Once Upon a Road Trip (14 page)

“Is there any time left? Do you think we should be running?” She looked to Zak in blatant urgency. By this time, she’d concluded him to be the kind of person who consistently needed a fire lit under him — if not a full blown inferno. 

“Ease up…its ten now,” Zak said, unconcerned. “I’m pretty sure it’s over with quick. We probably won’t catch anything.”

“Probably?” Angie repeated, skeptical. Zak was silent as he kept up with her, either lacking the breath or the motivation to argue.

Three structures rose to fill the hazy sky as they approached, all unified in neo-gothic design with their many steep sandstone arches. The angular, peaked sections of roofing stood out with the distinctive matte-green of oxidized copper. The Peace Tower stood at the center, the highest point on any of the buildings, fixed with an enormous clock face that overlooked the area. The center block was symmetrical, set back from the east and west buildings behind a level expanse of lawn.

Zak tapped Angie’s shoulder and pointed out over the grassy field. “It’d be happening out here. Looks like we missed it.”

Angie refused to pause until she’d reached the middle walkway leading to the Peace Tower. Several dozen people were coming and going, most at a pace suggesting sightseeing rather than going about government duties. There was no one in uniform anywhere in sight.

She released a defeated sigh.

“Sorry about that,” Zak said, rubbing a broad palm over the back of his head. “It’s really not that big of a deal, though. Don’t worry about it.”

Angie cast him a frown and pulled out her camera, taking several distance shots of the Parliament buildings before she noticed the raised, circular fountain in the middle of the walkway. The stone monument consisted of a narrow moat, collecting the water cascading down from its sloping central platform. The inner piece was fixed with evenly spaced plaques bearing the coat of arms from each Canadian province and territory. The water originated from a domed apex, atop which the centennial flame burned on despite its incompatible surroundings.

I’m sure there’s a metaphor behind that, s
he mused, snapping a picture of the fountain.

“Here, sit and I’ll take a picture of you in front of it,” Zak said, holding a hand out for the camera.

Angie wasn’t sure if he was trying to make up for her missed opportunity, but she accepted the offer. She wasn’t all that annoyed with him, anyway. He wasn’t the only one who’d overslept.

Several pictures later, Zak led her off along the left side of the Parliament building toward a tour group. The guide was explaining to those gathered that they would be entering the Peace Tower in fifteen minutes, and he recommended everyone first pay a visit to the Parliamentary Cats.

“The what?” Angie asked aside to Zak, unsure if she’d heard correctly.

Zak chuckled at her, motioning with a tilt of his head in the direction the others were drifting. “You’ll understand when you see it. This is the best part, in my opinion.”

Deciding to take his word for it, Angie moved along with him to the untamed back portion of the lot, where people had gathered along a cast iron fence. The trees grew thick beyond the fence amid an array of underbrush. The sight drawing everyone’s attention turned out to be a chest-high, wooden replica of the Parliament building sitting among the trees. More than a dozen cats of all sizes and markings lounged along the deck that served as the foundation for their apparent commune. Bowls of food and water were placed here and there, and none of the feline colony appeared undernourished.

“They’re strays,” Zak said, leaning forward over the railing. “It’s not a bad exchange. They control the rodent populations around the government buildings, and the Humane Society makes sure they’re taken care of.”

“They just…come and go as they please?” Angie wondered, noting the bars of the fence would easily allow the animals passage. It struck her as a novel idea that someone had created a safe haven that allowed them the freedom to roam.

“Yep. And they always look pretty happy about it.” Zak smiled faintly as an orange tabby came sauntering along in front of them. If the animal had any actual interest in them, it didn’t bother showing it.

“Well, it seems a lot nicer than keeping them in little cages hoping someone will eventually adopt them,” Angie said, looking over at Zak and then down at the tabby. It occurred to her that the blithe, effortless movements of the cat reminded her of Zak’s demeanor. Cat-like ease — that seemed like an accurate description. On the other hand, it made her wonder what it would take to get his fur to bristle, so to speak. He had such a perpetually steady way about him, she doubted she’d get the chance to find out.

As the tour group began to reassemble and migrate toward the front entrance, Angie and Zak tagged along behind. Since the group wasn’t in any hurry, Angie took the opportunity to bring up a question she’d be saving for just such a lull.

She gave his arm a nudge with her elbow. “So, what’s Zak short for, anyway? Zachary? Zachariah?” She tried to ignore the inordinate amount of courage it had taken her to achieve such a trivial degree of physical contact.

Zak formed a smirk. “Actually it’s not short for anything. It’s just Zak.” He shook his head, looking somewhat amused. “My dad named all of us, and he didn’t like names with more than one syllable. So my middle sister, the one who just graduated from the University, is named Leigh. And my oldest sister, the one about to have a baby, her name is Eve. You’ll probably meet her later.”

“Eve. That’s pretty,” Angie said, contemplating what little inflection she could glean from his voice. She thought he seemed distant when referring to his father, but she didn’t detect any anger. Though, for all she knew, this was as much anger as Zak ever displayed.

“My mom likes to say he proved his god complex when he named her. He wanted to call her Eve because she was the first woman he created.”

“Wow. Healthy ego, huh?” Angie watched his face intently.

“He’s…kinda hard to be around,” Zak admitted, giving a slow shrug. “I didn’t really have much to do with him until last summer, when he started paying me to help him on the weekends.”

Angie nodded, processing this information for a long moment before asking, “When did your parents split up?” She didn’t want to get too personal, but was spurred on by his tolerance toward her curiosity.

“When I was like a year old. Dad left, and my mom had to take care of us by herself. She’d been trying to finish college, but she never got the chance with having to work so much.” Zak answered in a factual in tone. “It’s not like I remember things being any different. Not like my sisters. They still don’t want to have anything to do with him. Not that he’s really tried to connect with them at all… Just me.”

Angie absently shuffled forward as the line of visitors began funneling through the entrance. “It doesn’t bother you that he’s not trying with your sisters like he is with you?”

“Sometimes it does.” Zak pocketed his hands and looked away toward the eastern government building, as though it had suddenly become interesting. “It’s not fair, I know that. I don’t pretend to know why he’s the way he is. But I mean… he’s the only dad I’ve got. My grandparents are dead, so he’s the only one that can tell me anything about that side of the family.” He paused at length before looking to Angie again. “My dad is full-blooded Blackfoot. That makes me at least half. I didn’t even know that until last year when he showed me some of the genealogy.”  

Angie nodded quickly in understanding. “I get it. It’s harder to figure out where you’re going without an idea of where you came from,” she said. “I’m glad you’re getting a chance to get to know him. Even if the most you get out of it is figuring out what kind of person you -don’t- want to be. That’s still worth something.”

Zak gave her an easy half-smile, his shoulders sinking as they seemed to join the rest of him in relaxing. “Yeah. It’s kinda like that.”

As they headed up the steps, the entryway opened into a cavernous chamber the guide referred to as Confederation Hall. Angie was immediately impressed by the cathedral-like detailing. The smooth, inlaid marble floor was primarily white, with accenting patterns of deep green radiating out from the central column. The ceiling was steeply vaulted, and the limestone walls were covered with sculpted imagery, giving the building’s interior a more elegant feel.

A line formed to the right with visitors emptying their pockets into small bins before stepping through a set of metal detectors. When it was her turn, Angie dumped her keys, wallet, and all of her remaining Canadian coins into the gray container and walked through without setting anything off. On the other side she turned to wait for Zak.

Suddenly, she became aware of a large, looming presence approaching from her right just before hearing a low voice of inquiry.

“Ma’am, are those your keys?”

She glanced over to see who the voice was being directed at. A hefty, dark-skinned security guard was looking down at her with a furrowed brow while pointing to her keys, which a nearby female guard was holding up. He didn’t seem angry — maybe just concerned. She couldn’t imagine why.

“Yes, those are mine.” Angie said, nodding. There was no mistaking them, given the can of mace and numerous plastic keychain plaques hanging from of the central ring.

“I’m going to need you to come with me,” the male guard said, taking on a reluctant but firm tone as he motioned to a narrow hallway leading away from the main chamber.

“O…kay?” Angie said, after a moment of bewildered staring.

Obviously, I’m not about to get a private tour. What the heck did I do?

She began to follow the guard, having all but forgotten about Zak until she heard him call out behind her.

“What’s going on?” Zak caught up in a few quick steps, his inquiry directed more to the security guard. “She’s here with me. Is there a problem?” He’d become straight-faced and almost professional in tone. A sort of situational maturity, Angie decided.

At least he isn’t pretending he doesn’t know me.

“Yeah, there’s a problem.” The broadly-built man swiveled his torso partway toward Zak. As he did so, Angie caught a glimpse of his name badge. John. Knowing his first name was a little more reassuring to her for some reason. “We found mace with her belongings. It’s illegal for civilians to carry weapons,” he said in a brooding tone.

“Mace?” Zak gaped at the guard in disbelief. “The spray stuff—that’s illegal?”

“You live here and you didn’t know that?” Angie spoke aside to him.

John heaved a sigh. “It’s not as commonly known as it should be. The same applies with Tasers. There were cases a few years ago of people committing robbery using them, and they passed the law to keep it from happening again.”

“Somebody robbed someplace…using a can of mace?” Angie had to admit, it sounded ridiculous enough to be true.

“It’s okay. We’ll get this cleared up,” Zak said, mild agitation detectable in his voice.

The guard led them to a door at the end of the hallway and held it open to let them pass into a bleak, square room containing a round table surrounded by chairs. The addition of two uninteresting watercolor paintings only succeeded in making the space look like a waiting room.

“Just have a seat,” John said. He stepped out and closed the door, though his back remained visible through a small, square window.

Angie pulled out a chair and numbly sank into it, staring at the door for a short while before glancing to Zak. “Are they going to arrest me?”

Zak leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “No, they’re not that stupid. We’ll call your embassy if we have to.”

“Embassy?” she repeated at a murmur, folding her hands in her lap. “I keep forgetting I’m not in the States anymore.”

“I’m sorry. If I would have known it was illegal
—
or that you had it
—
I would have warned you.” Zak’s dark brows pulled together in a look of pensive aggravation.

“I wouldn’t have told you I had it,” Angie said. It was the truth, after all — and she didn’t see any reason he should blame himself for their predicament.

Zak cut his eyes toward her and his lips curled into a smirk. “See, I don’t think you have the kind of crazy death wish my mom was assuming.”

Angie managed a small smile. “Just crazy—no death wish.”

They chatted idly over the next hour, waiting for whatever was supposed to happen next. The room wasn’t as intimidating as the interrogation rooms Angie had seen depicted in movies, but she was still glad Zak was with her. If he wasn’t, she probably would have been asleep in her chair by the time a stern-faced man came striding in with a clipboard and sat down across the table from them.

He appeared to be yet another security guard, although she wasn’t sure she would have been able to distinguish security from actual police. This man was short in stature, slim, with neatly-combed ginger-blond hair and a thin mustache to match. He carried himself like someone attempting to appear larger and more important than they actually were. She didn’t take this as a good sign.

It made her feel somewhat better when John came in from the hallway and pulled a chair out so he could sit along the wall facing them. Now that she had a better look at him, Angie surmised that John was older than the man with the clipboard by at least a decade. His hair had gone gray at the temples and along the light stubble of his jaw. Despite being built like a bear, his dark eyes held underlying warmth that granted him a paternal air. Angie decided she would much prefer talking to him over the upstart with the clipboard.

If John reminded her of a bear, the younger man reminded her of a ferret — and a mean ferret, at that. His eyes were an icy blue and deep-set, giving them a cunning edge. Opening with a long string of identity verification questions, the man never looked away from Angie’s face for more than a split second as he jotted down her answers. After a while, his curt inquiries became specific to the problem at hand.

“And what, exactly, were you planning on doing with that mace?” The man sounded as though he’d taken personal offense to her error. Angie knew he had a name badge on, but the way he was seated kept it hidden from view under the table. The complaint she’d begun writing in her head would have to make do with a physical description instead of a name...for now.