Chapter 22

“Hi, Patty,” I say, answering my phone Saturday morning.

“I didn’t want to put this in a text message, because I wanted to hear your tone of voice after my new idea,” says Patty.

“Can this possibly be good?”

“I think it’s good. I booked you into an art class. I ran it by Jane; she’s not going to make you use day passes. It’s Tuesdays and Thursdays for the rest of August, starting next week. What do you think?”

“Art class? Hmmm. Sure, sounds fun.” Every extra moment I spend outside Arbutus House is worth pouncing on.

“Don’t tell your mom or Jane I suggested this, but …” Patty pauses to take a deep breath.

“What is it?”

“I thought you might be able to use the class to draw a portrait of Akasha. The art teacher is going to give you assignments, but you’ll have free time too. I thought it might help you make sense of what you’re going through. It could be cathartic.”

“Wow, that’s a great idea! I might not do a perfect job, but it couldn’t hurt. Thanks!”

“I’m glad you’re into it. I’ll pick up the stuff on the supply list. Your mom wants to see you this weekend if you’re not spending all your time with Bryce. Can you come over this afternoon?”

“Sure, I’ll check with Mariah and text you back. I’ve been allowed to go to Visions Vintage by myself on the bus. Maybe they’ll let me take the bus to come to you.”

“If not, either your mom or I will come and get you.”

On the bus home from Patty’s house that evening, her words are still swimming laps in my head. I never considered Patty a part of our family, but I suppose she was, or now is again. I’m going to take her up on her suggestion to draw a portrait of Akasha in art class. I might have more visions or see things more clearly if I could look at her face at will. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? If it weren’t for Patty, my life could easily have crumbled into a mess. It still might.

As I turn the knob of Arbutus House’s front door. My phone jingles. It’s Bryce!

Are you free tonight for a visit? Mitchell offered to bring me to see you. He’s in a crazy good mood!

I can feel the broad grin on my face as I tap the glass on my phone.

I’d love that! We should get in as many visits as we can before I go. Still don’t know how long I have left in Van. Does 7 work for time?

Should do. I’m going to be so sad when you’re gone. I’m glad I finally told you how I feel though! It felt great to know you feel the same way.

My heart wrenches, torn between happiness and self-pity.

We’ll work something out. I won’t get to come back to the Coast often and you’ll probably never come back to Nelson, but it’s the 21st Century. We can keep in touch :-)

I almost never use emoticons myself, but I can’t resist.

You’re right. We’ll find a way to stay connected. See you at 7!

My housemates are all in the backyard enjoying the mild summer evening when a black Mercedes suv pulls up in front of the house. I squint at the tinted windows, trying to figure out what a vehicle like this is doing in front of Arbutus House. A moment later I get my explanation.

Professor Mann steps out of the driver’s side and walks around the front of the vehicle. The passenger-side tinted window slides down and Bryce is sitting in the seat. He looks like he’s been crying. I can’t be certain from behind the living-room window, but a sinking knot behind my rib cage tells me I won’t get to ask Bryce how he’s doing.

Professor Mann marches along the walk and up the stairs to the Arbutus House front door. The bell chimes. Panic floods me from head to toe. Why is he here? Why is Bryce so upset? Should I get Mariah? The bell chimes again. Nobody but me is inside the house. I get up and approach the door. Banging replaces the chime and I jump before I open the door.

“He-hello,” I say, visibly shaking. Professor Mann’s dark eyes glare at me.

“I am here to tell you in person that you will have no future contact with my son.” Professor Mann’s neatly trimmed moustache barely moves as he speaks. His accent draws me in while his words push me back. I stand and stare at his furious face. I can think of nothing to say.

“You will not text, email, call, or write to Bryce. You will never set foot on our property ever again or I will call the police and have you charged with trespassing.” His words are filled with disgust.

My mouth is dry as I continue staring, frantically searching for some response as I feel my eyebrows lifting in disbelief.

“Acknowledge what I’ve said or I will enter this house and speak with the proprietor to ensure that I’m understood.”

“Yes. I mean, yes, I understand.”

“Good.”

“But, why are —”

“I owe you no explanation, but at your age, if you have to ask, you’re even more of an idiot than I took you for.”

Professor Mann turns and marches back to his car. Bryce looks at me. I’m shaking as I wave goodbye. Bryce doesn’t wave back and Professor Mann doesn’t turn around before he whips the car door open and tears off down the street.

“What was that?” says Mariah a few paces behind me. I jump again.

“My friend’s father. He … I’m not allowed to see Bryce anymore.”

“Why? What happened? Katelyn, you’re shaking.” Mariah puts her hand on my shoulder and I instinctively flinch away.

I meet Mariah’s gaze and I see affectionate concern on her face. Sobs smack my face like a bucket of ice water and the tears flow. Embarrassed, I bolt for my room and shut the door.

I rip my diary out from under my mattress and violently shove pages aside until I reach a blank one. I grab my pen and close my eyes, feeling the tears still forcing their way through my eyelashes. I can’t concentrate; I drop the pen and roughly wipe my face with both hands. It’s no use; I flop on my side and let the waves of emotion crash down on my head. I hug my pillow until it stops.

My clock reads 8:05 when I’m calm enough to look up. I shove the cuffs of my hoodie into my eyes to dry them as much as possible. I sit up and breathe deeply. The tears are gone. My raw anger has retreated.

I resume the position sitting cross-legged in front of my diary, eyes closed, pen in hand. I draw air deeply through my nose and slowly exhale through my mouth. I touch the paper with my fingertips and think of Akasha’s face. Nothing else matters. Nothing else is in my moment.

Scratching begins and continues for a few minutes, not as long as before. I look down to find a new message from my former self.

Mr. Eddie Calhoun approached me on the street again today. My presence on the streets of Vancouver has not gone unnoticed, or so he reminds me. His concern for my safety is not convincing, but he’s right; I have few choices left. I watched the ship for another day. It has been another day of nothing happening. Chatter on the street is that everyone onboard the Komagata Maru will be turned away. They, we, I, are not wanted. Why had it not occurred to me that coming to Canada might bear a risk of rejection? How could I have been so naïve as to believe that this journey promised my happiness with Sanjay and a bright future for us as a couple and, eventually, as a family? This country is a lie. I have to give up and go with Mr. Calhoun. I’ll be trading my soul for food, but I’m too weak and too scared to do anything else. God forgive me.

I knew Akasha had been forced by circumstance to go live in a house she knew was probably dangerous. Would I do it differently? The world of today is so different. If I became stranded, I would have options. The stupidity of running from my mom has become abundantly clear.

I close my diary and look out my window. Professor Mann’s hateful glare flashes before my face. In a heartbeat, I see the dream image of Sanjay’s father, Mr. Hasan, glaring down at me in the temple in India. This has happened before and will happen again. I shud-der and stuff my diary back under my mattress before I climb under my blanket and shut my eyes.