Here So Far Away(21)

I skated down the hall in my socks, sending up sparks from the rug.

The door opened.

“Oh!” Francis’s face lit up for a moment before the hamster wheel in his skull began to run overtime.

I put my finger to my lips. “I can’t explain now,” I whispered. “Please, please pretend you didn’t see me, that you’ve never seen me. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” he whispered after me. “I need a towel.”

I got one from the linen closet. In the movie version of my life, I will bring it to him, lightly place my hand upon his chest, and rest it there briefly before floating away. But really, I just hurled it in his general direction and ran.

Didn’t make it.

“Georgie!” Mum said as my hand touched the front door handle. “Where are you going?”

I snatched my economics textbook from the old hutch where we tossed our keys, hats, and mail. “To Lisa’s. To study.”

“The new constable is here to pay his respects. We’re having a sit-down lunch.”

“That’s okay, I’m not hungry.”

“I made pie,” she said.

In Mum-speak, that meant attendance was nonnegotiable.

When Francis joined the rest of us in the dining room, he was wearing my father’s old painting coveralls. “How do I look?” he asked sheepishly.

“Like you’re going to fumigate the house,” Matty said.

“Our son, Matthew,” said Mum. “And this is George.”

“Have we met before?” He sounded genuinely uncertain.

“Nope, nice to meet you,” I said.

He nodded at my economics textbook, which was sitting beside my plate. “Do you go to Noel?”

Matthew snorted.

“Next year, maybe,” Mum said. “George is a senior.”

Did he pale? He paled. Now he was trying to compose himself by straightening his fork and knife, rolling up his sleeves.

“Is that a tattoo?” Matthew asked.

Francis pushed his sleeve up farther to reveal a swirly pattern on his upper arm shaped like a tree.

“Dad tattooed Mum’s name on his arm after their third date,” Matthew said. “When did you get yours?”

“When I was living in Ireland, working in a music shop.” From there he backpacked around, he explained, working for a bookbinder in Italy, a record label in Austin, a water charity in Kenya—about ten years going from one thing to the next.

My mother and brother were impressed. My father was not.

“So, that was a decade well spent,” he said. “And what brought you to the force?”

“I was ready to settle down somewhere. No, that’s not true. Sorry, that’s bullshit.”

My parents exchanged glances.

“What’s true is that I spent a long time trying to avoid the family business. I thought I needed a job that was just mine and, I don’t know, cool-sounding. It’s fun to wander for a while, but I started feeling like what I truly want is to feel part of a community. That’s what I was missing all those years on the road. So I suppose I chose police work, Paul, because I need that anchor. The weight of that responsibility.”

“Geez,” Matthew stage-whispered to me. “First-degree blow job.”

“Matthew!” my mother shrieked.

Now that’s what not having a filter sounds like.

“Sorry,” Francis said. “I’ve still got that rookie attitude.”

I could tell Dad was not yet impressed. “Where’s this farm you been living at?” he asked.

“The closest town is Veinot.”

“You want to anchor yourself to a rural community, it’s good to live in town. Let people see you.”

“I’d planned to, but then I met Rupert.” Francis leaned toward my mother. “I’m letting a room at Ironwood Farm. Do you know it? It’s on the north mountain.”

“Didn’t it used to have a U-Pick?”

“Down to a blueberry patch and one pig now. I was hoping to give Rupert a little more time in his home, but he’s not as independent as he thinks. Doesn’t see too well, and the house has been let go. I don’t like the idea of him being alone while I’m working long shifts, but he won’t hear of bringing anyone in. Says he doesn’t need a babysitter.”

“You know, George works out that way. At a lighthouse. It’s right in the middle of a—”

“Of a field! Down the ridge from the farm. In fact, right by the farm.” He turned to me. “That’s where we met!”

“Sorry, what?”

“At the lighthouse. The pig got loose and George helped me find him. I knew I recognized you.”

“Oh yeah. The pig.”

“I’d think you’d remember that, Georgie,” Mum said.

“Until this morning I had a beard and a full head of hair after being on leave for a couple of months. My own mother wouldn’t have recognized me.”

His sudden pep was unsettling. “I’ll get the plates,” I said, pushing back my chair.

“I’ll help,” he said. “No, you sit, Marlene. I used to wait tables. See?” He piled the plates up his arms.

“Georgie, heat up the pie,” Mum called after me.