Three Little Words (10 page)

“Just some stuff I saw today: an old man who wasn't old at all; a geisha who wasn't Japanese. That kind of thing.”

Elizabeth laughs. “Things that are not what they appear to be then.”

“I guess so.”

When he doesn't elaborate, Elizabeth says, “I guess you've been to Ripple Rock.”

“Ripple Rock?” He's not sure why Elizabeth is asking about Ripple Rock, but he's grateful that she's changed the subject.

“Isn't it near where you live?”

“Kind of,” Sid says. “It got blown up a long time ago though.”

Elizabeth pulls herself up on the couch. “I know. I was at nursing school. When I heard they were going to blow an underwater mountain to smithereens, I was sure that a tidal wave as high as the Empire State Building was going to roar down Johnston Strait and sweep Victoria off the map. I rode my bike to the top of Mount Tolmie on the morning of the blast. I couldn't understand why no one else seemed concerned. Uniformed nurses were standing by to treat the injured in Campbell River, for heaven's sake. In my mind, the tidal wave looked like the wave in that famous Hokusai print—menacing but beautiful. But there was nothing for the nurses to do. According to the naturalists' reports, the blast barely disturbed the sea creatures in the area. So I've always wondered—what's Ripple Rock like now?”

Sid thinks for a minute before answering. Caleb loves to talk about Ripple Rock. One of his biggest regrets is that he was a baby when the explosion took place. He never got to see the murderous power of the rock.

“Whenever we go through the Narrows, Caleb always says,
He's still down there
, like the rock's a giant or a monster, but, to be honest, there's not much to see. It's way below the surface now, even at low tide.”

Elizabeth sighs. “Even so, I'd love to see it. And to see where Devi lived and where you grew up. It sounds so…serene.”

“Except for the occasional gigantic explosion,” Sid says.

They sit quietly for a few minutes, watching a tiny yellow and green harbor-ferry pick up passengers at the hotel dock.

“Tell me about Wain,” Sid finally says. “It's weird—I'm looking for him, but I have no idea what he's like, other than he likes to ride
BMX
and he's been getting in trouble lately. It's really hard to figure out where he might go.”

“You're right, of course,” Elizabeth says, holding out her cup for more tea. “Needle in a haystack. It might help if you knew whether you were looking for a knitting needle or a sewing needle or a hypodermic needle.” She shudders. “Not that I think he's involved in the drug scene.”

“Or with those scary knitters,” Sid says with a smile.

Elizabeth laughs and almost spills her tea. “You're a sly one, aren't you, Sid?” she says. “Wain's a bit like that: funny without being a clown. Although I have to say, he's much more extroverted than you.”

“Almost everyone is,” Sid says.

“Wain was such a lovely little boy. Happy, smart, friendly. Brave to the point of being foolhardy.”

“So what happened?”

“Who knows? Puberty? His mother's problems? His father's absence? Hanging out with a bad crowd? One day he was a carefree child, rowing Stan's dinghy in the bay, memorizing the scientific names of sea creatures—I remember he always giggled when he said the word
nudibranch
. Then all of a sudden he was sullen and secretive and rude. Although I'm sure it wasn't sudden. None of us were paying close enough attention, I suppose. He first ran away when he was ten.”

“Where did he go?” Sid asks, leaning forward in his chair.

“We never found out. He came back the next day. Hungry and very out of sorts.”

“Did you call the police?”

Elizabeth shakes her head. “Devi didn't want to. She said she trusted him—a ten-year-old child! We had a big argument—didn't talk until the next time he took off. She called me to ask if he'd come to my house. I told her again to call the police. Phil told her the same thing. But by the time she called, he had turned up. That happened a few more times. Always the same thing: he and Devi have a fight, he disappears overnight and comes back the next day.”

“But this is the longest he's been gone?”

“Yes. By far.”

“So what's different?”

Elizabeth doesn't have to think very long. “Devi. Devi went off her meds. Trashed their house. He's never seen her like that—out of control. Violent.”

“Violent?” Sid asks.

Elizabeth's face is ashen. Sid wonders if this is the first time she's considered that Devi may have hurt Wain. He wishes he could reassure her, but he has seen too many abused kids come and go at home. Parental abuse is as common as dirt, Megan says.

“So he's probably gone where he always goes,” Sid says slowly. “He's just staying away longer because he's afraid to come home.”

“But he must know how worried we are. And Devi hasn't come back.”

“But he doesn't know that, does he?”

“I suppose not.”

“So we have to find him and tell him,” Sid says, although he has no clear idea how this will happen. He puts the teacups back on the tray and takes the tray into the kitchen.

“Just leave the dishes,” Elizabeth calls from the living room. “I'll take care of them later.”

“I got it,” Sid says, nestling the cups into the top rack of the dishwasher. It's a familiar task, and it calms him.

When he goes back into the living room to say goodbye, Elizabeth is asleep, so he leaves her a note on a page torn from his sketchbook:
Gone back to Phil's.
See you tomorrow?
He signs it with a tiny drawing of himself riding across the bridge on Wain's bike. Blue bridge, green bike, red hair, yellow sun.

What the Fuck

F
or the next few days, Sid follows the plan: papering downtown with Wain's picture, sometimes with Amie, sometimes alone. At night he stays home and draws or watches
TV
while Phil drives around downtown, talking to hookers and cops and drug dealers. No one has seen Wain.

One morning, after almost a week in Victoria, Sid wakes up in Phil's loft, a cat on his head, another on his feet. He looks up at the cloudless sky. It's a beautiful day and he can't bear to go back downtown. Besides, he's had an idea that's worth exploring, although he's not ready to share it with anyone yet. First he has to call Megan.

When she answers, he updates her on the search for Wain and reassures her that he is all right.

“You have a friend down here, right?” he asks. “Wanda? Wendy? The one with the sailboat. Do you know where she keeps her boat?”

“Wendy,” Megan says. “As far as I know her boat's still in Oak Bay Marina. Why?”

“I thought I'd go visit her,” Sid says. “What's the name of her boat again?”

“
Delirious
. Shouldn't be hard to find. Just ask for the crazy lady with the purple boat.” Megan laughs. “Tell her I said hi. Ask her to stop in if she's ever up this way.”

“Okay. Gotta go. I'll call later, maybe talk to Fariza.”

“I miss you, Sid. We all do.”

“Miss you too,” Sid says. “Bye.”

After breakfast he says goodbye to Phil, who is ankle-deep in sawdust, and walks down to the marina where the cement killer whale guards the parking lot. Phil told him that there used to be an aquarium next to the marina, with live killer-whale shows and seals that took showers and “talked” to the tourists. You could even brush the whales' teeth. It makes Sid feel sick just to think about it. Seeing orcas in the wild always brings tears to his eyes: the grace, the power, the sense of community. If he wasn't in a human family, he would want to be a calf in a killer-whale pod. He climbs up next to the orca and rubs its rough cement side. “Wish me luck,” he says under his breath.

He scrambles down and strolls to the small park that overlooks the marina. He's stopped here a few times before. There is an old-fashioned wooden double swing near the pebble beach, the kind where you sit facing someone else and push on the floor to make the swing move. Sid stands on the center of the swing and sways back and forth until the swing starts to follow his movement. He scans the marina for a purple boat, but he's too far away to see all the docks. But he can see the small island that seems to sit within walking distance of the last jetty. A stone's throw away. Of course, it's an illusion; the island's not that close, but it's close enough. Just like the island in the cove near his house. The one he always went to when he wanted to be alone. The island Caleb always rescued him from.

He jumps off the swing and walks through the parking lot to the marina, where he methodically walks up and down each dock, looking for
Delirious.
He supposes he could ask at the office, but he's enjoying being on the dock. When he was small, he used to tell everyone he was going to be a wharfinger when he grew up—he loved both the word and the idea of running a wharf. He wonders if the word is even used anymore. When he finally finds the purple ketch, he's on one of the farthest docks. A woman with very short gray hair is sitting in the cockpit, polishing one of the many brass fittings.

“Wendy?” Sid says.

She looks up, her leopard-print half-glasses crooked on her nose.

“Who wants to know?” She's smiling when she says it, and Sid smiles back.

“I'm Sid, Megan and Caleb's kid. From the
Caprice
?”

Wendy puts down her polishing rag and stands up. She is very short and very round, but she leaps out of the cockpit as nimbly as a teenager.

“Little Sid,” she says. “I should have known. That hair! Come aboard. Come aboard. Is the
Caprice
here? Tell me everything.”

“Nothing much to tell,” he says when they are settled in the cockpit and Wendy has resumed polishing. “I'm here on my own. I could use your help though.”

“My help?” Wendy keeps polishing, but Sid knows she's paying attention. For some reason, it's easy to tell her about Devi and Wain. When he shows her Wain's picture, she gasps and puts her hand to her enormous chest.

“
That's
your brother?” she says. “He's here all the time. Hanging around, trying to get people to take him out on their boats. Most of us just shoo him away like a harmless bug. How long did you say he's been gone?”

“Almost two weeks now,” Sid replies.

“And you think he might be over there.” She points at the island.

Sid nods. “That's where I would go if I wanted to run away. All he would need is a dinghy. Maybe he stole one. Dragged it out of sight when he got there.”

“And you want to row over to Jimmy Chicken and see if you're right?”

“To where?”

“To the island. Locals call it Jimmy Chicken Island, after the old Native man who used to live there years ago.”

Sid nods. “I don't know where else to look.”

“Well, thank you for not stealing my dinghy,” Wendy says. She scuttles down into the cabin and comes back up with two chocolate bars and a can of Coke. “If he's there, he'll be hungry. Do you want company?”

Sid imagines the two of them in the small rowboat. She must weigh close to
200
pounds. “I think it's better if I go alone. If that's okay.”

“Fine by me,” Wendy says. “Two things though. Wear a life jacket and take one for Wain. Megan would kill me if anything happened to you.”

It seems like a small price to pay, even though the life jackets are ancient, bulky and moldy.

“Land on that little beach at the southern tip; everywhere else is too rocky. And if you get into trouble, call me on my cell—the service is great here.” She pulls a pen out of her pants pocket and writes a number on the back of one of the chocolate bars. “If you can't bring him back yourself, we can call for backup.”

“If he's there at all,” Sid says.

“Well, you won't know if you don't row.” Wendy unties the ropes holding the dinghy and steadies it while Sid climbs in. “Good luck,” she says as she pushes him away from the wharf.

The water is calm and Sid is a strong rower; he is on the island in less than ten minutes. As he pulls the dinghy up onto the beach and secures it to a log, a flock of geese rises from the rocks and flies out across the bay, honking its displeasure at being disturbed. There is goose shit everywhere. And no sign of another dinghy.

The shoreline is rocky and ringed with prickly bushes: gorse and wild rose. Just past the little beach is a path that leads around the tip of the island and through a tiny meadow, the size of a king-size quilt. He walks toward the center of the island, being careful to avoid the goose shit. He turns to look north, toward home, and stumbles over what he first thinks is a snake and then realizes is a coiled rope. A rope attached to a dinghy. A dinghy camouflaged with branches to form a small cave. Sid is crouching to peer inside when he is flattened from behind by what feels like a wild animal. A large dog, a wolf, a cougar. He knows this is crazy, especially since his assailant is swearing loudly as he flails at Sid. A few blows land on Sid's back before he's able to throw whoever it is off.

“Get away from my boat!” his attacker screams, punching the air near Sid's head.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sid sees a black fist and arm. “Wain!” Sid yells. “Wain, stop it.” The flurry of blows slows down, and Sid is able to turn around.

“How do you know my name?” Wain snarls. “Who the fuck are you? What do you want?” He staggers away from Sid and collapses onto a lichen-covered rock, his chest heaving. He is way bigger than Sid, but his bulk seems soft, almost flabby, and he is sweating heavily. Sid is surprised he was able to land even a single blow.

“Do you want something to eat?” Sid asks. “I've got chocolate. And Coke.” One thing he's learned from watching Megan deal with sad, angry, uncommunicative kids is to offer food and drink first. Before anything else. Hunger and thirst are two demons that can be easily placated.