As I’m chewing, it hits me. Therankest, most putrid odor I ever remember smelling. It’s rottenfish and roadkill, all rolled into one. I can’t even swallow theapple. I check the bottom of my shoes to see if I stepped insomething sinister, but they’re clean. Gagging, I turn theauxiliary on and undo all the windows. Then I look over at my fuzzypassenger, who is resting his head on his paws and watching me.
“You’re the only new thing here.It didn’t smell before you hopped in. You farted, didn’t you?”There’s a look of high achievement on his face; no shame, noregret. “That was stage five rank, Mr. Stinky. Thanks forsharing.”
I reach out and pet his head,hoping that my touch doesn’t make him relax more and release moreblessings. I toss my apple out of the window and grab the deck ofsmokes, then put it down again when I consider second hand smoke. Acouple of minutes pass and the dog starts to snore. I’m not sure ifit’s the cadence of the sound he’s making or the fact that I’m notalone, but I feel myself relax. I close my eyes.
“Hey, Miss.” My eyes snap open.A blond-haired guy in a reflective vest is standing at my window,shining a flashlight in my face.
“What’s going on?” I ask, tryingto collect my bearings.
“Is that your dog?”
“Huh? Yes. I mean, no. Why?”
“We received a call from a ladyon Gabriola that her pet took off when the last ferry was loadinglast night.”
“Oh, yeah. This is probably him,then. Can you stop pointing that light at me?” He lowers theflashlight and I blink, trying to get rid of the dark spots. “Thedog ran up to me after the last sailing had left. I assumed someonewould be looking for him.”
“Well, in forty-five minutesthey should be here on the first ferry. They’ll be grateful he’sokay.”
I tell him that the dog can stayin the truck until the ferry docks. He thanks me and walks away,the flashlight bobbing down the lane. The moment he’s gone I grabmy phone to check for missed texts or calls from Annie. Therearen’t any.
I tell myself that this is good.She would’ve tried to get a hold of me if there was a problem,wouldn’t she? I want to try calling her, but I don’t want to wakeher—she’s grumpy all day if she doesn’t sleep long enough. This isthe reason I tell myself, but the truth is, I am afraid—for severalreasons—of hearing it click to voicemail.
Stinky sits up with a snort,then stands on the seat and licks me right on the mouth. I grab mysmokes and take him out for a run and a pee. Time passes quickly asthe dog runs around the empty lot, pissing on everything that’ssticking out of the ground.
Just as we’re about to get backin the truck, the BC Ferries worker walks up. “Okay, I radioedahead, and I’ll meet the dog’s owner on the passenger deck. I’llwalk him to the ramp now and wait.”
Bummer. I was kind of gettingused to him. I bend down and rub his head, and the man grabsStinky’s harness and leads him away.
When I get back into the truck,I look down at my work pants. Now, along with the general grime ofthe hatchery, I’m also covered in dog hair. Ah well. It was worthit. Annie will get a kick out of this story. She’ll probably feeldisappointed that I wasn’t able to bring the dog home. I smile atthe thought.
The lanes for the ferry trafficare filling up now. People pull up holding Tim Horton’s orMcDonald’s coffees. A corner of the sky is now a beautifulpink.
Taking of swig of day-old,lukewarm coffee from my thermos, I watch the ferry in the distanceget closer. Ten minutes later, the ferry docks and foot passengersmake their way up the wharf. Commuters and Islanders wearingcomfortable pants and thin sweaters, some carrying backpacks, walkin the passenger lane towards the terminal.
I hear a distant bark, then Isee Stinky weaving through the legs of the passengers. He jumpsecstatically on a middle-aged woman, who just manages not to fallon her backside as he tries to lick her face.
The sight of the dog and womanflashes a memory in my head, one that I haven’t thought of inyears. I was eight and my father was working on our cottage onGabriola. He had been away from home for two long weeks. My mom wasbringing supplies to him from home and I went along. We were closethen, my dad and me. I remember missing him.
As my mother and I waited in theferry line-up, we watched the foot passengers get off. Among themwas a tall, brown-haired, attractive man. My dad. I had gotten outof the car and ran towards him, despite my mother’s screams for meto get back in the car. My dad’s eyes met mine, and he ran too. Ileapt into his arms; I remember being light-headed as he swung mearound.
I feel wetness on my cheeks.Finally. There they were.
I remember feeling my heartbreak when I’d realized the love he’d had in his eyes was gone. Iwas still that little girl inside, confused and needing her daddy.I tried everything. I went to church, wore dresses I feltridiculous in, and had my hair and nails done at the salons Momtook me too. Nothing worked. Then, I went a different route. I wasso full of pain, I tried hurting myself to feel something otherthan rejection. One day while my parents were out, I took a knifefrom the kitchen drawer and carried it to my room. I sat on my bedand slowly pushed the knife blade into my leg, watching as beads ofblood trickled from my fresh wound and onto my white sheets. Thepain only lasted for a few minutes but while it was hurting, Ifocussed on
