North Fork (20 page)

“Are you all right?”

“I'm not sure,” I said. He took me back to his office, which was even more cluttered than it was when he interviewed me. I sat across from him in the same chair.

“Well?”

“I'm okay,” I said. “I just had a little scare.”

I was about to make up a lie about a near miss in traffic, but then I made the decision. I decided to disappear again. I didn't tell him the whole truth, but I told him enough that he offered to go back to the house with me after work so I could get some things, and to let me sleep on his couch tonight. He wanted to confront Grant. He has some friends that he said would enjoy letting Grant know what it feels like to be stalked. I told him to wait a few days, and if Grant didn't stay away, I would call the police.

It's really late now but I can't sleep, though I know I should. Leigh gave me a pillow and some blankets and his couch is comfortable and clean. My mind is swirling. I keep imagining being face to face with Sterling and Bonnie. I run through various plans in my head. There's only one ferry to Anacortes each day and it leaves Sidney at 11:20 a.m. Going back the way I came would be the simplest thing to do. I've got a bus schedule and it would be easy to just get up in the morning and go to the bus stop. I'm supposed to start work at ten tomorrow morning, and
since Leigh closed up last night, he's going in late too, so that complicates that idea. I would have to do more explaining than I want to.

I plan to leave a note saying I went home, so Leigh, Trudy, Ian and Char don't panic and think Grant got me. They all think my home is in Seattle. They've all been nice to me and I'll miss them. I don't want anyone to be able to trace me. Grant thinks my home is in California, which is good. After I've been home for a while, long enough for him to lose interest in me or find someone else to bother, I intend to write and tell the people who were good to me the truth. They deserve that much.

Leigh is being great. I think he's asleep, but you never know. It's quiet in there but I'm being quiet too and I'm wide awake, even with the glass of wine I drank earlier. I'm pretty sure he's courting me too, but he hasn't tried anything yet. Natalie says I'm naïve about boys, now men, and I know she's right, but I also see things in people that she doesn't see, like in Corey. I'm not worried that Leigh will come out here tonight and force me or anything. He has an innocent side too, and part of him really does want to help me, but I can tell he's looking for pay-off.

Once you start fibbing you get trapped, and, because I ran away, I had to tell everyone I met here a fib about myself and who I am. If you only have surface relationships, the fibs don't matter much, but, as soon as you start getting to know someone, it gets complicated. Now I'm getting to know Leigh, and I need his help. So on top of all the other things whizzing around in my head, I'm thinking about him too, and while all this is going on, I feel the need to pee, so I get up.

On my way back to the couch, I go to the window and peek out from between the curtains. It's there! That fucking Escalade! Parked across the street in the shadows, far enough away that you might not notice, but with a direct line of vision to the front windows of the apartment, where I'm standing. I can't see well
enough to tell if Grant is in it, but as you might imagine, my heart is pounding in my ears.

I fight the impulse to get Leigh up. Instead, I sit back on the couch with the blankets over me, staring at the curtains. Sometimes you just need someone to share the fright with, but I keep my head and imagine Leigh storming out into the street, which would only lead to trouble and could wind up terrible because either one of them might have a gun. So I stay put and try to think it through. I wish I knew for sure whether Grant is in the car. The apartment has a back door, and I'm imagining slipping out and down the stairs, but he could just as easily be lurking out there somewhere. I put all my stuff in my backpack and tear a sheet of paper from the notebook I write this journal in. I write this note.

Leigh,

In the middle of the night, I made a spur of the moment decision and decided to go home. I left some unfinished business there and this seems like a good time to take care of it. Thanks for the job. Sorry to leave you shorthanded at the restaurant today, but I know you'll find someone to cover. You've been a good friend during a difficult time in my life, so thanks for that too.

Apologize for me to Trudy, Ian and Char for not saying a proper goodbye. They have also been good friends. It's going to be kind of crazy for a while when I get home, so don't expect to hear from me right away, but I will write and explain when things settle down. Don't worry. I'll be fine.

Amy

I put the note under the saltshaker on the table and sit quietly, listening, hoping Leigh is a sound sleeper. It's early morning and the busses will start running soon. I peek through the curtains again and, to my surprise, Grant's car is gone, so I slip out the
back door. It squeaks and I shut it carefully and make my way down the stairs and around the building next door, then past the garbage cans to an unlit side street. I left the bike at Ian and Char's, and decide I'm better off without it. I move fast, staying in the shadows, taking a long, indirect route toward a main street where I know there is a bus stop.

Since it's now July, the night is short and light is beginning to show in the eastern sky, over the Valley. East is my direction today. By dark tonight I will have faced the music there.

The city is starting to wake and there are occasional cars. I slide behind trees or bushes when I can, like Corey described. When I get to the bus stop, I stay in the shadow of a building and wait, watching the cars, watching for the Escalade.

I still plan to take the ferry from Sidney to Anacortes, but I'll have to kill a lot of time in Sidney since it's so early. When I see the bus, I step out of the shadows, and it comes to a stop. It's nearly empty. I take a seat toward the back. As it pulls from the curb back into traffic, I recognize by the bike rack the car that pulls alongside. It's Leigh. He sees me and motions for me to come to him, which I understand to mean he wants me to get off at the next stop. I shake my head and look away. He's still following when the bus goes through Sidney, so I don't get off. When it gets to the BC ferry terminal at Schwartz Bay, I have no choice.

According to the schedule, there's a ferry leaving soon. I can get a ticket and get on if I hurry. At the tollbooth, Leigh catches up to me.

“Amy, I got your note. I was worried.”

I hug him.

“Sorry I left like that, but I really do need to go back.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Grant's car was out front.”

“That asshole! My friends will take care of him. You don't have to go.”

“I need to go home and if I don't do it now, I may chicken out. There really is unfinished business.”

It's my turn to pay and I buy my ticket. “I've got to go now, Leigh. Really. You've been a good friend when I needed one desperately. I'll write later and explain everything.”

“Okay. If I have to, I guess I can accept that. I needed to know directly from you that you're okay, and be sure that it wasn't because of that asshole.”

I make it onto the ferry. The Canadian boats have a different look and feel than Washington state ferries. They feel like real ships. When they leave the dock, you get the sense that you're embarking on a voyage, that you're about to cross a vast ocean, heading for another country or somewhere far away, instead of just crossing some lake or canal on a more fun version of a floating bridge. As the foghorn blast announces our departure and the hull shudders beneath me, I decide I am glad Leigh followed me and that I had to change my route home. The world I am heading into will not be the same one I left, and I need time to adjust.

On the boat you can buy a bus ticket to Vancouver. I found the counter, paid and got instructions for boarding. This is the long, complicated route, but it will work and I'm starting early in the day. At the bus station in Vancouver, I'll buy a ticket to Mount Vernon, and take a SKAT bus from there that will drop me off near Natalie's house. I could be home before dark.

The distances on the highway signs are in kilometers. When you think about it, borders between countries are pretty strange. Mount Vernon and the Valley are about the same distance from Vancouver as they are from Seattle, but Vancouver is in another country, with different laws and a different way of looking at things. In my mind, as we near the Customs stop, I make rough translations to miles, then estimate minutes left. I'm projecting ahead, imagining what could go wrong. I have a Canadian birth certificate and a fake Washington driver's license. What if they don't let me in?

Am I Canadian or American? Am I Amy Mackenzie or Kristen Nichols? The moment of truth could come at the border. The guy could pull me aside and say, “This license is fake. You're not American. You can't come in.” I decided I would make them call Bonnie. This morning I was worried about getting through Customs, but now I'm not. Fate will decide. If they stop me, Bonnie will have to explain it to them and that might be the easiest way for it to play out. If they let me through, I'll have to try to get her to come out from behind Sterling and tell me who I really am. I think that's the part I'm most afraid of.

Well, all my worry about the border crossing was for nothing. I handed the guy my papers and he barely looked at them. After that, the ride down I-5 to Mount Vernon was eerie. It was so familiar; it felt like I had never left. The stretch from the mall at Bellis Fair through Bellingham is where it really hit me. I'd
crossed over. I'm back, and it's going to be a long night. I'm wearing sunglasses and a baseball hat, which I wouldn't have worn before. I look different, but someone from school or town might recognize me. I'm glad I sent the note to Natalie. At least it won't be like in Huckleberry Finn where after Huck disappears, Tom thinks Huck is a ghost when he sees him again.

When we arrive in Mount Vernon, I have to wait around for the SKAT bus. I find myself touching the bench to feel the heat of the sun, listening to traffic sounds, scraping my shoe on the pavement to prove to myself that what I'm doing is real. It's late afternoon. It will be dinnertime when I get there, but I'm not hungry. I'm tired from lack of sleep and all the anticipation, but I think that's helping because it makes me kind of numb.

When I left, there were fields of tulips and daffodils. They're gone. Now the picking machines are working the raspberry fields. As the bus crosses the Rainbow Bridge, I look down the channel at the town. It's a pretty town and you can understand why tourists have taken it over. Then I've arrived. The bus stops near the entrance to Shelter Bay, just off the main street that runs through the reservation village.

On the main drag, there are fireworks stands beside the road and kids lighting firecrackers on the sidewalk. The Fourth of July is tomorrow. Independence Day. Natalie's house is on the second street up the hill, parallel to the main street. I will have to walk only a little way, about the distance of a city block. I step off the bus and look straight ahead, hoping no one recognizes me as I walk toward the corner.

On Natalie's street, the old truck is parked in front of his house, between the corner and her house, and he's walking toward it from the front door. It's the old guy who gave me a ride to Anacortes that first morning. He's coming around the tailgate, heading toward the driver's door, and I look down to avoid eye contact, hoping he'll just get in and go away. But he doesn't. He
looks right at me with his hand on the door handle and waits until I'm close, then says, “So you decided to come back.”

His directness startles me into meeting his eyes. I answer, “It was time.”

“I figured you'd come when you was ready.” There was warmth in his dark eyes. “They was all pretty worried about you, but I didn't say nothing. I knew you'd be back when you got your job done. They get pretty worked up around here.”

0kay. This will be hard to describe, but here goes. It was hot and I was glad to be home. It was a busy day at the marina. The job is good and most of the time it's pretty laid back, but not on holidays. It's helping me to understand Brad because people who own yachts have to have at least some money. Like everyone else, some of them are nice and some are complete jerks. Anyway, even though the banks and the post office were open, it was the Fourth of July weekend, although the actual holiday is Tuesday. At work I collected moorage fees from the boats on the transient floats, made my usual Monday run to the bank and picked up the mail at the post office. The town was plugged with tourists, so it was hard to park. Oh yeah, I forgot to say that I got my driver's license because I need it to drive the little pickup on errands for the port.

As usual around the Fourth of July, even though there are only a few stands in the village, the rez sounds like a war zone, with fireworks going off everywhere. Most of the stands are at Boom City out on the highway, and nearly every Native family has some connection to a stand. Everyone has fireworks and none of it is safe and sane. I had skipped lunch and was eating soda crackers with this tuna mix on them (lemon juice, mayo and chopped olives) that Trish had left in the fridge, and was planning to take a shower. Everything felt normal. I mean, I didn't have any unsettled feeling or weird premonition like you might expect just before your reality gets flipped on its head.

There was a knock at the door. This house had a doorbell once, but it hasn't worked for years. I thought it was a neighbor kid
or something. I really wasn't thinking much. Trish wasn't home, and I was a little annoyed at the interruption. I wanted to take my shower and call Brad. He had to work that day too, but had the Fourth off. I didn't because it's so busy at the marina, but I would get double time for working the holiday. My mouth was still full of cracker and tuna when I opened the door.