Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island (6 page)

Jason, thought Noel. Jason's son in a coma. What had happened to him? And to Jason over all those years? The pain of Jason walking away when they were eighteen was long gone. But now Noel didn't know what Triple I, what
he
could do for a kid in a coma. For an ex best friend.

When they were fourteen, fifteen, pimples covered Jason's face. Noel, six months younger, still had a clear complexion but worried about acne lying in wait. There'd been a burly, tall guy with a little moustache and acne scars, he was sixteen, in their grade ten English class, who picked on Jason: “Hey, Pimple Face! Hey, Jerkoff!” One day toward the end of term he strong-armed Jason against the lockers. A teacher came by, frowned and the confrontation ended. Next day, outside the corner store that sold candy and newspapers, where Jason and Noel had agreed to meet, there he was again—Matt, that was his name—and he had another go at Jason: “Yo, Pimple Fuck! Zit Heaven!” He poked Jason in the chest with his fist.

Noel appeared, saw them, let loose at Matt: “Hey, leave him alone or—!”

“Yeah? Or what?”

“You get those scars from picking at
your
zits?”

Matt went for Noel's throat. But his hands didn't make it that far. Jason pulled at him from behind, Noel backed away. So did Jason. So did Matt, saying, “Two against one in't fair!” His shoulders slumped and he turned and kicked the shit out of a bench. Noel and Jason walked away fast. They glanced at each other, a silent thanks. That was the look Noel now remembered, driving up the Island Highway.

At the best of times, Kyra couldn't read in a moving car. She didn't have morning sickness, she refused to have morning sickness, besides, it was afternoon. She crossed her arms beneath her tender breasts and stared out the side window. The highway crossed a bridge, abutments on each side and a sign: Nile Creek. She couldn't see any creek. Immediately another bridge, another sign: Crocker Creek. Again, no visible water. Kyra had always thought of creeks as little trickles, yet these were long bridges. Enough to span the Mississippi—or at least an arm of the Fraser. Another sign: McLaughlin Creek. Soon Rosewall Creek, then Waterloo Creek. Noel zipped along. Furry Creek, Buckley Bay—not a creek, an exit—Hart Creek, Bloedel Creek, Trent River. Ah, a river! That deserved a bridge but it didn't look any different from the creek bridges. Damn engineers built this new highway to get from point A to point B fast and safely, so no quaint wooden bridges a meter above sparkling creeks. Nope, stay up on the ridge, cruise along, pretend you're in a plane.

“How you doing back there?” Noel called.

“Creeks! Hell of a lot of creeks. Makes me need to pee.”

“Half an hour till we're there. Can you hang on?”

“I'll try.” She was going to say, you've never been pregnant. But she knew Alana's earplug wouldn't block conversation. She wanted to say: When you have to pee, it seems you have to pee. “Oh now they're promising us elk!” She crossed her legs. “Look, they've built a fence”—she looked out the other window—“on both sides. No worry about elk on the highway.” She leaned forward and said around Noel's seat back, “Tell me more about our client.”

Noel thought. “Can't tell you much. Derek's got broken ribs, a smashed tibia, a shattered cheekbone, possible brain damage, internal injuries. Linda, she's a nurse, got him medevacked down to Victoria. After ten days they brought him back. Middle son's the figure skater. Youngest son I don't know anything about.”

Kyra's bladder made her cross her legs the other way and tighten her pelvic muscles. “Would you speed up a bit, please.”

Noel looked ahead, behind, and obediently did.

Kyra, to keep the demands of her body at bay, went back to reading creek and elk signs.

They turned off the brilliantly engineered boring highway—stunning mountains around them now—onto a narrower new road leading down into Campbell River.

“Gas station,” said Kyra. “Quickly, please.”

“First one,” Noel replied, semi-sympathetic. Bloody hell, is pregnancy nine months of demands? What if we're doing surveillance?

A gas station at last. They all used the restrooms. Noel filled up with gas, couple of cents a liter cheaper than in Nanaimo. In the store Alana, still plugged in, picked up a small bottle of unsweetened fruit juice. Kyra, who'd been thinking about pop, thought, oh shit, and grabbed the same. Uncle Noel smiled at both of them and paid.

Jason had said the hospital was on 2nd Street. Back in the car Noel appointed Alana official navigator and gave her the map. She took it, releasing neither music or juice. Noel turned left, as he knew he had to.

Here you go, baby, Kyra thought. Drinking juice for nine months. Already you're changing my life.

A couple of blocks off Dogwood they located the hospital and a parking space. Lots of green space. Splendid setting for the sick. They entered the hospital, a three-storey building of far greater antiquity than the highway. At Emergency they asked for directions to Intensive Care. Elevator to the third floor. At a nurses' station Kyra said, “We're here to see Derek Cooper.”

A plump middle-aged nurse asked, “Are you relatives?”

“Yes,” lied Kyra without hesitation.

“He's in 311.”

“Not ICU?” Noel asked. He hated hospitals. He knew them too well.

“Telemetry. Just outside ICU.”

The three headed down the hall and into a room. In the bed a bundle of body lay under a sheet. Wires and tubes stuck out of it, connecting to bags and monitors. The scalp was bandaged. The skin of the face was deeply bruised, some of it still purple, much of it gone yellow. No one else there, but seconds later three men entered the room, one after the other. Jason and the two brothers, Kyra figured.

Noel confirmed it by grabbing the older one's upper arms and holding them tight. “Jason, I'm so sorry.” He glanced toward the lump.

One son had gone around the foot of the bed to the other side. He picked up Derek's hand. “Hi Dee, it's Tim here. Your favorite pest.” His voice choked, he cleared his throat, he blinked hard. “You're gonna come out okay.”

The other boy must be Shane, confirmed for Kyra first from Alana's intense gaze, then immediately by Jason's introduction. Noel introduced her and Alana to the men.

“I've been following all your successes,” Alana said to Shane.

“Right.” He sounded deeply uninterested. He stared down at Derek.

The family resemblance was strong. The three were about the same height. The two sons had dark brown straight hair, one day likely morphing to Jason's brown-grey. The three faces were long, with firm chins and narrow noses; pleasant faces. Kyra glanced at Derek. His nose was blunter and his lips fuller. No way to tell anything about his hair with his head bandaged.

Many bodies in the room. Then another body arrived, in a nurse's uniform.

“Hi Hon,” Jason said. Linda, the boys' mother, Kyra realized.

“Hi.” Linda smiled at them all quickly, then looked to Derek.

“The doctor saying anything new?” asked Shane.

“Nothing different.”

Jason asked, “They should do another brain scan.”

Linda shrugged. “They're waiting for an indication of some change.”

“People come out of comas even after years,” said Tim. “We've got to keep him in touch with us. He's got to hear family voices.”

Noel introduced Kyra and Alana to Linda, whose smile was tight.

Another person entered the room, a young pretty auburn-haired woman carrying a big purse. “Oh, hi, guys. I just went for coffee.”

“Good to take some time away,” said Linda evenly.

“Yeah, I've been here since ten. Talking to Derek. Playing his music.” She put down her purse and pushed to the bed. “Hi Derek, I'm back.”

“This is Cindy,” Jason said. “Derek's girlfriend.”

Kyra noted the irritation on Tim's face. Shane remained expressionless.

Linda said, “People in comas don't need to be stimulated all the time.” Her tone was mildly admonitory.

“Derek likes his music,” Cindy defended.

“You checking in with the nurses' station?” Linda's tone was still mild but Kyra caught a fleeting sense of glee from Tim.

“Sure,” Cindy mumbled.

Linda pushed by Jason and stroked Derek's forehead. “Too many people in this room. It's just after staff change. There'll be rounds.”

“We'll be in the waiting area until you're free,” Kyra announced as she motioned Noel and Alana out. Shane came too. After a minute, so did Tim.

“I'm really sorry about your brother,” Alana said to Shane.

“Thanks.”

Tim slumped on the orange plastic sofa. He took off his cap, put it on backwards.

“How long's he been in a coma?” Alana asked Shane.

Shane sat too. “A few weeks.”

“Twenty-three days.” Tim pulled the bill of his cap around again, and down so his eyes were shaded. Alana's concern was only for Shane. Kyra, coming to stand beside Noel, said quietly, “What now?”

“We need to see where Derek was attacked.”

“And talk to his doctor.”

“And go to Quadra?”

“We'll find a motel or a B&B for the night.” Kyra looked at Alana, still trying to talk to Shane. He'd crossed his legs and was flipping his foot up and down. Tim's cap sat halfway down his face.

Noel said. “Kyra, find out who Derek's doctor is and when we can see him. I'll go to the car and look up bed and breakfasts. I bet there's a wireless leak around here.”

Kyra crinkled one side of her mouth. “I'm your social secretary?”

“Please.” He'd learned to despise hospitals when Brendan was dying. “If you don't mind?” He had to get out of here. Her face appeared resigned. He left.

She sat down in a hard lumpy chair and picked up a magazine. Over it, she studied the three teens. Alana, limpid eyes still on Shane. Had she been wrong casting Alana their teen detective? Tim, under his ball cap, aware of anything in the room? Shane, all but immobile.

Linda came in, followed by Cindy with her large purse. Linda looked tired—and though a generation younger than Noel's parents, nearly as grey. Cindy looked what? defiant? sulky? chastised? What had Linda said to her?

Jason arrived last. Kyra said quietly, “Noel and I would like to talk to Derek's doctor.”

Jason glanced at Linda. “Doctor Pierce.”

“He'll have the reports from Victoria?”

“Yes, he does.”

“Where could we find him?”

“Do you have a—?” Linda made scribbling motions.

Kyra pulled out her iPhone. Linda gave her the number. Kyra punched it in. “Thanks.” In the hall she pressed Talk. The receptionist said, “The doctor could see you for a few minutes—” she stressed
few
—“in about an hour.”

Back in the waiting area she said, “We'd like to see where Derek was attacked.”

“A dead-end road.” Jason pursed his lips. “I better come with you. Linda,” he put his arm around his wife's shoulder, “why don't you take the kids and go home. I'll show them the attack site. We'll come over later.”

“We're to talk with Dr. Pierce in about an hour,” Kyra reminded him.

“Oh. Okay.”

To Alana, Linda said, “You can come to Quadra with us if you'd rather.” And to Kyra, “I've got a place for you on Quadra. A friend with a B&B had cancellations. Won't you have to be on the island too?”

Yes, they needed to interview whatever friends and maybe enemies Derek had on Quadra. In the morning. “That's very nice. Thank you.”

On Alana's lips, a confused scowl. She glanced over at Shane; he stared beyond her. To Kyra she said, “If Noel doesn't mind, I'll go over with Linda.” Linda nodded. “You'll tell me what you find out?”

“That's okay?” Kyra said to Linda, who nodded. Then to Alana, “Sure.”

“Come on, everyone. Cindy, take some time for yourself, dear.” Linda's tone just wanted to go home. “Derek's getting the best care he can have.”

Cindy played with her purse strap. Fear, grief, anxiety, confusion flitted across her face.

“If you do something for yourself this evening, you'll have more to report to Derek tomorrow,” Linda stated.

Cindy's eyes teared. “I just want him back again.”

“We all do, Hon.” Linda patted Cindy's shoulder. “Do you have your car?”

“No, I walked.”

Linda smiled. “Jason and the others can give you a ride home.”

In the elevator Linda told Kyra that her friend, Barb, had cancellations because she'd informed her bookings that the attic had been invaded by carpenter ants. She only needed the people away for a few hours but they spooked and cancelled. “City people don't know, in the bush you live with lots of critters. If you want I'll confirm the rooms from the ferry. The ants are gone.”

“Great.” Ants?

•  •  •

A couple of years ago Harold Arensen decided the weather in Victoria far outranked humid Ottawa summers and ice-laced winter streets, so decided to move his base. In Victoria, too, the skating community treated him with appropriate respect. Not that he'd lacked respect in the east, simply that the natural rivalry between the BC skating world and that in the Hamilton-Toronto-Ottawa-Montreal stretch had the west believing they'd brilliantly won Harold away from his haunts for the last thirty-plus years.

Though he preferred Victoria to Vancouver, sometimes it was necessary to spend time on the mainland, especially this year leading up to the Olympics. He'd been a proud supporter of the Canadian faction that had won the 2010 Olympics for Vancouver; if he'd been living on the west coast then he would've been a leading partner in the effort. Now, since many of Canada's superior young skaters trained in and around Vancouver, he'd been following a select few through their coaches, offering advice, sometimes even wisdom, as best he could. To the very best he would offer his unique expertise. They would profit from it, and their success would reflect with burnished grandeur Harold's own place in Skate Canada.