival?”

“Yeah. What's up with her?”

“Emergency placement. Really bad family scene in Vancouver. She's been in care for six months, bouncing around. Social Services was looking for a long-term placement and thought she'd be better away from the city. Can't tell you much more than that.”

Sid nods. Over the years he has lived with Megan and Caleb, dozens of kids have come and gone. Some stay longer than others; none has stayed as long as Sid. Fourteen years. Since he was two and Megan fished him out of the water between Megan and Caleb's boat, the
Caprice
, and the piece of shit boat he and his hippie-wannabe mom had been living on. Sid has only the wispiest memories of the boat or his birth mother. The boat—Megan says it was called
Amphitrite
, like the Greek goddess of the sea—was dark green and smelled of rotting wood and what he now knows was dope. Even now it makes him nauseous to be around anyone who's smoking up. Sid's birth mother's legal name was Deborah, but she called herself Devi, after some Hindu goddess. The name on her son's birth certificate is Siddhartha Eikenboom. Sid's father's name is listed as
Unknown
.

Sid was ten when Megan finally showed him his birth certificate and explained that Siddhartha was another name for Buddha. He was more puzzled than upset by his full name and his birth father's anonymity. Caleb was his father, wasn't he? Megan nodded and said she was sorry that she didn't have any other information. Sid shrugged and asked if he could go and play with Chloe. The birth certificate was returned to a safe deposit box at the bank. Devi was long gone, taking with her the knowledge of Sid's paternity—if she ever knew it. The
Amphitrite
pulled away from the wharf soon after Megan reported Devi to Social Services. Devi hasn't been back nor has she stayed in touch. To Sid she is a chimera with long red curls like his own, curls the color of the bark of the arbutus trees that ring the cove.

Sid was Megan and Caleb's first foster child. He will probably be their last. He can't imagine living anywhere else. The three of them moved off the boat when Sid was three, and there has always been another kid or two in the big house by the ferry dock. Every time another kid arrives, Megan says it will be the last time, but Sid knows better. He also knows better than to get attached to any of the other kids, especially after what happened with Tobin, who had come to stay at the house when Sid was eleven. Sid had thought Tobin would stay forever. Thick as thieves, Megan always said. He really believed that they would build a cabin in the orchard, where Sid would draw and Tobin would play his guitar. But Tobin said he couldn't play music by himself. And an audience of one, no matter how devoted, wasn't enough. He had left six months ago, not long after he turned eighteen. He called every now and again, usually from some club, but Sid knew he wasn't coming back. Not to stay, anyway. After Tobin, Sid kept his distance from the kids who came and went.

“How old is she?” he asks now.

“Eight,” Caleb replies.

“She's scared.”

Caleb sighs. “Yeah. She's got reason to be. Believe me. She might be here a while.”

“Cool,” Sid replies. “Chloe needs a new project. She's driving me crazy.”

Caleb laughs. “Good for her. That's what friends are for, right? Someone's gotta drag you away from that book.” He nods toward a coil-bound sketchbook that sits on the table at Sid's elbow.

Sid spreads his hand over the book's scuffed cover, although he knows Caleb won't touch it. Respect and privacy are big in this house. Really big. Caleb is right though: left alone, Sid would sit at his desk all day, dreaming and drawing. Forgetting to eat, sleep or change his clothes, although he has a simple system for clothes. From the Ides of March to Thanksgiving he wears plain short-sleeved black T-shirts, skinny black jeans cut off to just below the knee, black Vans, no socks and a plain black ball cap. If he's cold, he puts on a plain black hoodie. After Thanksgiving, his shirt has long sleeves, his jeans aren't cut off and he trades in his high-tops for Romeos, the slip-on boots the local fishermen wear. He wears them with thick gray woolen work socks, the kind with the red stripe at the top. The stripe is his only concession to color. He covers his curls with a Black Watch cap. He has a puffy black North Face jacket he hardly ever wears. Shopping is straightforward and relatively painless. Once in a while, on festive occasions—Christmas or his birthday—he will wear the belt Chloe bought him. Wide and black with four rows of conical studs, it makes him feel menacing, like a cop weighted down at the hips with a gun, a night stick, a Taser. When he wears it, everybody smiles, including him. He is about as menacing as a Q-tip.

Megan says he was a chatty toddler, racing up and down the wharf, investigating crab traps and coils of rope, chasing seagulls in his clunky thrift-store boots. He only believes her because he knows she doesn't lie. That child is gone. His bouncy toddler self appears only briefly in his notebook—then it is lost in the chasm between the two boats, along with one of his boots. Not that he's unhappy now—far from it—but no one would ever describe him as chatty or bouncy.

He stands up and puts his bowl in the dishwasher. “What are we doing today?” he asks Caleb.

“The usual stuff. You clean the boat and I make sure the engine's running okay. Then we'll do some grocery shopping. Hit the liquor store.”

“Who's on board this time?”

“Four oil guys from Calgary. That's a lot of beer. We'll be gone by noon tomorrow. Back in a week or so, depending on the fish.”

“Sounds good.” Sid never goes on the charter trips with Caleb. Even if he'd felt comfortable with the kind of men who charter the boat—loud, red-faced, hearty, hard-drinking—there isn't enough room on the boat for another body, even one as skinny as Sid's. As it is, Caleb sleeps in the cockpit, under a tarp if it's raining.

Megan comes back into the kitchen as Sid is zipping up his hoodie. “I finally managed to get Fariza to sleep.” She sighs. “Poor kid. I've been up with her most of the night. Maybe when she wakes up she'll feel better.”

Caleb pours Megan a mug of coffee and puts it into her hands. “Sit down,” he says. “I'll make you something to eat before we go.”

Megan shakes her head. “I'm good. You guys get going.”

“You sure?” Caleb pulls a red
Caprice Charters
ball cap over his bald head.

Megan nods. “Chloe coming over later?” she asks Sid.

He shrugs. “No doubt. Maybe she can play with the new kid.”

“Maybe,” Megan says, taking a sip of her coffee. “Chloe might be just what she needs.”

“Chloe talks enough for two people, so you could be right,” Sid says.

Caleb cuffs him good-naturedly on the shoulder and opens the back door.

“See you in a few hours,” Caleb says.

“Tell Chloe I'll be back later,” Sid adds.

When Sid and Caleb come back from the boat at the end of the day, Megan is in the kitchen making dinner and Chloe is in the living room, sitting cross-legged on one end of the couch. Fariza is at the other end. A mountain of stuffed animals sits between them. Bears, zebras, cats, dogs, wolves, whales, deer, mice, parrots, giraffes, rabbits, monkeys, cows, penguins, moose, lambs, raccoons, foxes, owls, dolphins. Megan has been collecting them for years. Each new kid gets to choose and keep one. Sid still has the porcupine he chose when he was two; he named it Spike. Not very original, he thinks now, but Spike still sits on Sid's windowsill, his quills gathering dust. Fariza is clutching a gigantic pink flamingo by its scrawny neck. She is dressed in clothes that Sid recognizes from helping with the laundry. Stuffed animals are not the only things Megan collects. There is a cupboard full of used clothing upstairs, all sizes and styles. Everything from flip-flops to parkas. You could outfit a whole village in Africa from that cupboard.