Billy fought with Nick on the drive to the loony bin that morning.
You’re coming home for lunch.
No thanks.
Non-negotiable.
I’m having lunch with Grandma.
Not today. You’re coming home. You don’t live there, Billy, you live with me.
Like I have a choice.
My point. You don’t. You’re coming home.
They sniped like that the whole way. Billy won when he threatened to run away with Evie. He couldn’t stand Prairie View, but Nick’s place was worse. Except now Dorothy told him that the dining room was too crowded, and his grandma’s fees didn’t include feeding him lunch too.
He slumped in her rocker, feet dangling over the armrest, waiting for her to be done. Their morning had been miserable. Mostly he’d kept his mouth shut while he’d tried to hold his shit together. His grandma had kept Nick a secret for a really long time. Billy wanted to know why she didn’t tell either one of them about the other—like years ago—only now it was too late to ask. And he couldn’t let on he was pissed either. It wouldn’t be fair, and she wouldn’t understand, and if for one second she remembered why she’d done what she’d done, the thought would fly right out of her head. So instead of bringing it up, he’d spent a lot of time staring at a tiny spider on the ceiling. The spider never moved so it might have been a smudge. He was so hungry he could eat a cow.
“Hello!” A large woman sauntered into the room. “You’re here all alone?”
He stood quickly, feeling as if he’d been caught. “Grandma’s in the dining room. I’m just waiting for her to come back.”
She looked about, eyes veiled by subtle creases and hints of sapphire blue shadow, eyebrows sculpted with precise arcs. A cascade of vibrant feathers suspended from her ears.
“Mom’s sleeping. Her name’s Victoria. Like the queen.” She snorted when she said that. “We’re right next door.”
Billy had peeked into that room with the old woman in a bed. “Oh,” he said like a dork, as if this was his first conversation.
“I’m Rachel.” She strode towards him. “Rachel Moss.”
“Billy.” He extended his hand, which she ignored.
“And your grandma’s name is Evie. I asked the staff. I’m nosy like that.” She cleared her throat as if something had stuck, some kind of respiratory problem, a rosiness under her overblown nose.
“I’m going for a Teen Burger at the A&W drive-through. I try to order food that I don’t like. That helps me keep my figure.”
His stomach griped in multiple syllables. What was wrong with Teen Burgers? He could eat five.
“Want to come?” she asked, eyebrows jumping.
Really? She seemed harmless, with her feather earrings and soft wrinkly neck, but still. And he didn’t have money.
“Thanks, no, but thanks.”
“My treat,” she said, ignoring him. “We can be there and back before your grandma is finished in the dining room. It will do us both good to get out of here.”
So he followed her to the parking lot like a starved dog. Her Volkswagen had dents and scrapes, and the engine sizzled and hissed before finally starting up. Inside was a collection of pet stuff: chew toys, a leash and collar, dog biscuits, everything still in packaging. He found a spot for his feet on the cluttered floorboard and scrunched his legs, buckled his seat belt, and hoped for the best.
They jolted along.
“I can’t remember the last time I had a passenger.” She tapped the steering wheel with her sapphire blue fingernail. On top of the blue, she’d painted flowers on each nail, tiny strokes of pastel to form petals. Impressive. “Never actually,” she continued. “No one’s been in here besides me. You don’t get carsick, do you?”
She seemed to have trouble staying on the right side of the road. “How many dogs do you have?” he asked, braking with his foot as she swerved for no reason.
She laughed. “None. I’m allergic. But the neighbours are friendly. Sebastian lives next door—a bouncy Great Dane, and Velcro beside him, probably a rescue by the looks of his Rottweiler backside and lab snout. Honey is my favourite, the bichon frise across the street. She loves watching the bunnies through the screen door.”
“You have bunnies?”
She laughed again. “Not mine exactly. They’re wild. But they like hanging out with me. I feed them greens every day and built them a hutch for when the weather is crappy.”
She took a wild turn without using her signal and the car rumbled past a row of matchbox houses. His stomach roared, no A&W in sight. It occurred to him this might be a kidnapping.
“Here!” She slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road and pointed to a tiny house nearly as bad as Nick’s. It had a saggy roof and chipped paint and a large piece of plywood nailed crooked over the side window. “Home sweet home. I’m looking after it until it sells. I sure as hell don’t want it; spent enough time in this shitbox as a kid. Moved halfway across the country a few months ago. That’s when my dad died. He croaked the day before I got back, which was just as well. His whole life he didn’t even try to not be his worst. Mom’s close to the end now too. She’s easier to get along with than she used to be.” Billy held his thumbs inside his fists and studied the For Sale sign tamped into the dirt. Rachel surveyed the yard, the street, looking this way and that. “See them?”
“Sorry?” Hay bales scattered along her dead brown grass.
“The bunnies.”
The only wildlife were a few tiny birds poking around the cracks in the sidewalk. No sign of Sebastian or Velcro either.
“The lettuce is gone. And the carrots.” She stared off into space, lips drawn down, as if she were seeing a bunny murder. They sat like that in the middle of the road, not going anywhere. He thought about inching open his door and making a run for it, but then she laughed and said, “They’ll be back!” Her foot slammed on the gas, and they bounced down the road again.
No car parts fell off on the way to the A&W, which was squeezed between a car wash and a used bookstore at the far end of town. One truck idled ahead of them in the drive-through. She pulled up to the microphone, rolled down her window, and barked out their order without asking what he wanted. Three Teen Burgers, two chocolate shakes, and a large onion rings. Good choices for a lady her age. He hoped the extra burger was for him.
“So how are you and your grandma getting along?” she asked.
He shrugged, not having the words for it.
“What brought you both here, anyway?”
“Nick.” The name tasted bitter in his mouth.
“Your dad?”
“Apparently. That’s what the papers say. We haven’t known each other long.”
“Oh,” she nodded. “I get it. Your dad’s new to the business of fatherhood. He’ll eventually figure out that a boy needs lunch.”
He snorted. It wasn’t all true but close enough.
“Big adjustment for you,” she said.
He watched while she dug into her purse, pulled out a wad of Kleenex, and blew her nose ferociously.
“Allergies,” she said. “So you’ve got a new town. New house. New school in the fall.”
He felt like they’d been dropped into a rat-infested refugee camp. “I hate it here.”
“Perfectly reasonable.” She seemed unfazed as she popped the glove compartment and scooped up scattered bills and change. “Although it sounds like despair, and I don’t believe in it. You can be desperate. Miserable, sure. But despair is a dead end. It means no hope and there’s always that.”
What hope? “Grandma doesn’t fit in here,” he said, irked to hear his voice crack. “There’s nothing for her to do.”
“My mother gags and drools and snores and farts. She can’t sit unless she’s propped up with pillows. Doesn’t know who I am or why I’m there.”
He couldn’t stand to think of his grandma winding down like that.
“I tell her my secrets, and she’s never been a better listener.” She didn’t sound sorry as she counted toonies. “And she doesn’t judge me at all anymore. Does your grandma still know who you are?”
“Yeah.”
“And you can still have a conversation?”
“Yeah, if we keep it simple.”
“Her legs work. I’ve seen her clipping down the hallway.”
“Yeah.”
“Then when it gets hard, you can take her for a walk. There’s a bench to sit on by the spruce tree at the end of the parking lot.”
Maybe he really could just walk away with her.
The truck ahead drove off and she rammed the Volkswagen up to the window. A life-saving waft of salt and oil and dripping meat washed over him. She scrunched her nose in disgust as she passed him the bag.
“If you want something and can’t have it, you need to want something else. Now eat.”
He tore open the bag. He could think of nothing new to want in this horrible place.
He bit into his burger; he’d never tasted anything so good. Rachel Moss might be the world’s worst driver, but he’d say yes to a road trip if she asked him again.
Nick pointed the truck towards the highway, Billy sullen beside him. It was less than ten miles to the county office, located halfway between Rigsbee and the lake. The county was responsible for a thousand square miles of land surrounding Rigsbee and a few dozen hamlets, with departments for agriculture, environment, and enforcement. They did a piss-poor job at all three.
The boy made it clear that he was doing a piss-poor job at this father thing too. The kid spent all day every day at Prairie View. When Nick picked him up at night, they could find nothing to say to each other. How’s your grandma doing? Rolled eyes. What did you do all day? No comment. Think we should get Evie a TV? which at least forced Billy to speak. She doesn’t watch TV, the mumbled response, like Nick was an idiot.
For what little time they’d spent together, each minute dragged on. At one point, Nick banged on the old wall clock, thinking it must have quit moving forward. They sat through silent suppers, concentrating on their food’s journey from plates to mouths. When they were done, Billy carried his dishes to the sink and disappeared to his room. Nick wondered why he cared what Billy was doing in there, as he paced back and forth, driving himself crazy. Billy would stay locked away until the next morning when they would do it all again.
Nick’s parents would have known what to do. They were naturals with kids Billy’s age, with kids any age. He didn’t have a clue, but even idiots knew that fourteen-year-olds couldn’t hide indefinitely in a place like Prairie View. Leaving him there every day would be like clubbing a baby seal. Too easy. Wrong.
Billy had grumbled about joining him on this road trip. It was a dreary day, matching their moods, low clouds dulling their view of the yellow fields.
“What kind of music do you like?” Nick clicked through the truck’s radio stations. When Billy shrugged, he settled for an old Stones song.
“The county office is just a few miles up.” Nick sped along the empty road. “I’ve got some unfinished business that won’t take long.”
“I got unfinished business too.” Billy stared out his window.
“Yeah? And what’s that?”
Billy wouldn’t look over. “I don’t need babysitting.”
“And you don’t have to babysit your grandma either. She’s being well cared for.”
Billy snorted. “Like you’d know.”
He didn’t. He knew dick about either of them. “Well, tell me then? Tell me about your grandma. What did you guys used to do? Before this.”
Nothing.
Nick would just as soon dump Billy where he’d found him. But he kept his mouth shut and cranked the radio, Mick belting out the words to “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” an appropriate tribute to the pair of them.
By the time he pulled into the county office, Nick was bristling with pent-up frustration and spoiling for a fight. He cut the engine and he and Billy sat, staring at the showy building with floor-to-ceiling windows, a large Canadian flag flapping in the wind.
“We’re here,” Nick said, stating the obvious. “Our tax dollars at work.” He’d been dealing with the county for years with nothing to show for it. The situation had gotten worse since a new developer had proposed taking over the northeast side of the lake. Nick unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door. “Come on, let’s go.”
“No thanks,” Billy said, unmoving.
“This won’t take long. Then we can head to the lake and check things out if you want.”
“No thanks,” Billy said again, looking straight ahead.
Nick didn’t need the kid beside him, but he didn’t want to lose this fight. He slammed his door, marched around the truck, and yanked open Billy’s.
“Get out of the truck.”
“Jesus,” Billy hurled himself out of his seat, nearly falling on his way down.
Nick marched his son into the county office and up to the receptionist’s desk. Marjorie Cohen, a fifty-something woman with big glasses and bigger hair, looked up from her computer. She scrunched her nose like a bad smell had just wafted into the room.
“Hi, Marjorie. Is Peter in?”
“Hello, Nick.” She looked from Nick to Billy but didn’t ask about the awkward, sullen boy standing beside him. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Peter’s expecting me.” Nick smiled widely.
“Oh, I’m sure he is.” Marjorie heaved herself up off her chair. “I’ll see if I can find him.” She shuffled through the glass door leading to the maze of cubicles. Nick had been back there many times, but after his last few yelling matches, those invitations stopped. Now he wasn’t allowed past the reception area beside the exit door.
“We might as well take a seat.” Nick pointed to the chairs in front of the glass wall.
Billy flopped down like a limp cabbage leaf. The kid was too long for his stick frame, big feet attached to skinny legs, not yet grown into himself. “She looked real happy to see you,” he said.
Nick laughed. “We’re the best of friends.” He sat beside Billy and leaned forward, elbows on knees, ignoring Billy’s squirming. He’d given Peter the flash drive last week. Fifty-seven photos of the land’s hot mess between the cottages and the shoreline. He could have shot a hundred more: deep trenches of muck; mudholes the size of swimming pools; broken branches and destroyed marsh. The county was doing nothing to stop the damage to these wetlands.
Billy blew air out of his cheeks. “You said this wouldn’t take long. I don’t think that lady’s coming back.”
“You got somewhere else you’d rather be?”
“Um. Yeah.”
Marjorie came back through the glass door. “He’ll be with you shortly.” She placed her fingers on the keyboard, lifting her eyes over the top of her glasses to focus in on Nick. Peter followed a few minutes later, a short balding man with plenty of nose hair and yellowed teeth. He kept his head down as he marched over to where Nick and Billy were sitting.
“Nick. I’m heading into a meeting. It would be great if you could call first, save you any inconvenience.”
Nick stood, extending his hand, which Peter shook limply. “I was in the area.”
Peter turned to Billy, who straightened himself out.
“My son, Billy,” Nick said.
Peter looked genuinely surprised as he stared at the boy. “Oh, you didn’t mention you—”
“Did you get a chance to look through the photos?”
Peter took a second to readjust and switch his gaze from son to father. “Yes, I’ve seen them. I’m sorry, but I can’t deal with this now. I’m heading into a meeting.”
As Peter stepped back, Nick stepped forward, staying close to the man. “You can’t keep ignoring this. Those wetlands are fragile. And now the ATVers are driving through the bush to avoid the pits they made last year. You’ve seen the damage. Well, not up close. I guess county development officers don’t do site visits to see the shit soup brewing under their noses. But the photos prove the point. The impacts are gonna last for decades. For your kids and your kids’ kids. And you’re letting it happen.”
“Look, Nick, we realize there are issues at Goose Lake. And we’re dealing with them. We have an information pamphlet going out next week. We’ve put up the No Motorized Vehicle signs, like we told you.”
Nick raised his hand and pointed two fingers in Peter’s face. “Two. Two signs for a thirty square mile area. And one’s down already. Tossed in the bush. You knew that, right?”
Peter pursed his lips. “No. No, I didn’t. But like I’ve told you, we’ve got a lot of stakeholders here. It’s going to take the will of the cottagers to make the lakeshore an ATV-free zone.”
“Oh right, the cottagers. City folk. In for the weekend with their fancy toys, tearing up the land.”
“They’re good people, just using their ATVs to get their kids to the beach and back. We don’t have the manpower to patrol the shoreline, handing out tickets.”
“Except now you’re allowing this new development to do the same, only bigger scale.”
“That’s a totally different situation. Overdale Developments will generate a lot of revenue for our county. Yes, they will have designated ATV trails, but they will be stewards of the environment too. We’ve gone over this.”
Nick’s jaw tightened. “Give me a break. You think their ATVs will stick to their paths? They’ll be up and down the shoreline, just more of them.”
“There’s been plenty of consultation. Focus groups, open sessions.”
“Right. With the developer and his cronies. Promising paradise to the city folk. You’re condoning an environmental catastrophe.”
Peter sighed wearily. “What do you want me to say? Whatever issues you got going on, you need to deal with them. I’ve got a meeting to get to, and we’re finished here.”
Nick brought out his last card. “I’ve sent the photos to all the councillors too.” He’d mailed a set of photos, along with a terse two-page letter, to all twelve county councillors. “What do you think their response will be?”
Peter smirked. “Yeah, I’ve had some calls. I know exactly what their response will be. The councillors are pro-progress, Nick. You’re not even a constituent. Your parents owned land at the lake, but they don’t anymore, and neither do you. This is not your concern. This development’s going through, and you need to get on with your life.”
Peter disappeared through the glass door. Nick glanced at the smug Marjorie. When he turned to collect his boy, he found him already heading for the exit.
They buckled up in the truck without saying a word. He couldn’t take Billy’s lip right now, but the kid just said, “Can I see the photos?” with no sign of snark.
He handed Billy his phone and watched him scroll through the photos, taking his time, enlarging some, furrowing his brow.
Billy said nothing as he handed back the phone.
“We could go take a look if you want.” Nick started the engine. There were not many people he showed himself to, but if Billy wanted in, he could open that door a crack. “The lake’s just a few miles west of here. There’s still some pretty parts. I grew up there. My family ran a campground.”
“You giving me a choice?” Billy asked.
Nick didn’t know the right way to answer. What would a father say? Before he could respond, Billy added, “Cuz I’d rather go to Prairie View.”
Right. That door would stay closed.