Chapter
AS THE FOUR veterans leave Fran’s, Andrew puts a hand on Archie’s arm to delay him, letting David and Nadine walk ahead in the rain that’s started up again. Andrew asks Archie, as he lets go of Archie: “Is Nadine’s ex a threat?”
The two men walk side by side, Archie breathing in the rain-freshened city air.
“He thinks we’re having an affair, sir.”
“Are you?” Andrew asks, keeping his eyes ahead as they walk east along College towards Yonge Street and their favourite pub downtown for David’s annual drink.
“No, sir,” Archie shakes his head, rain drops flying off the spikes of his hair. He remembers the Tilley hat in his hand and puts it on his head, pulling the rim down with both hands. The Canadian-made hat fits snugly, and the sudden gust of wind that blows rain horizontally into their backs cannot budge it.
Andrew nods and pulls up his collar against the whipping rain. “I didn’t think so, but I wanted to check. To deal with a situation, we must have all the facts.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is he bothering Nadine?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. But he is a threat.”
“How so?”
“He came at me in the middle of the night. Tried to break down my door. He came at me after the service, too. Tried to assault me. He might’ve had a weapon.”
Andrew twists his head to look at Archie, but the rim of the Tilley hat hides Archie’s eyes from the taller man. Andrew asks the hat, with an edge in his voice: “Did he?”
Archie frowns and considers the sidewalk. “I’m not sure. He might’ve.”
“Did you see one?”
Archie squints up at the sky, trying to recall, the wind sharpening his focus on the here and now. The rain cools his face. “I don’t think I saw one.” He pauses and adds reluctantly: “No.”
Andrew bends slightly, his eyes locking onto Archie’s temporarily visible ones: “You must always ascertain the threat’s intention. If he doesn’t have a weapon, proceed with caution, but know you have the upper hand. Don’t draw yours.”
“I didn’t, sir.”
Andrew stares at Archie appraisingly. “You have it?”
“Yes, sir,” Archie answers, stiffening his back, growing taller, keeping his face angled upward, looking Andrew square in the eye. “Always. It’s protection.”
Andrew challenges mildly: “Is it?”
Archie doesn’t change expression. “Always. Sir.”
“We’re in Toronto. In Canada, not in Afghanistan any more. There are other ways to deal with threats.”
“Where I come from, sir, we know how to solve our problems. We’re used to threat assessment.”
“Here, we’re used to a different way of thinking. Threats are enemies. Nadine and her ex are human beings in pain. We don’t solve pain with a gun.”
Archie blinks. Pawpaw’s blasted-off face bullets into his mind’s eye and commands his emotions with all the force of an IED. His stomach clenches. Breath leaves him, and he rasps like a worn-out horse. Archie swallows hard against the hot bile exploding into his throat, trying to hide his flashback. But Andrew’s narrowed eyes tell him he hasn’t succeeded. Andrew says gently: “You’re here in Toronto, Specialist. You’re here in a peaceful city with your friends. Tell me where we are.”
“In Toronto, sir,” Archie replies woodenly, his grandfather’s final solution spraying his heart, extinguishing the fire for life out of him. Torment eats his cells.
Archie cannot breathe.
Andrew grabs his shoulder with his solid hand. He steers Archie to stand against the nearest brick building. Andrew doesn’t crowd him but stands close, letting his body shield him from the rain and the people walking and shoving around them. “Specialist, look at me. Will I let anything happen to you?”
Archie shoots his eyes over Andrew’s left shoulder, his right shoulder. Andrew’s voice lowers into a soothing purr. “It’s okay, Specialist. We’re in a peaceful country now. We’re not where you are.”
“No, sir,” Archie says as his father’s accusations barrel through his head. “You’re responsible for your grandfather’s death. You're the young one, you should’ve been protecting him. You always were a coward. Old men don’t die like that. Someone must’ve shot him. Where’s his gun?” The accusations reverberate against Archie’s struggle to shove those words out of his mind.
“What are you remembering, Archie? Tell me.”
Archie opens his mouth. The words remain locked in his brain. He swallows. He tries again. His voice engages hoarsely, and the story spills out. Andrew stands impassively, saying nothing until Archie winds down. Then he states: “Your father was wrong.”
Archie’s eyes fill; tears waterfall. Andrew fishes in his pants pocket and pulls out a packet of tissues. He pulls one tissue out and hands it to Archie, shifting his body to allow Archie to keep his dignity away from the prying eyes of strangers. Archie wipes his eyes hard with the thick tissue. The tissue gleams against his skin in the dim light of the rain. He blows his nose and stuffs the tissue in his jacket pocket, no longer able to smell anything. “Thank you, sir.”
“No problem, Specialist.”
Archie nods.
Andrew asks: “Are you here now?”
“Yes, sir, yes, I am.”
Andrew smiles. “Good.” He claps him on the shoulder. And the two resume their walk south on Yonge Street as they unhurriedly follow David and Nadine. “We’ll talk about threat assessment in Canada’s largest city. But first, a drink.”
“Yes, sir.”