“I ain’t goin’.” Wain winces as he crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Phil, who is stuffing an enormous black duffel bag into the trunk of Elizabeth’s Honda. A night’s sleep has not improved Wain’s mood. “What if Mom comes back and no one is here? Ever think of that, asshole?”
Phil nods. “Matter of fact, I did. Her friend Holly is staying here until I get back from Vancouver. If Devi turns up, she’ll call me.” He slams the trunk shut. “And I’ll call you. Now, get in the car.”
For a second, Sid thinks Wain is going to hit Phil, which would be interesting to watch, but very stupid. Wain may be bigger, but he’s also hurt and Phil is way stronger. From where he is sitting in the front seat of Elizabeth’s car, Sid can see Wain’s right fist clench and hear the sharp intake of his breath. Sid leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. He just wants to get going.
Elizabeth leans out the window and says, “Wain, we’re waiting,” and he wrenches open the back door and lands in the backseat with a thud and a groan.
“I need some painkillers,” he says. “And not just that Ibuprofen shit.”
Elizabeth turns around to face him. “Ibuprofen’s all you’re getting, Wain. And stop talking as if you were born in the ghetto. It shows a paucity of imagination.”
“A paw-what?” Wain says, slamming the door and fastening his seatbelt, which makes him groan again.
“A paucity,” Sid says. “A lack. A dearth. A scarcity. An insufficiency.”
“I get it, dude,” Wain says, kicking the back of Sid’s seat with one of his enormous runners. “And I got a good imagination. Better than yours, you pussy.”
“Language,” Elizabeth says as she backs out of the driveway.
“Pussy ain’t swearing,” Wain mutters.
“Pussy isn’t swearing, you mean,” Sid says.
“Who are you? The grammar police?” Wain snorts and jams his earbuds in his ears. “Let me know when we get there,” he says.
Sid wakes up as the car clunks over the ferry ramp. He has been asleep in the backseat since they left Nanaimo, where they had stopped for lunch at Tim Hortons. Wain had yelled “Shotgun!” when Sid came out of the restroom. Sid didn’t mind; he was all out of conversation.
Elizabeth turns around and smiles at Sid after the car is parked.
“Shall we go upstairs?” she asks.
Sid rubs his eyes and yawns as the ferry pulls away from the dock and starts across the channel. Almost home, he thinks. Half an hour and I’ll be there. Maybe Megan has made cookies.
“C’mon, man.” Wain jumps out of the car and races to the stairs, almost knocking over a young woman whose backpack is almost as big as she is. To Sid’s surprise, Wain stops, apologizes and shoulders the gigantic pack, wincing as the pack thuds against him. The girl follows him to the stairwell, dreadlocks swinging. Sid opens the door for Elizabeth and takes her elbow as they cross the car deck. The tide is running, and the ferry bucks a bit in the chop. The last thing they need is for Elizabeth to fall and break a hip. When they get to the passenger lounge, there is no sign of Wain.
“Probably on the upper deck,” Sid says. “Want me to look?”
“I’ll go,” Elizabeth says. “Stretch my legs a bit. It’s been a long drive.”
“You sure?” Sid says. “The stairs are kinda steep. And it’s really windy up there.”
Elizabeth laughs. “I’m the Gray Matter Granny, remember?” She pats his hand. “You worry too much.”
Elizabeth and Wain come back to the passenger lounge just as the ferry begins its wide turn into the cove, and the red railings of the government wharf come into view. Elizabeth’s hair has come loose from its bun, and Wain looks like what he is, or should be anyway: a thirteen-year-old kid on vacation with his grandma and his brother, not a junior gangbanger.
“I always thought it was a nice touch that government wharves looked so cheerful and welcoming,” Elizabeth says. “They must be a lovely pick-me-up on a gray day.”
Before Sid can reply, Wain says, “This is awesome, dude. We saw whales! Killer whales! And Elizabeth says your dad has a boat. D’you think he’d take us out? There’s this giant rock under the water—or there was until they blew it up.”
Sid looks at Elizabeth and smiles. “She told you about Ripple Rock, huh? I can show you the explosion online, if you like. It’s pretty cool. And yeah, I’m sure Caleb—my dad—will take us out on the boat. As long as you follow his orders and wear a life jacket and the right shoes.” He likes saying “dad” even though he always calls Caleb by his first name.
When they drive off the ferry, Megan, Chloe and Fariza are in the parking lot, waving and jumping up and down next to the Caprice Charters van. They must have been watching every ferry, trying to spot them. It’s like I’ve been away for years, Sid thinks, like the Prodigal Son. Maybe they’ll have a big barbecue tonight—kill the fatted calf, twenty-first-century style. Except didn’t the Prodigal Son’s brother try to kill him or something? Sid puts the thought out of his mind as Elizabeth pulls into the parking lot, and Chloe yanks him out of the car and throws her arms around him.
“I missed you so much,” she says into his hair.
“Me too,” he mumbles. She’s rocking him back and forth, her bare arms still clamped around his neck. Her breath smells like it always does, of Double Bubble and strawberry lip gloss. “But you’re strangling me.”
“You deserve it,” she says as she steps away from him and extends her hand to Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth, this is my friend Chloe,” Sid says. “And my mom, Megan.”
Even as he says it, he sees Elizabeth flinch slightly. But she is my mom, he thinks. Devi isn’t.
“Welcome,” Megan says.
“And this is my brother Wain,” Sid says as Wain climbs out of the car.
Chloe squeaks, “Hey.” Obviously no one has told her that Wain is a brother in more than one sense of the word. Wain looks at her as if she is a cupcake—a delicious, sweet, pink-iced, two-bite cupcake—and he hasn’t eaten in weeks.
Sid leans over and mutters, “Try not to drool, man,” in Wain’s ear.
Wain grins—his teeth are orthodontist-straight and blinding white—and says, “Hey, Chloe. Nice to meet you. And you too, Mrs…” His voice trails off.
“Just call me Megan,” she says. “Everyone does. And this”—she reaches behind her to pull Fariza forward—“is Fariza.”
Wain squats down until he is eye level with Fariza. “I like your hair,” he says, reaching out to touch a green bead.
Fariza runs over to Sid and wraps her arms around his waist. Sid bends over to hug her.
“What’s her problem?” Wain asks, standing up and glaring at Sid and Fariza.
“Long story,” Sid says. “She’s not too keen on guys.”
“Seems to like you all right,” Wain says. “But wait, I forgot, you’re a puss—” He glances at Elizabeth, who is standing a few feet away at the head of the wharf, where Megan is pointing out the Caprice. Wain lowers his voice and says, “You’re a fag.”
Sid ignores him, but Chloe grabs Wain’s arm and he yelps in pain.
“What did you say?”
“Nuthin’. I didn’t say nuthin’.”
I didn’t say anything, Sid thinks. He wishes Wain would cut out the tough-guy act. Nobody’s impressed, especially not Chloe.
“You better not have,” Chloe says. “Or I’ll kick your black ass.”
Wain grins. “You and what army?” He shifts his weight from side to side and fakes a punch at her head with his free hand.
“It’s okay, Chloe,” Sid says. “Let it go. Wain’s full of shit.”
Chloe lets go of Wain’s arm and turns to Sid. “You need to man up,” she says. “Or I’ll kick your skinny white ass too.”
“That’s what I came back for,” Sid says. “I missed all the ass-kicking.”
“Who you calling full of shit, man? And how come you get to say shit?” Wain rubs his arm where Chloe grabbed him.
Chloe smiles as Megan and Elizabeth join them again. “Sid’s special,” she says sweetly. “You have no idea. Welcome to my world.”
Fariza loosens her grip on Sid, takes him by the hand and leads him to the van, where Fred is buckled into an infant car seat, his head flopping to one side.
“Okay if I ride back here?” Sid asks. “Chloe, you can go with Wain and Elizabeth—show them the way. Fariza and Fred and I have things to discuss.”
“She’s hot,” Wain says. He is sitting on the single bed in the room Megan has prepared for him. Sid is putting clean towels on the dresser.
“Who? Chloe? Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess? Are you blind?”
“Shut up, Wain,” Sid says wearily. “Unpack your stuff and come down for tea. Don’t forget to wash your hands first or Megan’ll make you do it.”
He turns to leave the room. “You got everything you need? The bathroom’s next door.” He looks over at Wain, who is staring down at the hooked rug. “You okay?”
Wain looks up. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He looks as if he might cry, but Sid has no more energy for Wain’s outbursts. Maybe Megan can figure out what’s wrong with him.
“Come down when you’re ready,” Sid says. “Or not. Megan made cookies though. Wouldn’t want you to miss out.”
Waking up in his own bed the next morning is bliss. Even the knowledge that he is sharing his home with his angry black brother can’t diminish the pleasure of hearing Megan grind coffee in the kitchen, watching the sun wash the walls of his room with light, smelling the bacon that must signal waffles, even though it’s not Sunday. Wain hadn’t come down for dinner the night before; Megan took him up a tray of food and stayed for a minute to make sure he was okay. Sid thinks he heard him get up to go to the bathroom, but it could have been Elizabeth too.
Everyone had gone to bed early, after a simple supper of pasta and salad. No fatted calf. No murderous brother. Not so far anyway. Sid had been glad of the dark and the silence broken only by the occasional cricket chirp and the sound of the toilet flushing down the hall. Now he hears Caleb’s slow deep voice, and then Wain’s, higher and faster. He rolls over and tries to prepare himself for another day with his brother.
Maybe Chloe will come over and mesmerize him with her crocheted bikini. Maybe Caleb will take him out on the boat. Maybe Megan will put him to work in the garden. Anything for a little peace and quiet, Sid thinks. He wants to sit at the table with Fariza, check out Eric the Eagle, watch the ferry lineup. He wants to see what Fariza has written; he wants to draw her story for her. Maybe he should start a new one of his own: The Mighty Misadventures of Sid and Wain. He smiles to himself as he pulls on some clean cutoffs and slides his feet into his Vans. He sniffs his pits and pulls a fresh T-shirt out of the drawer. There is a soft knock at his door.
“Just a minute,” he says, his head stuck in the shirt.
The door opens a crack. A voice, soft as the dust on a moth’s wing, wafts through the crack of the door and lands on Sid’s shirt-shrouded ear. “Breakfast is ready.”
“Fariza?” Sid says when he gets his head free of the shirt. “Fariza, is that you?” He wrenches the door open and runs down the hall. No Fariza. The door to her room is shut. He knocks. No answer. The toilet flushes and he can hear the water running. The bathroom door opens and Fariza comes out, wearing canary-yellow tights, a blue Canucks hockey jersey that comes to her knees, and UGGs that he thinks used to belong to Chloe. She holds up her hands to him, palms up, and smiles.
“Good girl,” he says, “and thanks for calling me for breakfast. Wouldn’t want to miss the waffles.” He squats down so she can climb on his back, and he piggybacks her down the stairs and into the kitchen. As she climbs into her chair and settles Fred next to her, she looks up at Sid and places a finger to her lips. He nods and sits down next to her. If she wants to keep it a secret that she said something other than please and thank you, he’s okay with that. For now, he’s happy to think of those three little words—Breakfast is ready—as the perfect welcome-home present.