Christina Kilbourne - Safe Harbour

Copyright Christina Kilbourne, 2019

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purpose of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Publisher: Scott Fraser | Acquiring editor: Kathryn Lane | Editor: Shannon Whibbs
Cover designer: Laura Boyle
Cover image: Tent istock.com/Adventure_Photo, skyline istock.com/lvcandy
Printer: Webcom, a division of Marquis Book Printing Inc.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: Safe harbour / Christina Kilbourne

Names: Kilbourne, Christina, 1967- author.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190081112 | Canadiana (ebook) 20190081120 | ISBN 9781459745186 (softcover) | ISBN 9781459745193 (PDF) | ISBN 9781459745209 (EPUB)

Classification: LCC PS8571.I476 S24 2019 | DDC jC813/.6dc23

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and Ontario Creates, and the Government of Canada.

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For Pam and Ed and Finn, who are together in the clouds.

MOST PEOPLE THINK cumulonimbus are the best cloud-watching clouds, but Dad and I prefer cirrus spissatus. If you ask me, the whole cumulus family of clouds is too obvious. Its like they shout danger when anyone can tell they mean trouble at first glance.

But cirrus spissatus clouds are hypnotic. They promise mystery and hope: a thin veil between earth and heaven that might dissolve at any moment. We most often see Mom in the long, thin cover of the cirrus spissatus clouds. We seek her out every day, unless its cloudless, of course, which means shes giving us the all clear. Its like a contest to see who can find her first. Maybe her face is our good luck charm or the act of looking is our prayer for the coming day.

When I was little Dad used to beat me to her, but now I find her first. When I do, when I point her out in some distant cloud formation, he sighs and, with a dreamy distant look in his eyes, says: Shes the most beautiful woman in the world.

And not until then, not until one of us sees her face in the clouds, do we start our day.

I lie back in the sun with my hands behind my head and scan the sky above me while Tuff dozes in a patch of dappled sunlight farther up the slope. The leaves overhead sift the sunlight across his body in a trembling pattern. His legs jerk slightly and I wonder if hes chasing a dream squirrel or a rabbit or maybe a raccoon. Therere so many critters to chase and new places to explore in the ravine, I dont think he misses the boat at all. But I do. I miss the slap of the waves on the hull and rocking in a half-doze on the glinting sea. I miss Dad, too. But never mind.

I slip the last soda cracker into my mouth and chase it with a mouthful of water from the Tropicana jug. Then I empty crumbs from the plastic sleeve into the palm of my hand and eat those, too. I expect the rustling to wake up Tuff, but hes oblivious to me, whining in his sleep.

When I finish scouring the northern horizon, my eyes drift east. I split the sky into quadrants and search for her that way. North, east, west, and last of all, south. Dad prefers to let his eyes wander across the sky randomly, following her clues from thought to thought. But my ways faster.

There she is, Tuff. I point out her face near the edge of the eastern horizon, beyond the overpass. Shes smiling today and her hair is streaming in the wind. She sure looks beautiful. I say it for Dad and then stand up.

Finally Tuff raises his head and assesses me from his patch of sunshine and green grass.

Well, cmon. Up you get. We cant lie around here all day. Weve got stuff to do.

Tuff devours a bowl of kibble while I pack the tent and zip it closed. Then I pull the branches over the front door until its completely hidden. It would take a psychic, or maybe a U.S. Marine, to find our campsite.

I pat my front pocket for my phone and charger. Then check for the lump in my back pocket, which is a small fold of twenty-dollar bills and the credit card.

Everythings in order. Lets go!

Tuff follows me out to the trail and up the side of the ravine, sniffing at every stalk of grass and tree trunk like hes met them all before and has to say hello to a long-lost friend.

Dont get too used to living on land.

He tilts his head and barks once.

Of course, Ill always take you for walks so you can chase squirrels.

As if to demonstrate his joy, Tuff races up the side of the ravine and stops at the base of a stately maple tree. He stares into the branches and dances around the trunk, trying to get a sightline on whatever he chased up there. When I get too far ahead, he abandons the tree and runs to catch up.

Its a glorious summer day. The sun is warm and bright without making the day oppressively hot. Its the air quality in Toronto that surprises me most. Even though its July, the clarity of the air makes me feel optimistic and its easy to breathe. Its never like that in the Keys, or even farther north in Tampa. No, the air in Florida is thick and heavy, and you cant ever forget that you need your lungs to survive. The summer air in Miami could sear your throat if you inhaled too deep.

When we get to the cemetery, I clip the leash onto Tuffs collar and head toward Bloor Street. I havent been in Toronto long, but I already know the major intersections and basic landmarks downtown. I know the names of some of the neighbourhoods and can find my way to a few places.

There are even a couple of people I see day after day. Like the girl who sits on a square of cardboard near the intersection of Yonge and Bloor, her legs folded like a pretzel and her back as straight as the wall she melts into. She sits on the same block, though not always in the exact same place. Today shes on the northeast corner. As I turn onto Yonge Street, I look at her and nod. Tuff sniffs at her cup of change and I tug lightly on his leash.