school. I just have a few years left, and then I’ll be going to university somewhere.”
Dan was shocked to realize it was as close in time as that. He tried not to let the surprise sound in his voice. “Where will you go?”
Ked made a face. “I don’t know. Geez! I haven’t even started to apply. The one I want to go to most is in B.C., though, so if you moved there —”
“Who said anything about moving?”
“No one.” Ked shrugged.
“Good, because I’m just going for a trip.” And to try to talk someone into coming back with me, Dan thought. Maybe his son was right. Didn’t he deserve a happy ending? Still, he couldn’t abandon Ked. Couldn’t, wouldn’t — it was all the same. For some things, there were no second chances. “I’m going, but I’ll be back. Don’t even think of trying to get out of doing the housework.”
He would not leave for now, though Ked was right — one day, he would. That didn’t mean Dan was stuck here till he died, however. Vancouver was only five hours away, and Air Canada had non-stop flights every day of the week. What more could you ask?
“Anyway,” Ked continued, “if I go to school in B.C., I might see you hanging out there.”
Dan snorted. “Hanging out? Is that what you think you’ll be doing in university?”
“Dad! Relax, would you?”
“I’m relaxed!”
“Yeah?” Ked eyed his father. “Okay, then. Let’s see you.”
Dan knew this would be hard to do without a drink, but he was only two months into his promise to Ked and he wasn’t going to break it. Six months wasn’t that long — not when you really thought about it. He felt himself dialling the number before he’d consciously made the decision.
Trevor answered. “Don’t tell me — you’re on a ferry that’s just pulling into harbour.”
“No, not this time.”
“Good. Because the place is a mess and I’d hate to think you were coming out here just to cheer me up. You don’t have some scheme to come and save me from loneliness or something, do you? I don’t need to be saved.”
“Not at all,” Dan said. “But I’ve been thinking a lot about how that gong sounded in the Japanese garden and how dark it gets there at night.”
“Does that mean you’re coming for another visit?”
“I’d like to.” Dan faltered. Words were failing him. “I’ve been thinking that my mind needs a break … before I start to hate everything here again. And it so happens there’s a seat sale on right now.”
“Fantastic!” Trevor jumped on it. “But I’m not pressuring you. I’d love to see you. Any time — I told you that. I’ve got the cure for whatever ails you.”
“Just so you know, I haven’t had a drink in two months, so I’m a total basket case, but a committed one.”
He was wrapping a box with a miniature Pride flag rolled up inside and a note that said, “I hope that’s enough colour for you.” Before he left, he’d drop it off at the office with a thank you note for Sally.
“I’m not selling the house or committing myself to anything … well, apart from spending the night with a cup of hot chocolate in front of your fireplace now and again. Preferably with lots of marshmallows.”
“You’re travelling 4,300 kilometres to have a cup of hot chocolate?”
“With you. A cup of hot chocolate with you. Any problem with that?”
Trevor laughed. “None whatsoever.”
“Fine. Then wish me luck —”
“Good luck.”
“— and I’ll see you soon. Can I bring you anything?”
“Yeah. Bring your tool belt. You can read into that whatever you like.”
Downstairs Ralph sat looking at him. “What do you want?” Dan asked, opening his arms wide. The dog leapt to the door and waited while Dan put the leash on him. Outside he trotted briskly along without pulling. He seemed to know where he wanted to go, as though he’d sniffed the wind, and it had told him something.
How do you gauge what lies ahead? How do you choose?
Sometimes, Craig Killingworth had written in his diary, I think the only things that matter are the choices we make, for better or worse, for right or wrong. He had chosen the love of his sons and walked into the open arms of death. As sad and unfair as it was, nothing could change that. Craig Killingworth had let duty — an all-consuming duty of fatherhood coupled with a love for his sons — kill him. He’d tried to escape his fate and walked right into it. And here, twenty years later, Dan Sharp walked his dog across a bridge in one of the world’s largest metropolises, contemplating his future. His own choices. He, at least, could still make them. And they would be as wrong or as right as could be. There was no telling until he made them.
The man and dog passed over the Don Valley Bridge. Snow fell lightly. Below, a flow of red taillights winked and twitched its way up the constipated fracture that divided the city. A river of flame that would be cold as ash tomorrow. A river of escapees. Those who couldn’t take the city any more — this place that was supposed to be friendly and safe, a haven for like-minded souls who wanted to live together in peace and harmony — were slowly making their way to a new land, leaving behind the tyranny of mob rule. Somehow in the course of the last century, as the city became a garbage bin for the tortured and angst-ridden, the uncaring and soulless, the promise had all gone wrong.
Dan heard voices and turned to watch three kids cutting across to his left, sharing some childhood joke. There were two boys, one black and one white, running alongside an Asian girl, laughing as they went. Citizens of the new century. The very essence of diversity.
Well, maybe not all wrong, then. Somewhere there was hope.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Navigator Shane McConnell, Captain Russell Sergiates, and First Mate Timothy Pinnell of the Outward Bound, for that eye-opening trip to the Bay of Quinte, Fisheries Officer Brian Round for his explanation of marine rescue operations, Constable Lyn Nottingham and Sergeant Mark Round for their advice on policing strategies, and Group Manager Barbara York for shedding light on the intricate mysteries of banking protocol. Any errors or inaccuracies in such matters are of my own purposeful and fanciful invention.
Thanks are also due to Peter Hawkins and Arnon Melo for inviting me on their lovely, non-fatal wedding cruise, Richard Armstrong and Peter Nosalik for having me as a guest in their charming Forest Hill home, Dean Gregory and Drew Elvin, each for their own brand of west coast hospitality, Bob MacGregor of FSA Toronto for helping me sort out my own messes, Kevin Hartley and Eric Wegler for enlightening me on the perils of being a gay dad, and the delightful and ever-lovely Gail Bowen for her additional insights into parenthood.
Cheers to Michael Carroll, Allister Thompson, Margaret Bryant, and the team at Dundurn for making me feel welcome. As well, I salute
