It wasn’t Denny’s fault that hewas bipolar any more than it was my fault I was gay. But it was hisresponsibility to manage his illness. He never did. He only went totherapy because the judge ordered him to—one too many charges forassault or drugs. Even though I’ve been away from the family for anumber of years now, I don’t think he’s changed much; in fact, he’sprobably gotten worse. With Dad gone, you can bet he won’t take hismeds. Why would he? In Denny’s mind, there’s nothing wrong withhim—it’s everyone else.
Annie nudges me and I put all myenergy into not thinking about Denny for the moment.
“Do you want to go see TheFlaming Kazifs in Vancouver next week?” she asks enthusiastically.She’s holding her phone and the concert details are glowing.
“I wish I could, babe, but I’llbe back at work.”
I can tell that she’sdisappointed. She shrugs her shoulders and smiles, putting herphone back in her pocket. “It’s no big deal. We’ll just go nexttime they’re playing close by. .”
I want to tell her that I’llcall my boss and extend my time off, but the truth is, I reallyneed the money right now. I’ve only got two more payments left onher ring. And, no matter how she feels about missing the concert,once I give her the engagement ring, she’ll forget thedisappointment. I hope.
For dinner, I take her to SilvaBay. The marina is beautiful. There are tons of sail and powerboats tied to the wharf and anchored in the bay. We order fish andchips and sit on the patio overlooking the water. Light willowyclouds turn pink and red as the sun sets over the cove. Annie kicksoff her sandals and pulls her feet up on the seat of her chair withher long skirt covering her legs. She’s so different from thepeople in West Van that I grew up around. If I sat like that at thetable, I’d get knocked into next week.
She really wants to run a yogastudio here on Gabriola. I think she’d be great at it. She lovespeople and is right into the whole mind, body, soul vibe. I can’twait until she quits modelling, though I understand her need to doit—it costs money to live, and to go back and forth to her parents’place on Quadra. A while ago, her mom was diagnosed with arthritis.Apparently, it’s gotten so bad that she can’t manage everydaychores.
When we were young and theylived here, I would go into the kitchen and talk to her mom whileshe baked. She was a warm lady who was always cheerful. Her fatherwas much the same—kind and accepting. They originally came fromCalifornia and always said that they would one day return there.From what Annie told me, they were a huge part of the peacemovement in the late sixties. When I was young, I wanted to stay inthat house and never go back to mine.
I still haven’t cried about myfather. Maybe I never will. I suppose I am grateful that he diedquickly. My mom told me about the minutes just before the accident.They were driving on Marine Drive after having dinner. Apparently,my father was having yet another affair and my mom made anoffhanded comment about it. My father told her to shut up, butinstead of obeying him—her usual response—she said she was going toleave him. His temper flared and he stepped on the gas. Up ahead,there was a moving truck crossing the road.
It wasn’t even the accident thatkilled him. Right before the impact, my father suffered a massiveheart attack. He died en-route to the hospital. Mom was lucky toescape with only minor injuries. She was kept in the hospital forobservation.
I’m not sure if she’s cried overDad, either.
* * *
Over the next few days, theweather turns hot as spring gives way to summer. Annie is spendingmost of her time working in the garden, reading yoga books orwriting in her journal. I am keeping busy on our dock securingcleats to tie up the boat. I bought an eighteen-foot K&C acouple of years ago, nothing fancy, just a skiff I can use to gofishing or to just boot around on.
After we have dinner and playcards for a couple of hours, we go to bed. She reads with a booklight and I drift off to sleep.
A loud bang from the front roomwakes me up.
The digital clock says 2:00 AM.I look over at Annie. She’s asleep, her book resting on her chest,with the book light still on. Carefully I slide out of bed, so asnot to wake her. Tip toeing across the floor, I grab my housecoatand wrap it around me as I exit the bedroom.
The only light to go by is themoonlight coming in from the bay window and pooling on the floor.Annie sometimes forgets to close the kitchen window. The bangingnoise is probably the wind catching the shutters and slamming themagainst the frame. I quicken my step to the kitchen so I can closethe window and go back to bed.
As soon as I reach the window, Isee that the latch is locked. Weird. Maybe there’s another windowleft open.
As I turn to leave the kitchen,I see a tall figure standing in the doorway. I gasp in but get noair.
The moonlight, acting as acover, doesn’t touch the person.
“Who are you and what do youwant?”
The figure laughs in a deepcroaky voice. Barely able to move, I back up a few steps, stillstaring at the intruder, I run my hand up the wall until I find thelight switch. I flick it on and see Denny standing in front of mewith a grin and squinting, bloodshot eyes.
“What the fuck are you doinghere, Denny?”
“What do you mean?” He holds upa key. “This is my place, too.”
“No, it isn’t. You know damnwell
