Vancouver, Downtown
An eternity later, as the gas indicator dipped toward empty, we arrived at McManus Stadium. Dozens of people buzzed around outside Entrance G. Many were injured and bandaged. The doors were wide open and we could see right into the underbelly of the stadium. Tables were lined up in rows. Tired looking people stared at computers on one side. People vied for attention on the other. Behind them more corridors branched out. Tables and chairs were set up out front. Patients, some with intravenous poles at their side, and visitors sat around them.
“There she is,” Michael shouted and ran to a shady spot beside a parked ambulance. I blinked and chased after him. Mom was in a wheelchair wearing an ugly brown T-shirt.
I sank to my knees beside her. Michael and I hugged her from the sides of her chair. For a minute we all cried and laughed and said each other’s names over and over. She stroked our faces and kissed the tops of our heads. When I stood up, I noticed a bruised bald spot shone on the back of her skull. Deep lines furrowed her face and dark rings circled her eyes.
Michael said, “How about we get you in the truck and go home?”
Worry ghosted across her face. “Everything’s going to be okay.” She cleared her throat. “But there is one thing you need to know.”
I forced myself to look at the ragged blanket that covered her lap and legs. I didn’t want to believe what I saw. Through a layer of chalk I whispered, “Mom?”
She rubbed her temples and sighed.
“Mom?” Michael echoed.
“My leg was crushed in the quake. I was pinned to the ground under a collapsed building.” She smiled apologetically, as if she had disappointed us in some major way. “I’m afraid I’m going to need the chair for a while.”
Michael swallowed and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You’re alive and we’re a family. That’s what matters. We’ll take care of you. Right, Rowan?”
“Yes. Of course yes.” After everything we’d been through, I knew we could do it. A smile warmed me as I realized it was true. Life had changed and I’d learned to cope, to be resourceful, and to make good decisions. If Tony could be there, he’d be listening to me. He’d hear my voice and know I could and would do what needed to be done.
I climbed into the back of the king cab and watched as Mom hung onto Michael’s arm. When she lurched out of the wheelchair Michael helped her balance and lift herself into the truck, I studied her movements for clues about her flexibility and strength. I was ready to be there when she needed me.
Stop. Think. Observe. Plan. Mom wouldn’t get wound botulism because Michael and I wouldn’t let that happen. She’d need fresh bandages, antiseptic, maybe even antibiotics. A list a mile long went through my head. It didn’t matter how hard it would be go get everything we needed, we would.
As we drove home at a snail’s pace I told Mom that Tony had died. She reached her hand back to me for comfort. “Kids, I’m so sorry. He loved you both so much.” Her words were strangled.
“No sympathy while I’m driving, please.” Michael swiped at his mouth.
“Of course not.” She shook herself and sat a little straighter. “He was so nervous about being a father, afraid that he wouldn’t be good enough. But look at you two—you’ve turned out strong and smart and self-reliant. He was so proud. I’ll miss him and his particular brand of crazy.”
I swallowed the razor-sharp lump in my throat and said, “Well, we’ve had other things to distract us since we found out. Like the fact that the house was trashed and looted today.”
“Oh no.” She bit her lip.
I realized she’d left a place that was safe and dry to come to our burnt-out house in the suburbs so I rushed to reassure her. “We still have some food—everything that was in the kitchen and pantry. And we’ve got power and heat, plus lots of filtered drinking water which is way more than most people.”
“I’d rather be with you two in a tent than any evacuation centre or field hospital,” she said with a small smile.
North Vancouver
We found a gas station with a large wooden sign out front. Hand-painted red letters a foot high declared GAS TODAY. Below that, in words we couldn’t read until we almost drove over it, black letters said, $10 a litre cash only.
“That’s robbery,” Mom murmured.
“It’s the only game in town so I’m guessing they can ask what they want.” Michael stopped at the end of the shorter line-up for the pumps. I looked into the back of the dented old car beside us and saw something rare and precious. Unopened loaves of bread. I checked again. There were two of them. Beside the bread was a bag of potatoes, canned food, and packages of pasta.
I lowered my window and yelled, “Excuse me?”
A woman in large sunglasses turned her head and cracked her window an inch.
“Where’d you get the food?”
“Supply boats came in to Lynnterm today and handed out rations. They ran out a little while ago but promised there’ll be more tomorrow.” She closed her window.
Groceries meant a lot of things. It meant life was getting back to normal. I pulled back my shoulders. When we got to the front of the line and took the maximum gas allowed, twenty-five litres, I started to hum. We would survive.
Jake and Linda had started clean-up in our absence. They’d taken shovels from the garage and moved the broken glass to a corner of the yard. Bedding hung over the clothesline. Mattresses were leaned against the windows to dry out. The chickens were fine and Jake had collected all the eggs from the henhouse.
Greg arrived back in the early evening and helped us settle Mom into my room. He promised to bring more dressings and painkillers from the hospital. He even he knew a physiotherapist who might drop by.
The upstairs would take a few days to dry out and hours to scrape all the chemical retardant off the floors and furniture so Michael found air mattresses for Linda and Greg to sleep on until their rooms were ready again. Linda decided to sleep in the kitchen and Greg moved into the TV room in the basement. Mom took my bed and I got the trundle.
That night I dreamt about the Christmas when we got snowed in. We were at Mom’s place. A fire crackled in the fireplace and Nana was alive again. I smelled her jasmine perfume. She told me to stir the pudding and make a wish.
“Tony.” Mom’s shrill voice crashed into my greeting card dream. “Help me,” she begged.
My heart pounded. I crawled to the bed and turned on lamp. Tears poured down her face. “Mom, it’s okay,” I said and held her hand.
Her eyes were all messed up with fear and confusion. She peered at me for a minute before recognition calmed her. “Oh, Rowan,” she sighed. “It was so awful. I was trapped under that building again. In the darkness. I was so alone.”
“Please give me my bag,” she said, her voice steady. I handed her up the ugly supermarket sack. She brought out a handful of pill bottles and lined them up on the night table. She opened one, shook out two pills and swallowed them with half a glass of water.
“That’ll get me through the night.” She smiled. I kissed her and turned off the light. Then I opened the blind and let the moonlight in so I could watch until the tightness around her mouth softened. When I slipped back into my bed Misty joined me.
I was almost asleep when Mom whimpered again, “Help me.”
I waited, rigid and worried, for more. All night long she muttered those words over and over. It was weird because she didn’t seem to wake up. I tried to sleep but mostly I lay there and listened. I even listened to the silence.
Think. Observe. Plan. I was strong and I was a survivor and I’d ride the future with these simple tools. Suddenly I caught my breath. I was strong and a survivor because Tony had made me that way. He left me that gift.