Three Little Words (13 page)

Phil pulls a black binder off a shelf and opens it on the table. Sid leans over and looks at a page of photographs of tiled paving stones, none bigger than a couple of feet across. Each stone has the dead person's name and dates woven into a design made with stones, beach glass, shells, shards of glass tile, specks of gold and silver. The images—a stand of deep-purple hollyhocks, a sailboat with a rust-red sail, a black dog with a blue bandana around its neck, an ancient tree, an old green pickup truck, a pink bicycle with training wheels—are detailed and exquisite.

“They're meant to be outside—catching the light, withstanding rain and snow—but they're not meant to be walked on. Too delicate. Some people bury the ashes underneath. Devi always said she wished people would let her mix the ‘cremains' with the grout, but she only ever did that with her dad's ashes.” Phil sighs. “She always got way too involved. I told her it wasn't healthy—interviewing the clients about the deceased for hours, looking at old photos, watching videos, searching for the perfect image. Sometimes—if it was a dead child—she would spend days in here. Not eating, not sleeping. She had to get it right. And she did. She has—had—more work than she could handle. I had to call all her clients a while ago. Even before she took off, she wasn't working.”

Sid closes the book. He feels as if he's suffocating—from the dust and from Devi and her ghosts. He strides out of the house and into the garage, scrambles up the loft ladder and throws himself facedown on the bed. Tomorrow he will go home, Wain or no Wain.

Sid wakes up to the sound of someone pounding on Phil's door. It's still light out. He guesses it must be about nine o'clock. He has a headache and he's hungry, but he isn't ready to face anyone: not Phil, not whoever is pounding on the door. He wouldn't mind seeing Elizabeth, but he doubts whether she's the source of the pounding. He stares up at the skylight and listens.

First Phil's footsteps, then the door opening.

“Jesus, Wain!” Phil says. “What happened to you?”

Another man's voice. “You Phileas Phine?”

Sid imagines Phil nodding.

“He says his mother's away. Is that right?” A female voice this time.

“Yes,” Phil says. “She's, uh, out of town, officer.”

Officer. So Wain has been returned by the cops. Sid slides off the bed and peers down the ladder into the room below. Two cops take up almost the whole small room. Wain is standing between them. There is an open cut under his right eye and his lower lip is swollen and bleeding. He is holding his left arm close to his body and taking shallow breaths.

“He says you're his guardian, sir,” the woman says. “Is that correct?”

“His guardian?” Phil sounds surprised, but he recovers quickly. “Yeah, I am. And his grandmother is here in town too. We're looking after him.”

“You sure about that?” The male cop sounds a bit aggressive, as if he'd like to pick a fight with Phil. “He was downtown, hanging with some pretty rough guys. He got beat up when someone tried to steal his bike.”

“Assholes,” Wain mumbles. “I kicked their asses.”

“Language,” the woman says. “Mr. Phine, this isn't the first time we've picked Wain up.”

“Pigs,” Wain says.

The woman sighs. “If he gets into trouble again, he might end up in juvie. You don't want that, Wain. Really.”

“Bitch,” Wain says. Phil grabs him by his elbow—his left elbow—and Wain screams. A high-pitched, girly scream.

“Apologize to the officer, Wain,” Phil says through gritted teeth. “Now.”

“You're hurting me,” Wain whines.

“Now, Wain,” Phil repeats.

“Sorry,” Wain whispers.

“Louder,” Phil says. “She can't hear you.”

“It's all right, sir,” the woman cop says. “I've been called worse.”

“It's not all right,” Phil says. “Louder, Wain, or they can take you back and throw you in a cell.”

“I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry.” Sid can tell Wain is almost in tears, but Phil is unmoved. He simply lets go of Wain's arm and shoves him into a chair.

“Thanks for bringing him home, officers,” he says. “I'll take it from here.”

“He may need a doctor,” the woman says. “Might have some broken ribs.”

Phil nods and repeats, “I'll take it from here.”

The cops turn to leave and Wain gives them the finger. Only Sid sees.

When the cops have gone, Sid climbs down from the loft and sits opposite Wain at the table while Phil cleans his cuts, applies a couple of butterfly bandages to the gash under his eye and wraps his ribs in wide adhesive tape.

“No way we're spending the night at Emerg,” Phil says. “Waste of time. These are all surface cuts, and the ribs? All they'll do is tape them anyway. I'm going to phone Elizabeth from Devi's house. You two okay here?”

Sid nods. “What happened to the Green Knight?” he asks after Phil leaves.

“Assholes took it,” Wain says. His speech is slurring and his eyelids are fluttering. He's only thirteen, Sid thinks. A kid. A tired, angry, confused kid.

“The guy who beat you up?”

Wain nods and a tear falls on the tabletop. He scrubs at it with his sleeve. “Two guys.”

“Harsh.”

More tears.

“I had an idea,” Sid says. “About you. And me.”

Wain sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve, which Sid takes as encouragement. At least he hasn't told him to fuck off.

“You could come back to the island with me. Hang out with me and my friend Chloe. Megan and Caleb will be cool with it. We could do some biking, go to the lake, maybe go out on Caleb's boat…” His voice trails off.

“Sounds awesome.”

Sid can't tell if Wain is being serious or sarcastic; his nose is too stuffed up.

“Maybe Elizabeth could come too,” Sid says.

Wain nods and puts his head down on the table. “So tired, man.”

Sid considers dragging Wain up into the loft, but decides instead to let him sleep in Phil's bed. He's not sure Wain can make it across the yard to his own room, and Sid doesn't want to go back inside Devi's house.

“Come on, buddy,” Sid says, pulling on Wain's good arm. Wain stands and, leaning heavily on Sid, staggers into Phil's room and collapses onto the bed, pulling his knees to his chest and moaning. Sid pulls off his runners and covers him with a blanket. “Sleep tight,” he says.

Wain whispers something as Sid shuts the door. It's either “Fuck you” or “Thank you.”

Phil comes back while Sid is on the phone with Megan. He looks panicked when he doesn't see Wain but relaxes when Sid points to the closed bedroom door.

“Not sure exactly,” Sid says to Megan. “Tomorrow sometime though. You sure it's okay?”

He watches Phil make tea as he listens to Megan tell him how glad she is that he's bringing Wain to the island. He hopes she feels the same after she meets him.

“I told Wain he could come home with me,” Sid says after he gets off the phone. “Hope that was okay. And I let him sleep in your bed too. He was dead on his feet. I took his shoes off.”

Phil smiles for the first time that evening. “You're a good kid, Sid.”

“Do you think Elizabeth would like to come? To the island?” Sid asks. “Megan says she's welcome to stay as long as she likes.”

Phil nods. “Elizabeth loves road trips. Loves to drive. But you can ask her yourself. She's on her way over. I'd like to go to the mainland to look for Devi—maybe she's gone back to her old stomping grounds in Vancouver.”

“Do you think Elizabeth would stop at McDonald's on the way over and get me a burger?” Sid says. “I'm starving.”

“Jesus, I'm sorry,” says Phil. “One kid injured, the other hungry. Not much of a guardian, am I?” He dials Elizabeth's number and asks her to pick something up. When she arrives she has hamburgers, yam fries, two kinds of salad and blackberry pie—enough for all of them, including Wain. It's definitely not from McDonald's.

“I have friends in high places,” is all she says when Sid asks where the food came from. The burger is the best he has ever had. The pie is amazing—almost as good as Megan's.

When he finishes the last bite of pie, Sid says, “Wain wants to come home with me.” He pauses and adds, “Well, he didn't say he wouldn't. And Phil wants to go to Van to look for Devi. Anyway, I wondered if you'd like to come too. To the island, I mean. Megan says it's okay. And I'd like you to come.” He stops. He's babbling, but Elizabeth is smiling.

“A road trip,” she says, her eyes shining. “Now that's something I haven't done in a long time. And I want to see your island, so yes! I accept your invitation, kind sir. When do we go?”

“Tomorrow?” Sid says. “I told Megan we'd come tomorrow.”

“Excellent plan,” Elizabeth says. “We'll whisk Wain away before he has a chance to change his mind.”

“Change my mind about what?” Wain is standing in the doorway to Phil's room. “You guys woke me up.”

He looks so much like a sleepy toddler after a nap that Sid can't help but laugh. “Dude, you need a shower,” he says. “Especially if we're gonna be in a car for six hours.”

“What car?”

“Mine,” Elizabeth says. “We're going on an adventure.”

“Screw adventures,” Wain says. “You got any food?” This time everybody laughs, even Wain, who gasps, “It kills, man,” as he clutches his ribs.

When Pigs Fly

“I
ain't goin'.” Wain winces as he crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Phil, who is stuffing an enormous black duffel bag into the trunk of Elizabeth's Honda. A night's sleep has not improved Wain's mood. “What if Mom comes back and no one is here? Ever think of that, asshole?”

Phil nods. “Matter of fact, I did. Her friend Holly is staying here until I get back from Vancouver. If Devi turns up, she'll call me.” He slams the trunk shut. “And I'll call you. Now, get in the car.”

For a second, Sid thinks Wain is going to hit Phil, which would be interesting to watch, but very stupid. Wain may be bigger, but he's also hurt and Phil is way stronger. From where he is sitting in the front seat of Elizabeth's car, Sid can see Wain's right fist clench and hear the sharp intake of his breath. Sid leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. He just wants to get going.

Elizabeth leans out the window and says, “Wain, we're waiting,” and he wrenches open the back door and lands in the backseat with a thud and a groan.

“I need some painkillers,” he says. “And not just that Ibuprofen shit.”

Elizabeth turns around to face him. “Ibuprofen's all you're getting, Wain. And stop talking as if you were born in the ghetto. It shows a paucity of imagination.”

“A paw-what?” Wain says, slamming the door and fastening his seatbelt, which makes him groan again.

“A paucity,” Sid says. “A lack. A dearth. A scarcity. An insufficiency.”

“I get it, dude,” Wain says, kicking the back of Sid's seat with one of his enormous runners. “And I got a good imagination. Better than yours, you pussy.”

“Language,” Elizabeth says as she backs out of the driveway.

“Pussy ain't swearing,” Wain mutters.

“Pussy
isn't
swearing, you mean,” Sid says.

“Who are you? The grammar police?” Wain snorts and jams his earbuds in his ears. “Let me know when we get there,” he says.

Sid wakes up as the car clunks over the ferry ramp. He has been asleep in the backseat since they left Nanaimo, where they had stopped for lunch at Tim Hortons. Wain had yelled “Shotgun!” when Sid came out of the restroom. Sid didn't mind; he was all out of conversation.

Elizabeth turns around and smiles at Sid after the car is parked.

“Shall we go upstairs?” she asks.

Sid rubs his eyes and yawns as the ferry pulls away from the dock and starts across the channel. Almost home, he thinks. Half an hour and I'll be there. Maybe Megan has made cookies.

“C'mon, man.” Wain jumps out of the car and races to the stairs, almost knocking over a young woman whose backpack is almost as big as she is. To Sid's surprise, Wain stops, apologizes and shoulders the gigantic pack, wincing as the pack thuds against him. The girl follows him to the stairwell, dreadlocks swinging. Sid opens the door for Elizabeth and takes her elbow as they cross the car deck. The tide is running, and the ferry bucks a bit in the chop. The last thing they need is for Elizabeth to fall and break a hip. When they get to the passenger lounge, there is no sign of Wain.

“Probably on the upper deck,” Sid says. “Want me to look?”

“I'll go,” Elizabeth says. “Stretch my legs a bit. It's been a long drive.”

“You sure?” Sid says. “The stairs are kinda steep. And it's really windy up there.”

Elizabeth laughs. “I'm the Gray Matter Granny, remember?” She pats his hand. “You worry too much.”

Elizabeth and Wain come back to the passenger lounge just as the ferry begins its wide turn into the cove, and the red railings of the government wharf come into view. Elizabeth's hair has come loose from its bun, and Wain looks like what he is, or should be anyway: a thirteen-year-old kid on vacation with his grandma and his brother, not a junior gangbanger.

“I always thought it was a nice touch that government wharves looked so cheerful and welcoming,” Elizabeth says. “They must be a lovely pick-me-up on a gray day.”

Before Sid can reply, Wain says, “This is awesome, dude. We saw whales! Killer whales! And Elizabeth says your dad has a boat. D'you think he'd take us out? There's this giant rock under the water—or there was until they blew it up.”

Sid looks at Elizabeth and smiles. “She told you about Ripple Rock, huh? I can show you the explosion online, if you like. It's pretty cool. And yeah, I'm sure Caleb—my dad—will take us out on the boat. As long as you follow his orders and wear a life jacket and the right shoes.” He likes saying “dad” even though he always calls Caleb by his first name.