Three Little Words (6 page)

“Devi knows she was a poor parent to Sid—”

“Poor?” Chloe's voice rises. “That's putting it mildly.”

“You gonna interrupt me every time I open my mouth?” Phil asks.

Chloe shakes her head and mimes zipping her lips together.

Phil continues. “She also knew that she did the right thing—giving Sid up. Leaving the island. At that point, she hadn't been diagnosed. Her life was chaos. She couldn't provide a stable home for Sid—she knew that. They were living on a leaky old boat, for chrissakes! She never told anyone but me about Sid. Not her mother, not Wain. But she got drunk once, years ago, and showed me a lock of his hair and a photograph of him as a baby. When she sobered up, and I asked her about it, she swore me to secrecy.”

Chloe opens her mouth to speak, and Phil holds up his hand like a Stop sign.

“By the time she got pregnant with Gawain, she'd been diagnosed and placed on a bunch of different medications, trying to find a combination that worked. Against her doctors' advice, she went off her meds. It was rough, but she hadn't had a major episode for a while and the pregnancy went okay. But she couldn't risk bringing Sid into the mix. It would have been too much. She went back on her meds for a while after Wain's first birthday, when his father left her. But she hated the side effects. She tried to control her moods with alternative stuff: herbal remedies, meditation, yoga. Up until about a year ago, she's been pretty good, but Wain's a handful. She had to go back on her meds.”

Chloe raises her hand, as if she's in school. Phil nods.

“How is Wain a handful?” she asks.

“He's started hanging out with an older crowd. Cutting school, staying out all night, getting into fights. The cops brought him home one night after he was caught stealing cheese, of all things. He said he had a sudden craving for extra-old cheddar.”

Megan, who has been silent so far, says, “I can imagine his mother would be freaking out.”

“She was,” Phil replies, “and she blamed herself, of course. The meds have a lot of side effects. She thought maybe Wain would do better if she was more alert, more involved in his life. She worried that she hadn't been paying enough attention to him. It didn't make any sense to me—she's a good mother. Better than most. Until she went cold turkey a few weeks ago.”

“Cold turkey?” Megan sounds shocked. “That's terrible.”

“I know,” Phil says. “It was. She had a full-blown manic episode, trashed her house and disappeared. Wain came home from school one day and she was gone. Two weeks later, he was gone too. So I decided to break the silence. I hope I've done the right thing.”

“But I still don't get why you're here,” Chloe says. “What does any of this have to do with Sid?”

Phil waits a long time before speaking. “Elizabeth asked me to come. Over the years, she and I have gotten pretty close. She wants to meet Sid. For some reason, she thinks he'll be able to find Wain. It's not logical, but there you have it. She's not a woman you argue with. And she is his grandmother.”

“Even so,” Megan says, “it's a lot to ask. Of Sid. Of us. After all this time. We don't know you—or Elizabeth. Sid's not going anywhere unless we feel it's safe.” Caleb reaches out and puts his large hand over Megan's small one.

“It's gonna be okay, hon,” he says. “We're just talking. Nothing's been set in stone. And Sid doesn't have to go if he doesn't want to. Right, Phil?”

Phil nods and takes a drink of water.

Chloe stands up and leans across the table toward Phil, her eyes narrowing. Sid can tell she's about to explode; he stands beside her and puts his arm around her shoulders, pulling her back from the table.

“He belongs here,” Chloe says. “With his family. With me. Not in Victoria with some—some lunatic and her juvie son.”

“It's okay, Chloe,” he says. “Like Caleb said, we're just talking. Nobody's saying I have to do anything.” He looks around the table at Phil and Megan and Caleb. “Right, guys?”

They all nod, but Chloe pulls away from Sid and rockets out of the rooms, slamming the front door. They can hear her pound down the stairs. In the silence that follows her exit, Caleb lets out a huge sigh, as if he has been underwater for a long time.

“What'd I tell you,” he says to Phil. “WMD.”

Watch Your Step

“A
re you sure, Sid?” Megan is sitting on Sid's bed, watching him fold his clothes and stuff them in his backpack.

“No,” Sid replies. “Not really. But I'm curious. I mean—a brother. And a grandmother. I gotta go, right?” What was it Irena always said to Chloe?
Curiosity
killed the cat.
Sid hopes this proves not to be true.

“Are you scared?” Megan reaches out and puts her hand on Sid's arm.

“Yeah. A bit.” Sid pauses in his packing. He's more than scared—he's terrified—but lately he's been thinking a lot about what Tobin said just before he left:
If you
don't watch out, you're going to turn into some phobic
hermit Unabomber weirdo.
Sid knows Tobin had a good point. If he doesn't break away from his routines soon, he never will. Looking for a lost brother seems like a good way to try. It feels horrible though, as if he is gutting himself with one of Caleb's fileting knives.

“I wouldn't go if she was there, you know,” he says as he rolls up yet another black T-shirt.

“If who was there?”

“Devi, Devorah, Debby. I never want to see her. You're my mother. Caleb's my father. I just want you to know I'm clear on that.” He clears his throat as tears sting his eyes.

Megan is silent for a moment.

“Thank you, Sid,” she finally says. “But if you want to see her, that's okay too. It's up to you. It won't change anything between us. We always wondered if Devi might turn up one day. It used to scare me, but not anymore. You've been our son for fourteen years. That's a long time. And it sounds like she's had a rough life.”

Sid shrugs. He wonders if there is something wrong with him—not wanting to meet his birth mother, not caring about her. He knows that lots of adopted children long for their biological parents, but he never has. Megan took him to a play therapist when he was about four and didn't want to go to pre-school. The therapist worked with him once a week for a few months and concluded that he had a bit of what she called social anxiety but nothing to be concerned about. He skipped kindergarten but went relatively cheerfully to grade one. By then, he and Chloe had become friends, so everyone relaxed: Sid was okay. A bit odd, maybe, but okay. Not fucked up—at least not any more than most kids. Now he wonders if bipolar disorder is an inherited disease. Although he's rarely, if ever, felt manic, the thought is still unsettling.

“I feel bad about Fariza,” Sid says to Megan. “I feel like I'm abandoning her.” He's never worried about another kid before, but Fariza is different. He wonders if this is what he'll feel like with Wain: protective, concerned, guilty.

“I know,” Megan replies. “But she's not your responsibility, you know. It's great that she's so comfortable with you, but she'll manage, I promise.”

“You think?”

Megan nods. “It's going to be a long time before she gets over what happened to her, if she ever does, but I think she knows she's safe here. And we'll talk about you every day. I'll remind her that you're coming back.”

“Okay.” Sid's backpack is stuffed to overflowing. He puts it on the floor and sits beside Megan on the bed. “I gave Fariza a sketchbook of her own. We work on it every day.”

“I know,” Megan says.

“I divided a whole bunch of pages for her. Enough for a couple of weeks. I drew myself coming home on the last page, so she won't forget. Could you help her write a story a day in the bottom box of every page? When I come back, I'll illustrate it for her.”

“Sure, sweetie,” Megan says. “No problem. And maybe you could call—check in every now and again. Even if she doesn't talk, I'm sure she'd like to hear your voice.” She laughs. “Oh, who am I kidding? I'd like to hear your voice.”

“How about I call every other day around suppertime?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Megan says. “You ready?”

“Ready as I'll ever be.” Sid hoists his backpack over one shoulder and pulls Megan into an awkward hug with his other arm.

“Onward and upward,” Megan mumbles into his armpit.

Sid throws his backpack into the back of Miss Havisham and gets into the front seat as Phil says his goodbyes to Megan and Caleb and Fariza. Chloe hasn't spoken to Sid since he told her he was going, so she isn't here to say goodbye. He has left email and phone messages telling her he'll be back soon, but she remains as silent as Fariza, who is standing with one arm wrapped around Megan's waist and the other arm clutching Fred.

“Bye, Fariza,” Sid calls. “See you soon. Don't forget to draw in your book.”

He waves jauntily at her, trying to look cheerful rather than upset. She gives him a small smile and then buries her face in Megan's side. He feels like the worst person in the world. Selfish. Inconsiderate. Foolish. But also excited. And more than a little anxious.

“Ready?” Phil slides into the driver's seat and puts on his sunglasses.

Sid nods, and Phil backs out of the driveway. Sid doesn't look back. He is silent on the ride to the ferry. He stays in the car when they get on board, while Phil goes up to the passenger lounge. Sid shuts his eyes and slumps down in the seat. He doesn't want to see the familiar scenery slip by: the red wharf, the white fish boats, the green islet in the cove, the blue water, the ferry's frothy wake. He doesn't want to hear the squeak of the ferry against the pilings, the clang of the ramp coming up, the casual chatter between passengers as they make their way upstairs. There's a great audio system in the car. Maybe he should dig out his iPod and plug it in. Phil's iPod is sitting in the well between the seats. Between them, they probably have more than enough music for the five-hour trip. Sid prays that Phil isn't a fan of either Dixieland or disco. Anything else he can stand, although he wonders how Phil feels about Foo Fighters or Mother Mother.

As they near the other side, Phil returns to the car and they sit in silence, waiting for the ramp to come down and connect them to the next part of their journey.

“You go to Victoria very often?” Phil asks.

“Nope,” Sid says. “Usually Vancouver. Megan likes Ikea.”

Phil laughs. “Who doesn't?”

“Me,” Sid says. “Too crowded. Too noisy.”

“Gotcha.” Phil is silent for a few minutes, but as they reach the turnoff to the highway, he says, “You always such a hard-ass?”

Sid laughs. “You think I'm a hard-ass?” No one has ever called him anything like that.

“Well, aren't you? The silent treatment's pretty harsh.”

“It's not meant to be,” Sid says, although this is a bit of a lie. He really doesn't want to talk to Phil. Phil is the messenger, and Sid still isn't sure whether to shoot him or welcome him. “It's not personal. I'm just not much of a talker.” No way he's going to tell Phil that he feels like he's going to puke.

“I got that.” Phil shoots him a sideways glance. “But we've got a long ride ahead of us—you might want to throw me a bone.”

“How would I do that?” Sid asks, genuinely curious.

“Tell me about growing up on the island, about your art, about your ambitions. Tell me what music you listen to, what books you love.”

“We could just listen to the music I like,” Sid says, gesturing at the audio system. “For a while anyway.”

Phil considers this for a minute and then says, “Fine. Your music until we hit Nanaimo, mine between Nanaimo and Duncan and then conversation from Duncan to Victoria. That'll give you a lot of time to think of things to talk about. Deal?”

“Deal,” Sid says as he plugs in his iPod.

“Jingle Pot Road,” Phil says.

Sid, who has been thinking about Chloe and wishing she had come to say goodbye, turns down the music. “What did you say?”

“Jingle Pot Road. We just passed it. We're in Nanaimo, land of strip malls, abandoned coal mines and weird place names. Can you imagine living on Buttertubs Marsh or Dingle Bingle Hill? Makes you wonder what those coal miners were smoking.”

Sid laughs. Phil is intense, but even Sid has to admit he's a good travel companion. They had stopped at a wide beach near Parksville to eat the lunch Megan packed for them, sitting side by side on a log and watching whole families almost vanish on the shimmering tidal flats. Plastic shovels and tiny sneakers lay in the sand next to pails full of sand dollars. Sid worried that the sea would swallow them. He remembers losing his favorite sand toy—a yellow plastic bulldozer—on this beach. He and Megan and Caleb had walked what seemed to him miles and miles to the water's edge. When they got back, the bulldozer was gone. He had been inconsolable, and even now he feels a twinge of the distress he felt at four. It was, he thinks, the first time he had lost something that really mattered to him. Unless he counts his mother, which he doesn't.

After they leave Nanaimo, Sid falls asleep to some peculiar, but oddly soothing, music that sounds vaguely Celtic, but also vaguely Asian. When he wakes up, the car is parked at a Dairy Queen in Duncan. Phil is nowhere to be seen.

Sid orders a Blizzard with Reese's Pieces and sits at a picnic table outside to eat it. Phil comes out of the bathroom, gets a hot fudge sundae and sits down across from Sid.

“There is a god,” Phil states, spooning up a mouthful of his sundae.

“If you say so,” Sid says, although he's inclined, at this moment, to agree.

“You can start anytime,” Phil says.

“Start what?”