North Vancouver
Linda rubbed her neck, leaving a track of sooty fingerprints. “Phil Patterson is your father. In everything but blood. He’s loved you and cared for you since you were a toddler.”
“You’re not answering my question.” Jake thrust his chest out.
Linda dropped her chin. “Ray Sewchuk is your father.”
“Who the hell is he?”
Linda didn’t answer.
“Better known as Greg Phillips,” I said softly.
“What?” Michael curled his lip as if maybe I’d invented the whole thing.
“I heard them talking on the porch last night,” I said.
Linda sighed. “I’m sorry, Jacob. I was trying to protect you.”
“From what? I’m sixteen. When were you going to tell me? I’m done with you trying to protect me from everything. Are you ever going to let live my own life?”
As he stepped toward her, Linda’s entire body shook. Her voice broke when she tried to speak. “I just didn’t know, Jacob. I just wasn’t sure if you’d ever be ready.”
“Why? Did you think it would kill me or something? Did you think I’d leave home and go searching for him?”
“I didn’t think anything. Not really. Then I hadn’t told you for so long, I hoped maybe I’d never need to tell you.”
Jake threw his hands in the air and said, “Need to tell me? Are you freaking crazy?” His anger and frustration electrified the air. His body tensed as if he might lash out.
“Jake,” I stamped my foot. “She’s your mom. Don’t forget that. No one will ever love you like she does.” Then I burst into tears and ducked into the house. I ran downstairs and curled up on the corner of my bed.
“Hey.” Michael knocked on the door.
“Go away,” I said.
“No.” He opened the door, checked I was dressed, and slipped inside. Sitting on the edge of my desk he said, “I’ve been waiting for you to come home. How’s Tony?”
I covered my face with my hands. I didn’t know where to start.
“His ring!” Michael said in a hoarse whisper.
I slid my hands down and looked at it as if it had just appeared on my thumb. “I don’t want to say it,” I whispered.
“Say what?” Michael’s voice broke a little boy’s. “Please, Rowan, you gotta tell me.”
I got up and put my hands on his shoulders. “Tony’s dead.”
At those words we both started crying. I sobbed through the story of what had happened at the hospital. We cried and hugged each other. Finally we pulled apart and he leaned against the desk again as if it were the only thing holding him up. I crumpled back onto the bed. We stayed that way, numb and lost for words, letting the tick of my clock fill the raw silence. When my tears dried, I blew my nose one last time and announced, “It’s time to find Mom.”
Michael didn’t say yes or no. He didn’t have to. For the first time in years, words weren’t necessary. Our own, unspoken language was back. He went to his room and I took a shower. I had to wash off the smell of this horrible, awful day.
Showered and changed, with the cash from the safe tucked into our pockets, Michael and I went upstairs. Jake and Linda sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table, their faces battle worn. An origami swan sat in the space between them, facing Linda.
The acrid smell of fire filled our house now, a reminder of all we’d lost. Michael took a loaf of bread out of the freezer and started making peanut butter sandwiches. I sat beside Jake and he gently pushed his shoulder into mine. “Mom and I are friends again,” he said.
“That’s good,” I nodded. “You want to stay friends with your mom.”
I waited for the right moment and ran my fingertips over the polished wooden surface of the kitchen table. I picked words and discarded them before I blurted out, “Tony died last night. In the hospital, in the one place I thought he would be safe.”
Jake put his arm around me and I almost started crying again but I held on. I’d keep my pain as private as possible. Linda leaned across the table and stroked my hand, “Rowan, I’m so sorry.”
“We’re going to find Mom now,” Michael said and licked the peanut butter knife clean. “You should be safe here, even without us. There’s nothing left to steal really, is there?”
I added, “We’re going to check every shelter and evacuation site and then start again if we have to.”
Linda got up and hugged Michael before going into the pantry. She came out with a handful of chocolate bars. “I hid all the chocolate when I found it,” she said. “If you want more, it’s under all those bags of dog food.” She dropped four into the pack that Michael was loading. “Take them for strength,” she said. Then she handed the one to Jake. “I think this stuff is poison but some people don’t mind it.”
Michael and I pulled our full packs over our shoulders and stepped outside. A lump burned in my throat when I saw the devastation around us. Small wisps of smoke still drifted up from the singed porch and something rose from deep inside me and left with it. A new understanding dawned in its place.
Tony’s fortress walls had not given him the independence he craved. A green Kawasaki would have set me free only until my money ran out. When Jake learned who his natural father was, sure it broke his mother’s stranglehold on him, but the truth only trapped him in a web of more questions and riddles.
We were all wrong. Freedom was something inside us. It came from moving forward with a strong heart, no matter what life threw our way. Like texting a goodbye, even knowing you might not be around when the message is finally received.
Because the curfew was no longer in effect during daytime hours, the streets of North Van were flooded with a new type of energy. Pedestrians milled around the sidewalks and cars clogged the passable routes. People on foot looked at passing vehicles with anxious eyes, the way dazed victims look at invading armies. On Mountain Highway a slow parade of traffic moved bumper-to-bumper over the rough patches and around one big sinkhole. Drivers’ faces were pinched tight. Michael eased Tony’s truck into the line.
Crossing Burrard Inlet back to Vancouver, something I had done a million times in my life, now seemed like an epic challenge. The Ironworkers’ Memorial Bridge that had opened that morning was closed again due to an accident. Police posted at the bottom of Mountain Highway were re-routing traffic. The cop who spoke to us told us to go home and wait for the phones to come on. Service was supposed be restored today for sure.
Ignoring that advice, we joined the slow crawl across the Lions Gate Bridge and arrived in Vancouver. We stopped at an evacuation centre in a West End high school but Mom wasn’t there. She wasn’t in any of the centres from downtown all the way out to the university. We drove home, to Mom’s house, but the entire building was flattened. There was no note or other indication she’d been there. Gas was getting low so we decided to eat and think of a new plan.
As we were finishing the last of the sandwiches, my phone rang.
“Mom.” I hit the speaker button.
“In case we get cut off—where are you?” Her voice never sounded better.
“Kitsilano, at our house. What was our house,” Michael said. “The place is totalled. We’ve been looking for you. Are you okay?”
“I’m in the field hospital in McManus Stadium but they need my bed. How’s Tony’s place? Are you still staying there? Have you got room for me? Would he lose it if I came?”
“Tony’s house is a rock,” I said and it was true. A wet, singed, windowless rock. Still, way better than the evacuation centres we’d seen. “Of course we have room for you. Always. Don’t worry about Tony.”
“Traffic isn’t moving fast but we’re on our way,” Michael said.
“What’re you driving?”
“Tony’s pickup. Lots of room.” My voice sounded giddy.
“Come to the Marine Boulevard, Entrance G. I’ll be waiting.”
“We’ll be there as soon as we can.” The engine of the truck roared to life and we were on our way.