Nobody's Dog (8 page)

“You should send him some,” I say. “I bet he'd like to see what you've been drawing.”

“I have,” she says. “Twice. And he didn't say anything.”

“Maybe he didn't get them,” I say, even though it's stupid. I'm not sure why I'm doing this.

She plucks my big crab off the hill and puts him at the starting line. “He got them. He sent me some pencils to use. Only they were the wrong ones. He used to call me Creative Girl, like I was a superhero or something. It seems pretty stupid now.”

“No, it doesn't,” I lie.

Libby straightens her legs and picks up the bucket. “I'm going to put these guys back.”

“But that was only one heat.”

“It's not working. It never worked. Dad used to make these funny commentator voices, but — never mind. I'm ready to go anyway.”

I sit beside the track, watching my big crab hike the hill again. By our log, Aunt Laura is packing up her stuff.

The Cosmic Turkeys scream “Bite Me” in my ear. I pull out my headphones and sit up. A question is fading from my brain. This time I almost got close enough to think it. I'm so close to remembering, I can taste it.

I grab my backpack, stuff in the map. Fence or not, I have to take Chilko with me. This is the only way.

I make it out of the house without waking Aunt Laura, and judging by the darkness in the suite, without waking Soleil and Libby. I feel like an experienced burglar sneaking around with black clothes, tying my laces in front of the hedge, hidden from the road. The night is mine again.

The walk to Chilko's house seems to take seconds. I stand in the street looking at the lights on in the blue house. Patrick lives in the bottom suite, like Soleil. None of the lights are on down there. I can just make out the grey shape of Chilko in the dark. I can't use my flashlight or someone might think I'm breaking in. I wait, try to breathe normally, wait for J to find the guts to make a move.

A cat screeches behind me and I jump into the fence, which makes a
ching
sound and wavers a little. I scramble for cover, diving behind a blackberry bush. Thorns rip into my hands and neck. I don't care. It's hard to hear anything because my heart thuds in my ears.

A minute passes. No more cat, no shouts or footsteps. No doors opening. I take three deep breaths. Inch closer to the
fence. The same two lights are on upstairs. I crawl along the fence a few feet. Something snuffles around.

I look up and Chilko's wet nose is sticking through the chain-link. His eyes shine in the dark, looking into mine. His tail wags silently. I'm so relieved he knows it's me that I almost want to stay where I am all night. Just lie here with him and then go home. Wouldn't that be enough?

But J points out that I'm so close. Chilko wants to come with me. He's been waiting.

After another minute, he sits down on his side of the fence. I put my hand through and pet his soft ears. When I get up slowly, careful to make as little sound on the gravel as possible, Chilko follows. He's good at being silent. Suddenly he stops, as if he's been pulled back. He has — he's on a rope. I guess that's what's stopped him from getting out.

I ease the latch back and open the gate. Luckily it doesn't make a noise. I sneak over the concrete path and onto the grass. Chilko waits at the end of his rope. His face says,
We're going roaming, right?
He wasn't this excited to see George. I unclip the rope from his collar, glancing at the house one last time.

This is the moment where I can't turn back. I'm stealing a dog. Not just meeting him on the street at night. I'm taking him from his yard. From now on, I'm a thief. But a friend too, J says. We look out for each other.

My fingers tremble as the rope falls onto the grass. These aren't hands I know. I've turned into a stranger. Who knows what I'll do next?

A light comes on in the basement suite. Before I can think any more, I'm flying out of the gate, closing it behind me, Chilko already in front, running down the alley with his tail high.

I glance back and the light is gone. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was J playing with my brain, making me leave the yard. Because he knew if he didn't do something, I was going to bail on the whole plan.

We're on a mission this time and Chilko knows it. It's a relief to be out in the night and roaming, but there's an itch I can't scratch. We're going somewhere, getting closer, but where? Canis Major and Cygnus shine above us. At least they're always there, now that I know how to find them on my own.

By twelve-thirty we're far from home, east of the farthest park I've walked to from my house. The houses are big and old but every once in a while, what Aunt Laura calls a Messy Hippie House pops up. They're easy to recognize because they have lots of plants in the windows and strings of Christmas lights inside all year. I watch to make sure Chilko doesn't go into any yards. Not because hippies aren't friendly, but because I don't need any trouble tonight. No distractions.

I pull out the map as we walk. Each block takes us farther east from Cygnet Street, in the direction of the highway. You have to take the highway to get to the airport, and that's where we were going that night. I read the street names over and over. None of them sounds familiar. We walk on.

In the next block the street goes down a steep hill. The river's not far away — I can hear it. Up ahead there's a park along the river. Lots of dog walkers take their dogs there.

We stop at the corner. Something starts nudging my brain. I look around — there's nothing different about these houses, except for the broken-down car in the front yard of the closest hippie place. This isn't the spot, but it could be close …

Chilko noses around in a bush. I whistle and he trots over. I've never thought about bringing a leash for him, but right now I feel the need to have him close. I don't know why. I touch my fingers to his back and he leans into me for a second.

We walk to the next intersection, which is with a main road. A car whips past. Chilko stops at the edge of the sidewalk but I grab his collar anyway. Something's got me by the collar too. It's the twitchy-spine feeling, stronger now, making me want to leave and stay at the same time. I glance at the street sign: Keith Road and Lynnmouth Avenue. A car speeds past, sprays water from its windshield, even though it hasn't rained in weeks. Drops hit my face. As it drives away, I see the glass cleaner spray up, windshield wipers thudding back and forth. The sound is loud in my ears even though the car is long gone: the steady beat in the upside down car, seat belt holding in my breath.

My brain switches off, turns on again, and I'm there. Everything is wet and sticky and dark. Someone moans. I can't tell if it's me or not.

Something brushes my hand, something soft. Fur. A car honks, brakes squeal. I look up and I'm in the middle of the intersection. It's a dark, warm night, stuffy air in my throat. Chilko's beside me, waiting for my next move, but I can't seem to make my legs take a step.

“You need help, kid?” The driver of a blue truck calls behind us. He's a couple of metres away, headlights shining in my face.

I shake my head. My voice doesn't work.

“Then could you get out of the road?”

My hand finds Chilko's fur. He moves forward and somehow I follow. We make it to the other side and the cars drive on behind us.

I lean into a scraggly hedge that itches my neck. This is it. Was it. The accident happened here. It's just a street like the others. No one would ever know.

My knees wobble under me. I thought I'd feel lighter, happier, finally able to breathe, but I just feel … more unsure. What happened here? J asks. Why did he crash the car? He always said keep it between the ditches, but he couldn't. Why not? From inside my head, a memory whispers,
Because of you
.

I know I'm a part of this — how the accident happened and why — but it's just not coming back. I shake my head. Chilko stares at me. There's something familiar about him being here too — but that's crazy. He just moved to town. Come on — remember! But what if I don't want to know? What if it's too hard to think about …

I pick up a rock and throw it into the street. Chilko bounds after it and I have to call him back. “Let's go,” I say as he reaches me. “This is crazy. I'm crazy.” I just want to go home.

Before I thought I'd get answers to all my questions, but now I have a million more. They beat against the inside of my skull, making it pound. I just want to forget again. At least forgetting was easier. Dr. Tang said something about that while I was sitting in his overstuffed armchair, trying to answer his questions about the accident. He said maybe my subconscious didn't want to remember because it hurt too much.

Chilko trots ahead as we retrace our route. Pretty soon I'm jogging to keep up. The farther away I get from the intersection, the more split apart I am. I want to be home, in bed, away from all the stupid stuff I can't figure out. But J won't leave me alone. He nags at me, pushing
questions, until I hold my head and yell, “Shut up, just shut the hell up!”

Chilko stares at me in midstep. He looks so calm, like yelling at the voices in your head is a normal thing to do. I pull out my dad's star chart. By focusing on the names and shapes of the constellations, I manage to keep J out of my thoughts all the way home.

A hand shakes me awake. My room is boiling hot again. I turn over to look at my clock, but first I see Aunt Laura. She's not in scrubs for once, or pyjamas. She's wearing normal summer clothes and her hair is actually washed.

I feel like I ran a marathon last night — with my body and brain. I croak so she can hear how dry my throat is.

“What's with you these days, Jakob?” she asks. Her voice has actual concern in it. “Are you going through adolescence all at once?”

I mumble that I'm just tired.

“Well, I want us to do something today. All of us.”

“All?”

“Libby too.” She looks at me hard. “I'm sure she'd like the company.”

“But why do you and I suddenly have to hang out together?” I lie back and stare at the peeling paint spots on the ceiling. She still hasn't noticed them.

“What do you mean, ‘why'? Because you're my nephew and we should do more than pass each other in the hall. And by the way, we should talk about painting in here, now that you've taken down those old stars. It'll look much cleaner.”

I pretend I didn't hear that. “You're wearing normal clothes.”

“Right. Normal clothes.”

“Why?”

She stares at me, trying to read my face. “I went to talk to someone.”

“And?”

She looks around the room. “It's complicated. I'm trying to sort out a lot of stuff right now.”

I almost don't say it, but something has to fill the silence. “Is it about the accident?”

She glances at me, then away. “In part. Mostly it's me.”

J rises up from where he's been hiding and I say, “Do you feel like you're stuck with me?”

“No, Jakob. Not at all.” She goes to put a hand on my knee but stops. “Has something happened? Are you having nightmares?” She always changes the subject when it gets too close.

I throw my legs over the edge of the bed. “No.”

Her face relaxes a little. “Listen, we need to get you some summer clothes. You're growing out of most of your jeans.”

I know what she's doing. I've been doing it too. We've been living for six months this way. She'll feel better if she buys me things, acts like the guardian she has to be.

“Whatever,” I say. “I need to get dressed.”

“I'll make you some toast,” she says, heading for the door. “Then we can talk about it.”

Talk about it. I guess I might win the most lies medal, but Aunt Laura wins the avoiding the elephant in the room medal, hands down.

The phone rings differently in England. For a second I think I've dialled wrong. Then someone picks up and I know that voice.

“Hi, Mrs. Branford. Is Grant there?” It feels weird that she's not in Grant's old house, five minutes away. Did I get the time difference right? I wonder if this is a bad idea.

“Jakob? My goodness. It's good to hear from you.” The line crackles a little.

“I just wondered if Grant was home.”

“Oh, you just missed him. He's gone out for a few hours. He'll be really sorry he wasn't here. Can he call you back later?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“How are you, Jakob?”

“Fine.” I try not to sound disappointed but don't think it works.

“How's your aunt?”

“Good. She's — good.”

“I'm glad,” Grant's mom says. “I know the past while's been hard for you. Grant told us you're getting into astronomy like your dad.”

“Uh, well, sort of.”

“That's great, Jakob. I think it's so important to do that. Keep those memories close to you. You're a strong guy.”

There's a pause and I realize it's my turn.

“Jakob?”

“Yeah. Thanks. I guess I'll talk to Grant later.”

Someone says something in the background. “Okay. You take care,” Mrs. Branford says.

I press
end
and let the phone drop to the carpet.

I'm in a really bad mood before we even leave for the mall. I've always hated shopping anyway, except when I was little and my mom took me Christmas shopping. She used to take me at the beginning of December so we could avoid
the worst lineups. She'd pack us snacks and water in case we didn't get home for a while, and then we'd treat it like a mission: find everyone's presents, buy them, get home before bedtime. She'd make me her sidekick. I was responsible for checking prices. If the salad bowl at Sears was cheaper than the one at Charlie's Kitchen Supplies, we'd race back to get it and she'd act like I'd saved the mission. It was probably her sneaky way of making me do math and help her with shopping she didn't like. But it was fun — we got to hunt around like spies, just the two of us, and laugh like idiots as we ran from one store to the other. I can still remember her fake cackle as she held up a terrible tie for Dad.