Sixteen

Raven

I walk down the block, past the Middle Eastern man selling street meat, and he gives me an odd look. Probably because I’ve passed him twelve times. Effort thirteen goes about the same. I near the address on East Hastings Nico gave me, I slow down, my heart rate speeds up, and I keep moving. If Nico were with me, I’d be braver. With him at my side in Fraser Valley, my nerves didn’t best me. But he’s been broody(er) since the call I wasn’t supposed to hear, more distracted. He stares at nothing with his fists clenched tight, and I didn’t want to add to his stress.

Instead we’ve given each other exactly what we need: distraction. Reliving the day I let Rose down reopened a fetid, old wound. It thrust my shame to the forefront. Each remembered blow she took that night reverberated through my body, snapshots from the horror unsettlingly vivid. The blood that bubbled from her mouth. The deafening screams. The smell of my urine lingering on the carpet for days. Until I find Rose, I can believe she loves me and misses me and wishes she could find me, too. That leaving me was the hardest thing she’s ever done. That she forgives me. Until we meet, I still have that.

So, the past two weeks, I’ve hit pause on my search. Nico’s day shifts have given us the freedom to walk on the beach and kiss under the stars and get sweaty between the sheets. My house. His house. We’ve allowed ourselves to live in the moment.

This morning, however, I woke up pumped. Rejuvenated. It could have been the three orgasms or waking up with Nico’s talented tongue between my thighs. Whatever the reason, I knew I had to stop putting off my search. Unwilling to add more drama to Nico’s life, I asked the girls to come—to see them and have their support. We’ve barely talked recently. Shay and Lily are bogged down with their day jobs, our joint business venture not getting much attention. But both were busy. I almost gave up, delayed things for another day or week, but I was too wired and Sasha didn’t have any clients booked.

That leaves me wearing a path on the cement.

I tap my toe and eye the door to the apartments as a couple of boys strut by. The taller of the two runs his tongue over his top lip when he sees me, a crude gesture that has me crossing my arms over my chest. I should text Nico and let him know where I am, but he’d be pissed I came here on my own. Better not to poke the beast.

“Let’s do this,” I mutter to myself, tired of my delay tactics.

Another internal pep talk later, I march straight for the door and step inside. A synthetic strawberry scent hits me, barely covering thick wafts of mildew and cigarettes. Without pausing, I climb the stairs up the narrow space. Apartment 201 is at the top. Just a door. In a building. But Rose could be behind it. Unlike at the farm, I came as myself today. No hat to hide behind. No floral dress. Tight black skirt, boots, and a Death Metal T-shirt. Take me as I am.

I squeeze my fists a few times, then blow out a breath and knock.

Nothing.

A ratty pair of shoes is outside the door, an open garbage can covered in something sticky beside it. My stomach feels sticky, too. Leaving would be easy. But the thought of not seeing Rose today, of living in limbo another minute, is as suffocating as this nasty strawberry smell. I knock harder.

“Yeah, yeah…coming!”

I freeze at the male voice, my knuckles hovering in midair.

“What do you want?” The door doesn’t open, but the voice is closer.

My neck tingles, as though someone’s eyeing me through the peephole. “I’m looking for a woman. Rose Hunt.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t ask who she is, doesn’t sound confused by the name. She could be in there right now. Excitement and nerves spiral through me. Like with Clara, I sense the need for honesty. Stories and excuses will likely shut this Ross guy down.

I clear my throat. “She’s my sister.”

A lengthy pause. Then, “Your name?”

“Raven Hunt.”

A chain jostles, and the door swings wide. The man looks to be in his forties, tall and lean with a thinning ponytail. His gaze dips down my body. “You have the same eyes, but she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that.”

“Are you Russ?”

He nods, letting the silence extend between us.

I chew my cheek. “I heard Rose was living here. Is she around?”

Yawning, he leans on the doorjamb and stubs his bare foot into the frayed carpet. “She left a month ago. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s at the local shelter.”

Homeless shelter? My heart stutters to a stop. The smells disappear. My worst fear is realized: Rose’s life has careened downhill. His green eyes are red-rimmed, but he doesn’t look high, not like Wispy and Lake. Sadness darkens his sunken features.

“Were you guys dating?” I ask.

The corners of his lips tilt up. “Something like that.”

We study each other, me twisting my hands, him jamming his foot into the floor. Awkward, meet Uncomfortable. But this is different than the hippie den. When Clara said she didn’t know Rose had a sister, it cut deep. Here I am obsessing over her, searching for her, and she’s barely given me a thought. Or she’s blocked me out, chosen to forget the sibling who betrayed her. But Russ opened the door when I said who I was. “Did Rose talk about me?”

“Yeah.” I hold my breath until he goes on, “Said you were a cute kid.”

Is that how she remembers me—cute? Shy? The kid who’d beg her to watch cartoons? If it were only that simple. The weight of his earlier admission snaps me back to the moment. “Why would she be at a shelter?”

Standing upright, he steps back and grips the door. As if to close it. As if to cut this conversation short. “Rose’s priorities aren’t what they should be. Keep that in mind if you find her.” With that, he shuts me out.

His warning rings in my ears, reminding me I haven’t seen my sister in a lifetime. She may be the girl who took me to catch frogs and taught me how to skateboard, but playing games doesn’t help you survive on your own. Not when she was thrust into the world with a dislocated shoulder and a collection of gashes and bruises. Who knows what she’s done to stay afloat? Hopefully his advice was the caution of a wounded man, his glassy eyes hinting as much, and Rose talked about me. She stood on this spot and dated that man, each bit of information teasing me like a cloud I can’t quite grasp.

I could wait and visit the shelter with Nico, but I missed her by a month here. There’s no telling what a day or two might impact.

When the cocktail of odors gets too much, I hurry down the stairs and bust out the door, but the fresh air I crave is thwarted by smoke. A woman blows a thick stream as her sneakers shuffle down the sidewalk. I pull out my phone and search for shelters. Not surprising, there’s one close by. A number of others appear, but Russ called it the “local” shelter. I don’t pause, don’t pace in front of the hot dog guy. Cell shoved in my purse, I hoof it to the address without a backward glance.

*  *  *

The shelter isn’t hard to find. A queue leads to a kiosk-style window—people lined up for a bed. If I had a camera, I’d take shots, my street-life essay that much closer to conclusion. Even without it I squint, splitting the scene into frames. Each blink is the snap of my shutter.

Blink. A young boy plays with a cigarette butt.

Blink. A girl in sweats flips through a fashion magazine.

Blink. An emaciated man feeds his dog.

There’s more humanity in that gesture than in most people’s souls.

This lifestyle isn’t so far from my reality. Another time, and I could have been here for a very different reason. But as Nico said, I’m defined by the choices I make now, today, not the mistakes I made in the past. His mysterious phone call comes back, the thought like poking a bruise. He hasn’t breathed a word about it, and I haven’t asked. What happens to the man who values right over wrong if he breaks the law to save his brother? How much of his soul does he lose? As I stew over the unsettling implications, I join the line, until I’m next.

A Plexiglas divider separates me from a black woman, her braids pulled tight, revealing tired eyes. “We’re full up tonight. But if you leave your name, you’ll be near the top of the list tomorrow.”

My spirit dims. There are at least ten people behind me, including two kids. But they’re not why I’m here. Maybe they’ll find room at a different shelter. “Actually, I’m looking for someone.”

She pulls a binder in front of her and opens the book. “Name?”

I dig my nails into my palms. “Rose Hunt.”

The wall to the side is covered in spray paint, vibrant colors and bold lines layered to create a word I can’t quite read. I study it like it’s one of those 3-D posters with a hidden image. No dinosaur appears, but slowly, letters emerge, and the word terror expands across the brick. It’s as though the artist, with the use of exploding flames and jagged edges, has captured my self-portrait.

The lady clears her throat. “Rose should be inside. I can have someone call her out.”

Forget terror. This is zombie-apocalypse scary. But I won’t flake out. I’m the girl who moved across the country without a job. I’m rocking my apprenticeship, my photography is improving, and I have a whole lotta man who looks at me like I’m his last drink of water.

I attempt a smile. “That would be great.”

“Who should I say is asking?”

The girl she left behind. The girl who ruined her life. “Her sister.”

The woman says something to a man then nods to the next person in line.

I step aside to wait. And…wait. My attention doesn’t waver from the front door. There’s a massive dent in the steel. It must have taken some kind of force to bend it. A bat, maybe, swung really hard. I run through several scenarios that could have resulted in the vandalism, when the metal door pushes open, and my breath rushes out. Rose. She emerges like an apparition, and my pulse beats an unsteady rhythm, every apology I’ve ever imagined saying to her vanishing in an instant. All I can do is stare. And try to breathe. Her eyes are dark, like mine. Her hair is long, like mine. The recognition spills over me as tears well up.

My sister.

She squints and blinks, scanning me from head to toe. “Raven?”

She’s not as pretty as I recall. Her gaunt cheeks highlight her cheekbones, her fair skin pasty white, and I don’t remember her having freckles over her nose or the thin scar crossing her upper lip. But there’s no doubt who she is. We stand like this awhile, assessing each other, a couple feet apart but seventeen years between us.

I wipe at the corner of my eye, unsure when it got wet, and she approaches me. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her cords, her baggy tie-dyed shirt hanging over her wrists. “How’d you find me?”

I’m about to answer, when I notice her mouth. Gone are Rose’s perfect teeth, an ochre-stained smile in their place. I run my tongue over my gap, the space Nico finds sexy. The space that always made me feel inferior. For years, I’d imagine her grin brightening up a room like a silly toothpaste ad. Now it’s gone. Or did I remember it wrong? How much of our relationship have I fabricated?

I clear my throat. “It’s a long story, but Russ said he thought you’d be here.”

“Russ? That asshole?”

I wince at her biting tone and shrug. “He seemed nice enough.”

She waves a hand. “Sorry. There’s history there. So…are you living here now? In Vancouver?” Her eyes dart as she speaks, landing on me and flitting about. Restless. Wary. Must come with living in places like this.

I nod. “Almost two months. Heard you moved out West and figured I’d poke around. Do you mind that I’m here?”

She shuffles her feet. “It’s fine.”

The worst word in the English language. Fine is pissed off. It’s passive-aggressive for “mind your own damn business.” I used that word for the majority of my teen years. How odd, after all this time, after all my visions of this moment, to be here, facing Rose, talking to her with words like fine. I can’t even bring up my ninth birthday. Can’t fathom what I’d say.

Unlike with my grandmother, there’s no hug. She hasn’t made a move to wrap her arms around me. No tears collect in her eyes. Mine dry up, awkwardness filling the void. She may not be mad I turned up, but she doesn’t seem overjoyed.

“I wasn’t sure if I should contact you, you know, since you never called.” The bite in my voice surprises me. And God, where does my anger even come from? What right do I have to be mad?

“Living in that house was a bad scene for me, Raven. It was either get dragged down or move on.”

My resentment cowers under her harsh tone. We both lived in that house. We suffered through the drunken fits and unpaid bills. But I unleashed my father on her, the final blow. I’d have run far and fast if I’d been her. Never looked back. “I’m sorry. This is all just…weird.”

“You’re telling me.” Her attention drifts behind me, her dark eyes narrowing. “You here on your own? Not married or anything?”

Twisting, I follow her gaze. A blond man in army pants and a wife beater stares our way, right at Rose. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t bother to hide his perusal. He tongues a tooth, revealing a gap much larger than mine. If Nico were here, I doubt this guy would have the balls to stare so openly. I move to block Rose from view.

“I’m seeing someone, but we’re not married. You know that guy?” I gesture to the creep with the crooked nose.

She shakes her head quickly. “No.” But she smiles at me, really smiles. Her teeth may be stained, her top front tooth chipped, but the gesture melts the strain between us. “Sorry. This was just unexpected. I’m not exactly proud to be living here. But…” She grabs my shoulders, hesitates a beat, then pulls me against her chest. “I’ve missed you.”

My remaining apprehension thaws, because this. This. This.

But there’s another reason I’m here. Gripping her back, I gulp down my hesitation. This could be my only chance to speak with Rose. She could disappear again. We could go our separate ways. It’s now or never. “I took the brooch,” I say, “that day. I took it and said nothing.”

My pulse chases out the words, leaving my heart pounding in my ears. I don’t remind her of the horrors she endured. Don’t tell her how terrified I was. I doubt she’s forgotten.

She doesn’t answer at first. My throat burns, like each swallow is barbed. Then she runs a hand down my hair. “I know. I always knew. You think I’d have let him touch you?”

Oh God, she knew.

I choke on a sob, the messy kind. A garbled, wretched sound. She knew all along. She took those blows for me. Protected me. It makes the whole ordeal worse and better. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

She stiffens but doesn’t release me. “Don’t apologize for that man. Don’t take the blame for what he did. I’m sorry I left you there. Wish I’d been strong enough to take you with me. But don’t go thinking anything in that house was your fault.”

Sounds so easy, to shift the blame. Rational even. But I know what I did. I also know so much in that house wasn’t right. There’s plenty of blame to go around. I’ll own mine. Live with it. Finally have the chance to pay Rose’s actions forward. I wipe my runny nose, and we go back to standing near but far, discomfort returning.

The line of people has thinned, but more appear to add their names on tomorrow’s list—too many in need, too few beds. If Rose weren’t here, maybe the elderly woman in line wouldn’t have to sleep on the street tonight. Mid-September means cooler nights, the kind frail bones don’t tolerate well. My apartment is a palace compared to this facility. A beige palace, but roomy nonetheless. I came here to find my sister, to have her in my life.

Why not start with offering her a bed?

Her attention is back on the guy behind me. Another reason to get her away from here. Away from people like that. Whatever knocked her off her feet, she deserves a second chance.

“Move in with me.” I’ve come this far, no point tiptoeing around the subject.

She chews her lip. “I couldn’t.”

“Sure you could.”

“It wouldn’t be fair.” She studies the ground between us.

Seriously? Fair? She took a beating for me. “My place is plenty big, and you can use the time to find a job. Assuming you don’t have one.”

Again, her gaze flits, like she knows the creep eyeing her. When I look, he’s gone and her posture relaxes. “It wouldn’t be for long,” she says. “I’d get out of your hair as soon as possible.”

My mood lifts, the weeks and months of imagining this moment worth the worry and unbridled hope. “Yeah. Whatever. However long you need is fine. It’ll give us time to reconnect.”

“Okay. Let me get my stuff.” She scans the street again, then touches my arm. “I really appreciate this.”

She disappears inside, and I bounce my knees instead of pumping my fist in the air. Things may have started sketchy, but that’s to be expected. Springing a reunion on someone isn’t kosher. Doing it at the shelter they call home makes it that much worse. But Rose hugged me and said she missed me. She forgave me my sins. I suddenly can’t wait to tell Nico.

I grab my phone. You’ll never guess who I just met.

He replies in seconds. If it’s an old fuck buddy, give me his address. There’s an empty cell at the station.

I like my man jealous. No. But I dig the idea of being locked in a room. With you.

Now you’re talking.

Unable to wait, I write: I found Rose.

His excited reply doesn’t come. The pause drags so long I almost dial his number.

You went without me?

I cringe, imagining the frown on his handsome face. Sorry. You have so much going on, and I didn’t want to dump more on your lap. Forgiven?

Always. And my lap is yours to do with as you please. Now I’m picturing that lap and my tongue and a couple of ice cubes when he adds, What was she like?

Awkward at first, but nice. If you come over tonight, you’ll meet her.

You having her for dinner?

I hesitate before sending my reply. Nico is cautious, always worried about the people in his life. A few times he’s mentioned I shouldn’t get my hopes up where Rose is concerned, that, if I find her, it’s best to go slow and feel her out. Asking her to move in might not be what he had in mind. Still, it’s my life, my family.

She and that Russ guy used to date. He told me she was at a shelter. She’s moving in for a while. I reread my text and add, Please be happy for me, then I hit Send.

A scuffle breaks out, two men shoving each other, claiming rights to their spot in line. I glance down as Nico replies, I’ll be over tonight.

That’s it. No congratulations. No tender words. The softy he is, our texts often end with him saying how much he misses me and thinks about me and wants to fuck me. (His sexting has improved.) I, of course, detail how I’d like to cover him in chocolate sauce and lick him clean.

But no messages follow this last one. Only dead air and disappointment.

When he meets Rose, he’ll understand. She’ll loosen up when she’s away from this place, that hug a reminder of the girl she was. Nico has said himself how people on the street are often here because they fall on hard times. He devotes his life to helping others. I’m just doing my version of the same, helping my family any way possible. He of all people must understand that.