Road Warrior, page 8
After snapping on my helmet and bike light, I executed a quick courier move, riding my bike down the porch stairs. I was already well on the move before the person exiting the CBC van could stop me. The last time I had seen such a conglomerate of media vehicles was two years ago when Dan Burnett had been murdered, steps from my home in Kensington Market. I’d stumbled into Anita that night—she was a cowering heroin addict—who had witnessed that murder. It was hard to believe how life had changed for her and how we had become such good friends. Maybe Thomas and Frank were safe somewhere and something good might emerge from this current crisis, as it did from that time with Anita.
CHAPTER 12
THE RIDE HOME WAS LONG BUT INVIGORATING, so I felt ready to face the fish as I turned onto Kensington Avenue. All was quiet; there were just a few of the local ruffians hanging around, and they knew me well enough to simply nod as I rode by. Parts of Kensington had become gentrified, which always made me worry about the neighbourhood’s loss of charm and authenticity. But when night fell, the area could still be a little rough, especially where I lived.
When I got back to the fish shop, all the other stores were closed and the streetlights cast limited light. As I rolled my bike up to the door, I could hear a local band practising in one of the apartments across the street.
Letting myself in the front door, I flipped on the light and gingerly picked my way past the puddles of water that had formed around the former bags of ice. Sniffing cautiously, I was relieved to find no more than the usual latent odour of fish and bleach in the air. So far so good, I thought.
After propping my bike on the back wall and stripping off some of my gear, I picked my way back to the five white Styrofoam boxes. As I poked the cold flesh sitting atop crushed ice, I was happy to see that most of the fish was still flash frozen. Sadly, the last, smaller box, that held the precious scallops, had not stayed as cold. The ice had melted, and the milky fluid swimming around the greying shellfish told me they’d have to go.
Quickly rescuing the boxes of fish that were still frozen, I stowed them in Maria’s half-full chest freezer. Then, holding my nose, I put the dripping bag of scallops into the cleaning bucket, carried it outside, and tipped it into the neighbour’s Green Bin for pick up later in the night. After rinsing the small Styrofoam box, I deposited it in the recycling bin out back. Knowing the next day would be hectic, what with having to organize Paul—if he showed up—and connecting with Maria, I decided to take the time to give the floor a quick wash where the boxes had stood.
I filled the bucket with a sinus-biting bleach and cleaning solution; it felt like the old days when Maria and I worked for her mother and father in the shop. He died fourteen years ago, leaving Irene to run the shop alone. Eventually Maria took over, but Irene still thought she was in charge. Now that Irene was letting go of the business, what would Maria do? It was impossible to imagine the Market without Neptune’s Nook.
If things settled down, if Thomas was found, and if Frank and Maria could straighten things out, I thought it was likely that she would keep running the shop.
As I stashed the mop and pail, I looked around. Even though the place was spic and span and I knew Maria’s absence was likely to be temporary, something had shifted. The droning freezer and dark shadows played on my anxiety and amplified a sense of emptiness and loss. An age-old tiredness enveloped me. It had been a very long day.
Before I dragged myself upstairs, I took a quick stop in my office and peeked at the answering machine. There were no messages, which meant that nothing had changed. Idly, I picked up the mountain of mail, and, sitting on the couch, I started absently sorting through it, mostly just discarding unopened junk mail into the recycling box sitting beside me. My eyes began to droop and even though I told myself I should decamp to my bedroom upstairs, somehow I never made it. I’ll just rest here for a moment, I told myself, as I put the mail down and pulled up the crocheted throw my mother had made in one of her craft phases. Feeling comforted by the soft warm cover, I drifted off for longer than I expected….
Throughout the night I sometimes find myself falling asleep only to experience fitful and troubling dreams. At other times, I lie here thinking back over what has happened. Am I awake or asleep, conscious or unconscious, in the past or the present? I slip back into that same dream I’ve been having ever since Thomas disappeared.
“Auntie Abby! Help me! I’m scared! Please help me!”
“I’m coming, Thomas. Keep calling so I can find you.”
He keeps calling my name. “Abby! Abby! Help me!”
As soon as I head one way, I hear him call from another direction.
And then, “Abby! Abby!” Thomas’s crying voice starts to fade.
“Wait, Thomas.” I stumble forward, feeling my way in the darkness. “I’m coming.”
CHAPTER 13: SATURDAY
I KEPT HEARING THOMAS’S VOICE CALLING…. Then the voice morphed into Arabella’s imperious tone. “Abby! Abby!” Peeling myself out of the dark dream, I emerged into Saturday morning. I was still in my office, still on my old couch buried under my blanket, the rest of the mail having slid onto the floor sometime in the night. I came to my senses and realized that it really was my mother’s voice that was ringing out from my old-fashioned answering machine.
“Abby, call me as soon as you can. I’ve heard about Thomas and can’t get through to Maria. Some dratted person keeps saying they will tell her I called. I don’t have to tell you that I am very worried. Call me, right away,” she exclaimed. “Poor Maria,” she muttered as she rang off.
Stretching out my tight muscles and rolling my sore neck, I glanced at my watch. It was six o’clock in the morning. Casting my eyes around the room again, I felt chagrined that fatigue had beaten me into submission before I had made it upstairs to sleep in my more comfortable bed. Knowing that I should get back to Arabella as soon as possible, I staggered to my feet.
As I started moving around, I could still hear Thomas’s voice echoing from the dream tunnel. Fervently hoping that he was just off somewhere with his dad, I remembered suddenly Dave mentioning that Thomas’s bike was missing. I clenched my teeth. That likely meant that he didn’t go with Frank. Oh, this is madness, I thought. My mind keeps going in circles. I’d better call Arabella.
My mother was the queen of North Toronto’s new age community—at least metaphorically. I had to admire her even though she was a little over-energized. At seventy-five years old, she was still going strong—Reiki, yoga and golf remained constants, and they were usually accompanied by the latest trend in healthy living. The last I heard, it was the horrors of wheat and the benefits of the gluten-free diet that engaged her interest. That was before I left for the West Coast, so she’d probably already moved on to something else. I was still holding out for the red wine diet.
I had benefited many times from my mother’s unsolicited advice, and if, by following her lead, I was half as strong and healthy in thirty-five years as she was now, I’d be laughing. We kept up the dance around her well-meaning advice versus my independent spirit, and it created a precarious balance of good intentions and strained relations.
Still, I did not want to see my mother overstressed with anxiety about Thomas. She was like me in that she would want to be doing something to help. So, once I pulled myself together, I gave my head a vigorous shake, rolled my shoulders back, and dialled her number.
Arabella had Call Display, so she plunged right in before even saying hello.
“Abby! Thank God you called. Have you seen Maria? How is she doing? What’s happening over there?”
“It’s not good, Mom,” I said soberly. “Things have been tense between Maria and Frank and now he and Thomas have disappeared. No one knows where they are or if they’re even together. Maria is beside herself, of course. I was with her yesterday and Anita stayed the night. I haven’t heard anything since I left late last night.”
“Bloody hell,” she said. “That’s awful. Poor Maria—with Irene away too. Well, maybe that’s actually a mercy. Otherwise Maria would be worrying about her mother as well.”
“It’s awful,” I agreed.
“Well,” she said briskly. “I’d better get over there right away. I can keep the house together and relieve Anita when necessary. What was Frank thinking? Oh, that’s a foolish question,” she said with an edge to her voice. “I always thought he was sensible, but he is a man, isn’t he? They don’t think things through much of the time.”
“You may have a point this time, Mother,” I said drily. “You know,” I continued, “I think Maria and Anita will really appreciate your help. They’ll benefit from your clear thinking and ability to take charge, and you have a way with little Reenie. She doesn’t know much yet. They kept her at a neighbour’s place yesterday. I came home to clean up the shop. I’m going to bring in today’s order of fish this morning, and I may have to stay and work in the shop if her undependable worker doesn’t show up.” “That’s it then,” she said decisively. “I’ll just cancel a couple of appointments and zip right over.”
“I’m glad, Mom. Just take care of yourself too and watch out for the press. They’ll be trolling for sound bites.”
“Don’t worry dear. I can handle them,” she said assertively.
I was sure she was right. Arabella was a force to be reckoned with.
“Great. Can you ask Anita to call or text me with an update, if she hasn’t already by the time you get there? Or maybe you can call if that’s better.”
“Absolutely,” she said. “You know,” she mused, “maybe I can Reiki Maria to help soothe her. Or we could do some Qi Gong. I just went to a marvellous workshop and I bet Maria could use some work on her adrenals with all this stress.”
“The Reiki would be better,” I gently suggested. “I’m not sure she’d be up to learning Qi Gong right now.”
She sighed. “You’re probably right, dear.”
“It’s good of you to do this.”
“Are you kidding? You know I think of Maria as a daughter, and I hate to think of her in such pain. I just wish she’d told me earlier about her struggles. They seemed like such a good couple, but they’re probably both working too hard—that can be tough on relationships.” She paused and then said, “Heaven knows, I’m no expert on how to make things work.”
“Well, you did have Dad to deal with,” I said with a sigh. “Every time there was tension in the house, he just took off on some Earth-saving mission. I don’t know how you coped, Mom.”
“It was tough,” she said. “But you and I have travelled this road before and I’m not revisiting it just now. I want to get ready. I’ll pick up some healthy food for Maria on my way over there.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I know you’ll be a great support for the family.”
“Thanks, Abby. Maria has certainly been a rock for others over the years. She deserves our help. Anita or I will be in touch. Bye for now, dear.”
We signed off, and as I sat stewing, waiting for Anita to call, I reflected on how unusual it was for my mother and I to be so agreeable with each other. Perhaps working together on a common cause would bring us closer together.
Feeling restless, I decided to deal with the fish delivery while I waited. I carried the phone by its long cord into the hall and left it where I could hear it if it rang. Then I looked towards the shop door. The boxes were there, but there was no sign of Paul. Was it a coincidence that he had disappeared at just the moment Thomas had? It was something else I would have to mention to Dave when I saw him next, but he might have already thought about that too. Or maybe he didn’t know that Paul hadn’t shown up for work the day before.
I thought of two less serious and more likely scenarios: that Paul had heard about the disappearance and didn’t want to get involved, or that he had already decided to leave the store and the timing was mere coincidence. Another, more worrisome reason might be that he had something to do with Thomas’s disappearance. I dearly hoped that that wasn’t true, although Maria did say that he had seemed chummy with Thomas. And we really didn’t know anything at all about Paul.
Reluctantly, I turned my mind to the task at hand. If Anita and my mother had things under control at the house, the logical, but not overly welcome, idea would be for me to run the shop for the day. There was an overabundance of fish, and Saturday was usually a busy day. I didn’t really like the job, but was familiar with the routine and many of the local customers knew me. Grimacing, I walked forward, unlocked the door, and dragged the boxes of seafood and bags of ice inside. I knew that some of my long-term Market “friends” would be sure to have something to say when they saw me at the counter.
The phone rang as I locked the door. Secretly hoping Anita would have something more up my alley for me to do, I walked back and picked up the phone and the receiver, cradling it into my neck as I walked back into my office. “Hello,” I said.
“Hey, Abby,” replied a tired sounding Anita.
“How are things over there?” I asked. “Any news?”
“Nothing good, I’m afraid,” she said dolefully. “They found Thomas’s bike behind a hedge about two blocks away, but that’s all so far. Maria slept for about two hours last night and has been pacing back and forth ever since. It’s so sad. She moans … and cries. I gave her another Ativan about an hour ago. She was working herself into a frenzy.”
“You both must be exhausted,” I said.
“I’m pretty worn out,” agreed Anita. “But Maria’s too upset to think of sleeping. She finally remembered the shop and now she’s worrying about that too. She was pretty upset to hear that Paul didn’t show up yesterday, but she was calmer when I told her you had things under control over there. Any news at your end?”
“Not really,” I said. “I did speak with Arabella and she insisted on helping. She is on her way now. I’m sure she’ll be helpful in a situation like this.”
“That’s wonderful. She’ll know how to be firm and sympathetic with Maria.”
“I think so too. And with her there, you can go home and get some rest. Then you could spell each other off after that.”
“Yes, okay,” agreed Anita.
“I’d like to be there too,” I said, “but I’m realizing that I’ll be more useful here. I can keep an eye out for Paul, unload the seafood, and get it ready for serving. If he doesn’t show up,” I sighed, “I’ll work in the shop for the day.”
“Do you think you can handle that? It sounds like a lot of work.”
“Well, I’m no Maria, but I did work here years ago. I can take a stab at it. I’ll roll up my sleeves, hold my nose, and cope with getting fish scales on my skin. But you have to promise to keep in touch. Tell my mom that, too, if you go home.”
“We can do that.”
“I’ll leave my cell phone on. You can leave text messages or updates on my machine. If I don’t hear anything during the day, I’ll call when I’m finished at five.”
“Okay.”
“Oh yeah! Anita, could you mention to Dave that he should ask Maria for some details about Paul? It’s probably just coincidence that he’s not around, but Maria did mention to me once that he and Thomas hit it off.”
“Sure thing. I know Maria will appreciate what you’re doing. Do you want to speak with her? She’s just talking with the police again.”
“No, no. She’ll just try to show concern for me. She knows I don’t love working with the fish, only eating them,” I tried to say lightly. “Just let her know I sounded happy to do something useful. She’ll get that. And can you leave me a message if you want me back at the end of the day? Otherwise I’ll crash here after the store closes.”
“No problem, Ab, but with Arabella here, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Maybe,” she said hopefully, “there will be better news today. If there is, I’ll let you know right away.”
“Okay then, I’d better get back to work. Good luck today.”
“You too, Abby. I hope the fish don’t get to you,” she said as she rang off.
So then, with no other welcome distractions, I turned my mind to the waiting seafood. I knew the routine, and, realizing that I would only get grungier as the day went on, I decided to just have a quick wash and change my clothes before I donned the heavy rubber apron for work. At the top of my stairs I said a fond, but fleeting hello to my bikes. “Ah, my beauties, I will have to visit with you again someday soon,” I said as I walked past the gleaming bicycles, “but right now, duty calls.”
As I finished dressing in serviceable jeans and a blue sweatshirt, my stomach grumbled. I am usually a slave to my stomach, so was shocked when I realized I had been so preoccupied that I had forgotten to eat proper food for quite a while. Even more amazing was the lack of caffeine in my veins. No wonder I had a low-grade headache. I took what I had left in the fridge—animal, vegetable, and mineral—and whipped something up. Believe me, it was nutritious and healthy, but not delicious. However, if she asked, I could honestly tell my mother I had had my protein and vegetables for the day.
Leaving the blender and glass to soak in my sink, I ran back down the stairs to the fresh fish that were waiting patiently for me. I gave myself a time limit so that I could work in a cappuccino chaser before I actually opened for business. Then I set to with vigour, if not relish.
CHAPTER 14
CHOPPING THE ICE CRUDELY, I plopped the fish onto the cold window bed in as attractive a way as I could, given the time crunch. After I had tidied up the boxes and wiped down the counters one more time, I smiled apologetically at the faces pressed against the door, gave them a five-minute sign and walked out the back exit and around the corner to the coffee shop.
