My Temporary Life (23 page)

CHAPTER 23

I dream of chasing and of being chased. Mostly in the dreams I’m alone, but sometimes, I can just barely see Heather, standing on the edge, trying to reach me. I always stop at some point, and everything else stops too. There’s no one behind me, no hand on my shoulder, and no one in front of me either. I wake up gasping for air from my imaginary run and hear the shower running in the bathroom.

She stands in the doorway of the bathroom, naked, drying her hair with a towel, “That must have been a hell of a door you hit.” The lump is becoming a bruise, and it’s puffy, on the right side of her face.

“
It hurt. It was stupid, but I thought I saw this kid that I went to school with at the library. I turned quicker than I should have and got out of there. Nobody noticed me though, I’m sure of that.”

“
Honey, where did you go when you left the library? I was worried about you.”

“
I just drove and drove and drove. I drove out to the cemetery. I drove out to the mill, past town. I drove out to the hills. I parked on different streets, thinking about growing up here, about what it felt like. I sat and thought about Emily. I know that she’s still here, that she still lives here. I just know it. And then, I thought about you, and dragging you into all this. I just needed to stop and try to breathe. I wasn’t thinking.” She sighs, as though remembering the night before, “I’m sorry that you were worried, Malcolm.”

I hesitate and then ask, “Did you park outside Michaels’ house?”

She doesn’t want to answer my question. I can tell by the way she pulls her clothes on quickly with her back to me. She takes a while before answering. “No. He lives out by the hills. I parked at the bottom, on the road. I didn’t want to go up. I parked outside my old house, where I showed you yesterday. I was on some kind of black nostalgic trip. Everywhere I went I kept feeling worse and worse, remembering all the shitty things that happened to me here.”

There’s a tone of finality in her voice as she finishes dressing. It feels as though I’ve asked enough questions for one day.

“
You’re going back to the school, aren’t you?” I sit up, still watching her.

“
No, I have a better plan than that.” She sounds almost smug now. “It’s Thursday today, so it’ll be the smallest kids visiting the library. I don’t think that she’ll be there, but you never know, so I’m going to go anyways. I can at least see how they handle the kids, see how supervised they are.”

“
Heather, I’m not so sure I should go with you. This cop, this sergeant, he warned me to stay away from the kids. I think maybe I should wait for you here.”

She sits on the edge of the bed, ready to leave now. “It’s fine. I can do this Malcolm. I feel like we’re getting closer to her, much closer.”

She reaches over to kiss me, and I hold on for a long time before letting her go. I watch her walk out, and close the door behind her. The car is gone by the time I’ve pulled the curtain away and looked out the window. So, I just sit on the bed, shaking my head, not quite believing that I’ve forgotten to ask about her father, the policeman, or whether she’s seen the battery for my cellular phone.

The inside of the room starts driving me crazy as soon as I’m up and dressed, so I decide to walk. I cross over the highway and take off in the opposite direction, away from the town. I don’t take a direct route as I amble aimlessly up and down the streets. I walk past old houses, and small businesses until I reach an industrial area that has the sounds of tools banging and men working. My breath snaps the cold air in front of me as I walk faster, trying to stay warm. After a while, the shops become streets again, and I see more blocks of old buildings. Then, just as the streets seem to stop, there’s an oversized house with a sign on the outside, ‘The Woodbine Hotel, since 1902’.

Needing some refuge from the cold, I push open the large doors at the front and walk in, adjusting my eyes to the darkness and artificial lighting of the bar. I make my way through a series of small outer rooms, and can see men sitting at tables, hunched over their beers. Some look up, and the ones that probably aren’t supposed to be here, either look away or keep staring at their pint glasses. I walk into the larger room and see a long bar with bar stools, a pool table, and more tables, almost all of them empty. The bartender sees me come in, and nods, motioning towards the empty tables, letting me take my pick. I sit against the wall, watching the slow movement of the other men as they carefully lift their glasses to their mouths.

“
Are you eating or just drinking, because the girl did make some stew this morning and there’s some left, if you want to eat.” He’s standing by my table, motioning towards the bar.

After walking around the streets for miles, I’m hungry, glad to sit down. “Whatever you have will be fine. Stew sounds good and a pint of whatever’s on tap, thank you.”

He’s probably in his fifties, maybe even older, but still is a big man with an intimidating presence. As he lumbers back to the bar, he sways from side to side as though his legs and hips don’t support all of his weight. I imagine he’s had to remove his share of unruly customers over the years. When he comes back, he places his big hands on the table, leaving a bowl of stew and a pint of beer. I reach for my wallet to pay him.

“
Leave it. Pay me when you’re ready. We’re not going nowhere.” He keeps standing at my table as he says it. “You’re new here. I haven’t seen you.”

“
Passing through, just here for a few days.” I decide to keep it simple, instead of trying an elaborate lie.

He nods and looks at me for a split moment too long, as though he doesn’t quite believe me, but doesn’t really care what my business is.

I empty the bowl and drink the beer as though I haven’t eaten or drank in days, and I notice the bartender’s burly frame standing over me again. “You’re a thirsty traveller. I’ll tell Beth you like her stew?” He asks the question, smiling, waiting for my answer.

“
It was very good. You know; I think I’ll have another beer too.”

Maybe it’s sitting in the warm bar and feeling so anonymous, or maybe it’s just stupidity, but as he walks back to my table with another beer, the words came out of my mouth as though someone else is saying them. “I think I have an acquaintance that might live around here, maybe you know him, Michael Adrian. Is that a name you recognize?”

His expression doesn’t change. He places the beer in front of me and pulls a chair out, turning, so that he’s facing me, and lowers his big, bulky, frame into it. Then, he stares for a moment before answering. “Well, you’re not a cop, and you don’t look like trouble, so why would you be looking for Mike, I wonder.”

I want to reach for the beer and casually sip it, but I’m afraid that my hands might shake, so I keep them on the table before answering him. “No, I certainly don’t want trouble. I went to school with a man by that name, and heard that he lived here. It was just a question.”

He seems to keep weighing me up, as though he isn’t sure what to do with me. “Yeah, Mike’s a friend of mine. He lives here. And who should I say was asking about him?”

I decide to play the stupid card and offer my hand to him. “I’m Malcolm. He probably won’t remember me, but if he’s the same Michael, who went to school in Vancouver, tell him I said hello.”

I’ve had enough clients lie to me over the years that I know how to recognize the sound of a lie, and when I say it, I know that it sounds untrue. He puts his big hand in mine and shakes it, and without taking his eyes off me, smiles. “I will Malcolm. I will.”

I half expect him to pick up a phone when he gets back to his place at the bar, and whisper some muffled instructions into it. In the movie of my life that plays in my head, I see a group of menacing looking characters being summoned to my table, and interrogating me while the rest of the solitary drinkers stare into their glasses. But he doesn’t. Nothing happens. He polishes some glasses, wipes the table in front of him, and fishes through some paperwork below the counter.

I quickly drink my beer and get up to pay him. “That was good, hit the spot thanks. Will this cover it?” I hand him a couple of bills.

“
Perfect, thanks,” he answers.

As I turn away, he calls after me. “Wait, here, take this. I found it back there. It’s Mike’s card, in case you want to look him up.”

He hands me a business card, ‘Adrian Landscapers, Michael Adrian, President.’

I look into his face trying to see some kind of an expression, but he just nods and turns back to his work.

The cold air hits me as soon as I start walking again. I think of Heather and wonder what’s happening at the library. There’s no way for her to reach me, no way for her to tell me whether she needs my help. I’m lost in my thoughts, making my way back through the streets towards the motel, and barely hear the pickup truck pulling up beside me, with the window rolled down. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride. It’s too cold to walk.”

It’s one of the men who had been sitting drinking at one of the corner tables in the bar. I hardly noticed him, and didn’t think he seen me at all. He’s alone in the vehicle, and has a bottle of beer open in the cup holder. I hesitate, still thinking about my conversation with the barman.

“
Don’t worry Buddy, you’re not my type. Get in if you like. I’m headed into town if that’s where you’re going.” He smiles, showing the gap between his front teeth, and I climb in, deciding that it’s small town hospitality, nothing more.

“
Actually I’m at the motel out by the highway. The blue something,”

“
I know it. I’ll get you there.” He turns the heat up in the truck, seeing me shiver from the cold, as he takes a swig from the bottle of beer.

He drives through the industrial area where I walked earlier; looking at the different shops as though he’s giving me a tour. “Any kind of fabrication you need, we can do right here now, you know. We used to have to go clear into Timmins, but now we do it right here in town.”

I smile and nod, smelling the stale beer in the truck, and seeing the empty bottles in the back seat. “That’s handy, much better to keep it local.”

“
I heard you asking about Mike. If you’re looking for work, you’re better off checking out the shops back there. I mean Mike might talk to you, but this is his slow time of year, and he’s got those sons of his to keep busy too, remember.” He slurs some of his words, and focuses on the road while talking to me.

I sense an opportunity and decide to take it. “Sons are good. I always wanted a son. He doesn’t have any daughters does he? I’m sure they’d be much more trouble.”

His response comes right away. “Nah, just the two boys, both the spitting image of their Dad. This is you, your motel.”

He pulls into the empty motel parking lot as I look around for the rental car. “Thanks for the ride and the advice.”

“
Anytime, you take care,” he answers and drives off just as quickly as he appeared.

I sit by the window, with the curtains open watching the darkness fall, and think about my intoxicated, truck driver friend. I wonder if he might be mistaken. He might not know that there’s a little girl too. A man like that wouldn’t take notice of a daughter. He’d know about sons, sons that are the spitting image of their father. Or maybe he does know, maybe he knows why we’re here too, looking for her. Maybe he knows that I spent the day before being questioned by the police. My mind starts to race ahead. I think of a little girl hidden away. It can’t be though, she has to be here. It feels like she’s here. I have to deal with facts and concentrate on what I know. I touch the letters on Michael’s business card, and then tuck it back into my pocket.

I can tell by the expression on Heather’s face that it’s been an unsuccessful day. It’s early evening when she pulls into the parking lot, and quickly comes into the room. She sees the concern on my face. “It’s okay. I’m okay. She wasn’t there today. It was smaller kids, younger than her, just as I thought. There were only a few of them with one teacher. She’ll be there tomorrow. The older kids are there then. I’m sure she will be, too.”

“
I think I’ll come with you. I can’t sit by this window all day. I’ll just sit in the corner of the library somewhere, and read a book. I need to be closer to you, to make sure that you’re okay.” She looks at me and smiles, as she settles into a chair. “That way you won’t bump into any more doors.”