Here So Far Away(16)

“People like me, you mean. Come From Aways.”

“The sea will take you,” I said. “She’s thinking about it right now.”

We’d driven to the Baptiste Peninsula in the band’s van. “I probably shouldn’t be getting into a vehicle with strangers,” I said to Francis as we climbed into the back. “Oh well. I won’t rape you.”

“I notice you didn’t say you wouldn’t ax murder us,” Bobby called from the front.

When we got down to the shoreline, Bobby wandered off to perch on a large boulder like an ancient god of leather. The other guys walked ahead, taking the only flashlight with them. Or maybe it was more that Francis and I lagged behind and so we had to navigate the beach on our own by moonlight.

The wet slapping and sucking noises our shoes made in the muddy sand were almost embarrassing. We stepped over driftwood and rocks slick with seaweed, the tree-lined cliffs looming overhead. By sunrise all of this would be underwater.

The moon disappeared behind a cloud, the stars following behind it like they were dancing into the wings, and I could no longer see Francis, who was ahead of me. We stopped walking at the same time.

“Steady,” he said.

We were sort of laughing, but the darkness was unsettling. It felt as though we were drifting in space, as though the galaxy had winked off and there was nothing but infinite blackness around us.

It reminded me of the first time Dad took Matty and me outside in our pajamas to play hide-and-seek at night. “A tree’s a tree whether you shine a light on it or not,” he’d said. “Keep your cool until your eyes adjust. And stay clear of the skunks.”

Truth is, I’d been leaving on the hall light at bedtime. If my parents turned it off, I’d creep under my bed and sometimes stay there until morning. He was trying to teach us not to be afraid of the dark. But it was night that scared me; darkness marked the time to be afraid. I’d pull up the covers, mash my head into the pillow, and then my fears would arrive like worms wriggling out of the earth. What if the Soviet Union declared nuclear war? What if I never grew boobs? What if something happened to my family?

A hand swatted my hair. “Whup. Sorry.”

Then it was on my shoulder, sliding down and grasping my arm, and then I was holding on to him too and we were laughing again at our fumbling and nervousness in the dark.

“Steady,” I said.

His fingers traveled up my arm, faintly brushing the side of my breast, and traced along my throat. His face was close to mine and our mouths found each other, and when the clouds parted again I sensed the return of the light but did not open my eyes, just slipped my hands under his jacket and around his back—until the explosions erupted around us and Francis drop-pinned me to the mud.

Over his shoulder, the sky was filled with pink and orange and blue flames, fiery confetti raining down into the bay. “Are you seeing fireworks too?” Francis asked. “Or did I hallucinate myself into a movie?”

“Life’s a bad writer,” I said, gently pushing his elbow off my hair. My underside was groaning from tip to stern from its collision with the ground, but its complaints were smothered by his body running the length of mine, the feeling of his weight on me.

“I’m sorry, are you hurt?”

“Not at all. Thanks for taking the bullet for me.”

We lay there gazing at each other as the damp seeped into our clothes. I could have stayed like that all night, had Bobby not sprinted by. We helped each other up and followed him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bobby was shouting when we reached the rest of the band, who were about to set off another round. I hadn’t noticed before that the bassist—whose name I think was Tommy—had brought a big backpack with him.

“Why did you think we came out to the beach?” Tommy said.

“To experience one of the world’s natural wonders?”

“No, to set off fireworks.”

Bobby turned to Francis. “I didn’t see this,” Francis said, holding up his hands. “If you put all that away, I didn’t see anything.”

“Jesus, Tommy,” Bobby said. “Mick is a cop, and it ain’t legal to set those off around here.”

That sound fireworks make on their descent back to earth? That was the soundtrack to my heart explosion, the fragments raining down upon my other vital parts. And then the questions started firing. A cop cop? In the valley? Municipal force or the RCMP? Did he—oh my god—did he know my dad?

“I’m not on duty,” Francis said. “But, yeah, it would be better if you didn’t break the law in front of me.”

By the time we got back to the parking lot at Long Fellows, it was nearly three and I was as sober as sin.

Francis walked me to my car. He didn’t look or move like any cop I’d ever met. Not that they don’t come in different shapes and sizes, but the job hadn’t taken over his body yet. He didn’t pull his shoulders back, stand on his heels, assess the scene before acting. How could that live-wire energy be contained by a uniform?

“She’s quite a ride,” he said, stepping back to take in the Town Car.

“He,” I said.

“Oh, he. Sorry.”

I was too tired to explain that his name was Abe because he’s a Lincoln, get it, ha-ha. Ha.

Francis felt around in his pockets. “Don’t have a pen, do you? Or are you in the book?”