Red Clocks(58)

The ice is a solid floor around our ship. No amount of chopping and sawing and hacking cracks its grip. The rudder hangs useless. Oreius is beset.





THE DAUGHTER


Follows the officer into a closet room with a brown table, brown chairs, and no windows. Sits down before being asked. The officer stays standing, hands on hips. “Can you tell me the real reason for your visit?”

“Going to see a friend in Vancouver.”

“I said the real reason.”

The door is closed.

Nobody knows she’s here, aside from Ash, and what the hell is Ash going to do?

“That is the real reason, ma’am.”

“We see a lot of girls like you trying to cross. Problem is, Canada has an official agreement with the United States. We’ve agreed to stop you from breaking your country’s laws in our country.”

“But I’m not breaking—”

“The nice thing about pregnancy tests? Results in one minute.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am.”

“Section 10.31 of the Canadian Border Services Agency Regulations states: ‘If an unaccompanied minor registers a positive result on a FIRST RESPONSE Rapid Result Pregnancy Test, and cannot verify a legitimate personal or professional purpose in a Canadian province, she shall be taken into custody and returned to U.S. law enforcement officials.’”

“But I can verify my purpose. My friend Delphine?” The daughter opens her satchel and pulls out the email.

The officer glances at it. “Seriously?” Hands the page back.

The daughter presses her thighs together.

“This is what’s going to happen, Matilda. I’m going to give you a cup, and you’re going to go down the hall to the bathroom and urinate in the cup.”

“You can’t randomly drug-test me. That’s illegal.”

“Nice try.”

The daughter decides to look this woman in the eye. “I can—I can pay you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me get back on the bus.”

“You mean a bribe?”

“No. Just—” Her mouth is quivering. “Ma’am, please?”

“Hey, you know who loves being called ma’am?”

“Who?”

“Nobody.”

“I have a hundred dollars,” says the daughter. She can sleep in the bus station and eat when she’s back in Oregon.

“Keep it, eh?” The officer takes a plastic-wrapped cup from her jacket pocket and plunks it on the brown table. “Ready to pee, or do you need water?”

“Water,” says the daughter, because it means delay.

Yasmine said she didn’t intend to be anyone’s stereotype. Black teen mother slurping welfare off the backs of hardworking citizens, etc.

And Mrs. Salter was the only woman of color in the Oregon State Legislature. She didn’t intend to jeopardize her mother’s career.

She gave herself a homemade abortion.

Blond Frizzy comes back without any water, followed by a man officer, blue eyed and in charge. He smiles at the daughter. “I’ll take it from here, Alice.”

“I was almost—”

“Why don’t you go on your lunch?”

The subordinate officer does a long blink at the daughter. Wrinkles her mouth. “You betcha.” And leaves.

“How are you today, Miss Quarles?” says the guy, propping one black boot on a chair. His crotch is at eye level.

She shrugs, too scared to be polite.

“So you’re visiting the True North for pleasure? For fun?”

She nods.

“You know, we may be nice up here, but we still don’t enjoy being lied to.”

“I’m not—”

“Your face is very expressive. It betrays a lot.”

Fear pricks up along her arms, across her chest.

“Some folks have unreadable faces. They’re the tough ones, you know? The ones you second-guess yourself with. Not you, Miss Quarles. But”—he lifts up the propped foot, bangs it down on the floor—“I’m not going to arrest you.”

“You’re not?”

“I’ve got two daughters aboot your age. Let’s say I’ve got a soft spot.”

“That’s—wow. Thank you.”

“You’ll need to go back where you came from, though. Next bus south gets here in three and a half hours. I will personally ensure that you’re on it. If you don’t already have a return ticket, you can pay the driver.”

Back? Soft gray hole in her throat.

“Your photo and driver’s license,” says the guy, “will be distributed to every border patrol office in Canada, so don’t even think aboot trying to cross again.”

You can’t tell from looking (scarves, big sweaters), but her stomach is thicker and harder. Soon it will be too late.

“I want you to learn a lesson from this. Don’t repeat your mistakes. Like I tell my daughters: be the cow they have to buy.”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t be the free milk.”

In the chilly waiting room, she eats chocolate-covered peanuts from the machine.