Chapter
ARCHIE PARADES ALONG, his long legs eating up the kilometres, his body knifing skillfully between people crowding the narrow sidewalk, strolling, talking, hurrying, milling. Sanity seeps back into his mind. No way I could’ve gotten away with a homicide in Toronto, he admits. Andrew had informed him in his first month here when he’d spotted his guns in his bedroom that the Toronto Police Service has an excellent arrest rate for homicides. It’d been a mild statement, but Andrew’s intent had been clear. Toronto doesn’t tolerate gun shootings or gun deaths. There will be no righteous shoots here in Canada. Relief had flooded Archie at hearing that. Reality resides here. A death is a death; killing is killing. Call it what it is. Don’t sugarcoat it. It was like that when he’d told his Canadian platoon about his grandfather’s—
Archie shudders, interrupting his marching flow. Suicide. One of them…Archie frowns. Which one? Archie’s brow clears as he remembers. Nadine! She’d uttered the S-word unflinchingly. Suicide. That’s all she’d said. Everything was in that one word: sympathy, empathy with him over his loss, sadness that Pawpaw had chosen that way, understanding for his reasons, and sorrow he couldn’t see the outreached hand to healing. Archie halts as the traffic light in front of him turns amber. There is something in his thoughts he should pay attention to. Archie bows his head and frowns at the sidewalk’s drying concrete. He struggles to remember what he was thinking; tries to recall the word that had triggered a thought. But both are lost to him.
Archie shudders. He lifts his head to watch the red light as people gather around him, waiting for the walk sign to turn to a white man walking.
The cross traffic clears, but their light remains red. That doesn’t deter a couple of men in business suits and a woman in leg-hugging black stretchy pants, bright yellow sneakers, and several layers of pink and blue long-sleeved tops. They cross against the red. Archie waits. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, not even for jay walking.
Ping. His iPhone notifies him a message has arrived.
The light turns green at the same time as the red hand disappears and the white man walking appears.
Archie remains at the corner as he unlocks his iPhone and flips to the Signal app. Impatient Torontonians swirl around him. It’s David.
“Yeah, so Andrew is talking to that ex of Nadine’s. What’s his name?”
Archie types quickly, his thumbs a blur: “Don’t know.” He shuts off his iPhone and retrains his eyes on the other side. But the countdown timer has begun already. Police consider it the same as the red hand. So he won’t risk it, although he can cross the intersection easily in the seconds left. A plume of impatience stirs his feet. But his training takes over. Wait, soldier, he instructs himself. Good things come to those who wait. Archie had learnt how to wait, how to stand in one place watching for threats, waiting for a command. He can wait forty seconds for a light change.
Archie blinks rapidly as he thinks about where he is. He’s down on the Lakeshore. He’s not sure how he got to this place where multi-lanes of traffic wait huffily at their lines underneath the downtown highway and the traffic lights favour them speeding east-west across the southern edge of the city. The concrete ribbons above trap the exhaust billowing from cars and trucks below. Maybe two minutes he’ll have to wait.
Ping.
With a sigh, he unbuttons his jacket again and reaches in for his iPhone. Archie reads David’s next message. “We don’t know either, and Andrew doesn’t want to piss him off asking. I texted Nadine, but she’s not answering. She’s in the shower or something. The sergeant can’t get clean enough. Ever since Afghanistan, she takes like 5 or 6 showers a day.”
Archie reads that and doesn’t know what to say. He returns his iPhone to its accustomed pocket and buttons up one button on his jacket. His fingers pause in their upward motion to the next button as he ponders, David will probably message me again. He’s in a chatty mood. And when David gets messaging, he won’t stop till he’s done. Archie deflates. David doesn’t care whether or not his platoon buddies want to talk. He’s there for them, so be there for me, is David’s stance.
Archie sweeps resentment out of his head. It’s only right. That’s why we’re here: for each other. His blown-up friend’s teaching of Jesus’s friendship during their prayer services and his counsellor’s words that relationships take work, echo in his head. He came here seeking a home, people who understood him, who didn’t judge but wanted to know him, talk to him, hear his story, banter and spend time with him, in all his ugly emotions and reviled thinking. They haven’t swerved once from him. Unlike his family. Archie manipulates the button out of its buttonhole as his light turns green again and hunts around in all his pockets for his iPhone earbuds. His fingertips feel the rubbery coil in the right-hand inner pocket of his dress uniform jacket. He pulls out the earbuds, retrieves his iPhone from his jacket’s left-hand inner pocket, plugs the earbuds into his iPhone, pushes the buds into his ears, and slides his iPhone back into its place. He buttons up both jackets, settles his shoulders down, and marches across the intersection, both arms swinging in tune with his legs.
Ping.
The artificial sound jabs both eardrums.
Archie grimaces. He snatches the right cord leading from the right earbud and presses the lower part of the earbuds’ volume rocker several times. He then depresses the middle part of the rocker until he hears Siri’s chime. He tells her to read his message. She does. And so it goes. He walks in steady time. Siri reads David’s messages into his ears, and Siri sends back his dictated replies.
David writes: “This guy is stuck on you having an affair with Nadine. What’d you do?”
“Nothing.”
“C’mon man, You musta done something.”
“She’s my sergeant.”
“She’s more than that. We’re all buddies.”
“Yes.”
“Did you hang with her when we weren’t around?”
Archie is about to say no when his feet slow down. A memory tickles his mind. There was that one time. “We met for coffee at Starbucks that one time when she was having trouble finding a job. I let her vent.”
“OK, OK. That must be it. I’ll tell Andrew.”
Archie walks two more blocks before another message from David pings. “That was it. This guy thinks cause you met at Starbucks and Nadine didn’t tell him, you must be having an affair.”
“OK.”
“He’s crying. Geeze, he’s sobbing like a baby.”
Archie thinks about all the times the men had sobbed on each other’s shoulders when back at base after terrible days or out in the field in the privacy of their tents. He thinks about the times David has taken his messages late at night, knowing he was probably crying. It’s okay to cry with your buddies. But if anyone not your buddy saw you cry…Archie quirks his mouth and shrugs. He recalls how Andrew had treated him earlier that day, how his compassion had calmed him. Andrew is good to everyone. He feels responsible for everyone. Why should I resent him taking care of this guy, too? I shot him, and Andrew saved me from a homicide charge. He let me keep my pistol. Andrew trusts me. Archie’s feet stall in their rhythm. He restarts as he thinks, Now Andrew’s trying to keep the ex from bothering me again. If that means the ex cries…Archie tells Siri to reply. “He’s allowed to cry.”
“Yeah, you’re right. He’s a civvie, and he’s bothering you and Nadine. But I guess he’s human too. We treated those men over there better than we treat our own civvies. I’ll give you that.”
Archie isn’t sure what David means but leaves it. He carries on in his parade stride, passing by new landmarks. He doesn’t recognize his surroundings, but the lake is to his south. This city has this giant body of water to orient yourself to, he marvels. Even when lost, you just find that water and know which way to head.
Ping.
“Andrew is listening to him. He’s got his hand on the guy’s shoulder. The ex is sobbing about how Nadine doesn’t love him. I wouldn’t love him either.”
Archie snorts. “I wouldn’t either. But then I’m not a girl.”
“LOLOLOL!”
Archie lengthens his stride. He quickens his rhythm.
“Andrew’s talking to the guy quietly. I can’t hear much, wondering if I can creep closer so I can hear. It’s like we were taught how to walk quietly.”
A couple of minutes tick their seconds off.
Ping.
“I’m closer. The guy’s looking at the ground, didn’t hear me. Andrew’s telling him Nadine’s never had a boyfriend for very long. They all knew she’d leave him but not because he’s a bad guy but that’s just the way she is. The guy is sniffing. He seems to be buying it. Andrew’s good.”
Archie reflects on Nadine and her relationships in the time he’s known her. Andrew’s correct. The longest one lasted six months. He messages back: “Andrew’s correct.”
“Hey! You’re right. I hadn’t thought too much about how long she keeps a guy around. They never seemed serious, so’s why should I pay attention? I put it down to her being picky.”
Archie wonders, but a commotion boils up in front of him, drawing his attention away from the messaging conversation. A pedestrian is yelling at a cyclist. The cyclist is straddling his angled bike with one foot on the ground and the other on his pedal while informing the gesticulating pedestrian he has a right to bike there because cars are dangerous. The pedestrian shakes a fist. A woman stops to watch. A couple of men slow to gawk as they walk past. When the cyclist yells at the pedestrian, “I have a right to bike where I want,” the three draw in close. Other pedestrians join the small and growing group. One of them shouts: “No, you don’t. Pedestrians have the ultimate right in this city.”
“You got that right. You get off the sidewalk!” echoes another.
“Or else what?” The cyclist sneers, oblivious to the fact his presumed rights are up against a forming mob. Archie shakes his head at the man’s hubris. He adjusts his course to leave the altercation behind. He asks Siri to read him David’s last messages to him.
“Andrew’s told him Nadine likes him, but she’s her own woman. You can’t make someone love you. It’s tough, but there it is.”
“He’s whining now. Why doesn’t she love him. Andrew’s pouring it on. She came back from Afghanistan. She can’t handle relationships. She wants a man in her life but doesn’t know how to get close.”
“He’s saying he can help her.”
“No one can help her in that way. She has to heal. She’s seeing a psychologist. The shrink—are psychologists shrinks?”
Archie doesn’t think so and messages back, “No.”
“Yeah, well, Andrew’s telling him that her shrink said she can’t handle relationships right now and needs to take a break. So’s if anyone’s at fault it’s the doc.”
Archie nods to no one. Makes sense to him. He couldn’t relate to Sally. He was so afraid of hurting her just by being present, of his memories contaminating her beauty, her civilian innocence, he couldn’t stand to be close to Sally. They should’ve taken a break.
“The guy’s nodding. I think he’s buying it. Andrew’s asking him to keep away from you. The guy’s saying” David had pressed Send before finishing the message.
Archie waits to hear what the ex said. A few minutes later David messages: “He’s agreed you and Nadine didn’t have an affair. He wants to apologize to Nadine. Andrew’s convinced him not to approach you or go to the police because he assaulted you first. He gets it wouldn’t be good for him either. He’s real calm and resigned like. I don’t think he’ll come after you again. You’re safe, man.”
Archie stops his march so suddenly, his shoulders and head lurch forward, and he almost overbalances. Strength flees his thighs. He reaches out to hunt for the nearest wall. He collapses against it, his left shoulder taking the impact. His heart thuds, and his lungs noisily snatch for air. He hadn’t realized how wound up with anxiety he was until now. He turns to face the street, keeping contact with the wall’s cold hardness. His back to the wall, he centres his vision on the passing scene, and with a cleansing inhalation, he peddles his heels backward until he stretches his entire self from the back of his head to his heels up against the concrete brace. With his abdominal muscles, Archie yanks himself away from the temporary crutch. He strolls on.
Ping.
“The guy wants to apologize to Nadine. Andrew’s trying to get him to wait on that. He’s nodding his head, but I don’t think he’s going to wait. He’s told Andrew to apologize to you from him. No way he’s going near you again. Andrew’s convinced him. Can’t believe Andrew had to spend 4 minutes convincing him of that after you shot him!”
Archie can’t believe it either. Nadine’s ex is stupid. What did she ever see in him? Archie’s relieved Andrew’s words worked and they’re more powerful than his pistol and his hands.
“OK, we’re good. The ex has gone. And we’re headed home.”
“OK,” Archie messages back. The day is almost done. It’s winding down better than he had hoped. No one is dead today.