Story Part 6

After a few weeks' hiatus, I'm back with more. Sorry it took so long, but with Christmas, I was constantly busy. Anyway, here is the sixth installment. Enjoy.

After lunch, they went for a walk through the stores on Granville Island. They stopped in several stores before continuing on around the sea wall toward Vanier Park. They passed the Bard on the Beach site and then passed the Planetarium. Then they started along Cypress toward 4^th where Sylvia was going to catch the bus.

“There are some very nice houses along this street,” Peter said.

“Yeah. They have small yards, but they’re beautiful houses.”

“True, but beautiful houses on large property are rare around here. And expensive. These houses are what a million apiece?”

“More. Probably around 1.5 million give or take. The ones with yards are ten million plus.”

“Exactly. And who can afford that?”

Sylvia was quiet. She didn’t mention that she could by another two of the beautiful houses with the yards if she wanted to.

When they reached 4^th, they stood together at the bus stop waiting.

“So, you don’t drive?” Peter asked.

Sylvia shrugged. “My mom can’t drive and my dad died when I was little. We didn’t have the money for lessons, so I never had anyone to teach me. Now I live in Vancouver and so does my mom, so it seems like a waste of money at the moment. Maybe I’ll get my license later, but for now, I’m fine with the bus. It’s gotten me everywhere for the past twenty-four years, it can continue to do so for a while longer.”

“You know, Sylvia, you are a very remarkable person.”

The bus came into sight and Sylvia took out her wallet to find her bus pass.

“So do I get your number this time,” Peter asked.

Sylvia smiled at him. “Nope. Not this time. Maybe next time.”

“And when will next time be?”

“How about Friday? There’s a movie out that I’d like to see. What do you say?”

“I love movies. I’m in. Where do you want to meet?”

“Fifth Avenue Cinema on Burrard and 5^th. Let’s say at 5. That’ll make sure that the movie hasn’t started and we can get something to eat first.”

“I’ll be there.”

The phone woke Sylvia at 1:32 in the morning. She stumbled out of her bed and went to the sitting area where the phone was ringing incessantly.

“Hello?”

“Sylvia? It’s Will. Will Cassidy. I’m in jail. I need you to come bail me out.”

Sylvia frowned at the telephone. “Why do you think that I would do that?”

“My father always bailed me out of jail when I got locked in here. It’s a stupid charge. I didn’t do anything wrong. Anyway, you have his estate now, so you have to come and help me.”

“I don’t have to do anything, Will. I can simply go back to bed and pretend I never got this phone call.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the telephone. “You can’t.”

“Yes I can. When you’re father left me everything, there were no caveats and addendums attached to the will. I can do whatever I want with the money. If I want to come bail you out, I can. But if I don’t want to bail you out, I don’t have to. It’s my choice.”

“What am I going to do, then?”

“How old are you, Will?”

 Another pause. “Forty Nine.”

“Mm-hm. And why were you arrested?”

“I allegedly got into a bar fight and broke someone’s nose.”

“So you’re almost fifty and you’re doing stupid things like getting into bar fights.” Sylvia sat down on a chair and closed her eyes. “Do you have any idea how childish that sounds? You say that your father would have come and bailed you out? Well, maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he should have let you take the consequences of your actions and you wouldn’t be where you are right now.”

“That’s ridiculous. Now come and get me. I’d like to go home.”

“I know you would. Which is exactly why you’re staying right where you are. You’re going to deal with what you got yourself into. Maybe I’ll change my mind and come tomorrow. But it is quarter to two in the morning and I’m going back to my nice, warm, comfortable bed. Good night, Will.”

“Wait! Sylvia! You can’t do –”

Sylvia pressed the end button before she could hear him tell her what she couldn’t do. She wasn’t sure if she should go to the jail the next day and bail Will Cassidy out. It was true that if his father was still alive, he would have gone and done it. And if she hadn’t been James’ beneficiary, Will may have gotten his share of the estate and been able to bail himself out. But neither of those things had happened. If James had decided to leave his estate to charities, as he said in his letter was what he had been thinking when he changed his will, Will would not have anyone to turn to in this situation. Maybe that would have been better.

Regardless of what could have been, Sylvia now had all the money that the Cassidys thought should be theirs.

Story Part 5

I know, I know, I missed last week. Christmas has me a little frazzled right now. But here is Part 5 of my story. I hope it was worth the wait.

Peter got back to his office and checked his mail. He had two bills and some junk mail. He brought everything into his office and dropped it on his desk. When he sat down, he started his dinosaur computer and then leaned back in his chair to wait for it to boot up. It was going to take a while.

After a few seconds, his door swung open and she stormed in.

“What have you found out?”

“Nothing yet. I’m still working on it. I told you I would call you when I found something.”

“It looks like you’re hard at work.”

“Well, if you hadn’t come in here asking me what information I have, I would be looking for it right now. However, you did, so now I have to talk to you and explain what I’m doing. Spending time on you that is completely unproductive.”

“Don’t be a smart ass to me. I could buy and sell you.”

“That may be true, but it is also irrelevant. You still need me to do my job and I can’t do it if you’re constantly stopping me.”

She sat down across from him. “You really haven’t found anything yet?”

He shook his head. “She’s only twenty four. What do you expect her to have done? It takes years for people to get good skeletons in their closets. And besides that, before this, she was broke. Poor people don’t get skeletons the way rich people do. You may have to wait a few years to have something blackmail worthy.”

“I don’t want to wait a few years. I didn’t want to wait a few months. That estate should have been mine.”

Peter rolled his eyes and sat forward. Self-centred bitch. “I don’t really care. All I care about is getting paid. I’m charging you for this meeting. And now, if you’d kindly leave, I’ll get back to work.”

She glared at him for a moment and then stood up. “Fine. Get back to work. But I want results and I want them within the next two weeks. Or else you’re fired.”

He watched her as she stalked from the room. When she slammed the door behind her, he sighed and turned to his computer that had now booted up. He had to find something and find it soon. If he lost this job…

He glanced at the two bills that he had brought in from the mail.

He didn’t want to think about what would happen.

He was early for lunch. Sylvia had told him not to be late, so he was standing outside the Granville Island Market at 12:45. She, however, was even earlier.

She smiled when she saw him. “Early. I’m impressed. I thought guys had no sense of time.”

He shrugged. “I set an alarm.”

She laughed. It was a great laugh and he realized that he wanted to hear more of it.

“Shall we get something to eat?” she asked.

They went into the food court and ordered food, then sat at the one available table.

“It’s always so busy in here,” Sylvia remarked. “In the summer, I prefer to eat outside on the benches.”

“You come here a lot?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think I come here a lot. But I do like it here. Granville Island is always very interesting. And beautiful. I also like to walk to Vanier Park along the pathway.”

“It’s certainly a very pretty area.”

“Do you live around here?”

“I live in a small apartment on 7^th. Not too far from here. What about you?”

“I was in lived in Langley before but I moved to Vancouver when I started at UBC. I’ve lived here for three years now.”

“So are you almost done at UBC then?”

Sylvia shook her head. “I’m part time. I can’t afford to go full time.”

“What are you taking?”

“Business studies. Well, I was. I’m taking some time off. Reevaluating my options.”

“I see. What have you come up with?”

She laughed again, but it was more self-deprecating than humourous this time. “Nothing. I have no idea what I’m going to do. I know what I said I would do, but it doesn’t seem like the right thing anymore.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

She smiled. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just something I have to work out. I’ll figure it out.”

“If I can help in anyway, just let me know. I’ll be happy to do it.”

“Let’s talk about something else. What do you do?”

“I’m a private investigator. I mostly take pictures of cheating husbands. It’s a pretty boring job most of the time actually.”

“So why do you do it then?”

“It pays the bills. Most of the time, anyway. And occasionally, I get a really interesting case that makes everything worthwhile.”

“When was the last job like that?”

Peter leaned his head back and thought about it. “Probably would have to be the one a couple months ago. A little girl came to my office. She was maybe ten years old. She’d lost her dog and her parents couldn’t find him. They’d called up the SPCA but no one had brought the dog in. So she came to me on her way home from school. She had brought her life savings. Fifty-three dollars and twenty-nine cents. A lot of it was in pennies. She had brought her money in a zip lock bag and set it on my desk. She said, ‘Mr. Hartley? I would like to hire you to find my dog, Rudy.’

“So I said, ‘Of course. Ms?’ and she said, ‘Miss Parker.’ ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Parker,’ I told her. ‘Would you have a seat and tell me about your missing dog.’ She said he’d been missing for four days and she was quite worried about him. Her mom and dad had done everything they could think of but hadn’t found him. She had asked them to go to the police, but they said that the police didn’t look for lost dogs. She had read a book about a private investigator and so looked them up online to see where the closest one was to her school. She found me and there she was.

“I said to her, ‘Miss Parker, have you ever heard the term pro bono?’ She said she hadn’t. I told her it meant that the private investigator had decided that the case was so important that he was willing to do it for free. I said I would see if I could help her find her dog and she didn’t have to pay me a single cent. I called around to the SPCA and the veterinary clinics in the area. It turned out that Rudy had been hit by a car and that the person who had done it brought him to a veterinarian and paid the bill to have him fixed up. The only problem was that Rudy had managed to get out of his collar and so they didn’t know who he belonged to. I called up the Parkers and told them my news. Little Miss Parker showed up to the animal hospital with tears in her eyes and a bone with a big blue bow wrapped around it. The Parkers said they hadn’t thought to call a veterinarian. I said that if the dog, or even cat, gets a tattoo in their ear, most people will simply bring the animal to a veterinarian instead of to the SPCA. A vet can look up the serial number in their database and call the owner. And they don’t charge you to get your pet back. My dog had been a serial escape artist, you see. Well, the Parkers got Rudy back. He’s got a broken leg, but it’s well on its way to healing now. And little Miss Parker got her best friend back.”

“And you didn’t get paid anything?”

Peter shook his head. “I remembered all the times when my dog used to run away and how scared I was that he might never come home. Dalia Parker got Rudy back. That was enough payment for me.”

NaNoWriMo Part 4

Part 4 of the NaNoWriMo story. I shoud really start calling it something else since I'm not finishing it on time for National Novel Writing Month. Anyway, this one is longer but I didn't want to cut it off in the middle of a scene.

They spent a few hours touring the art gallery. They went to every floor and saw every piece of art that currently resided at the gallery. There were a few pieces that confused Sylvia, a few pieces that she thought were interesting, and a few pieces that really spoke to her. That being said, she felt no closer to the answer to the question that had plagued her for months. What was she going to do with her life?

She left the gallery somewhat defeated.

“So, where do we go from here?” Peter asked.

They stood on the steps of the art gallery looking down at the city of tents of the protesters.

“I don’t have any idea,” she responded.

“We could go for lunch. My treat. I know this great sushi place over on Burrard.”

“I don’t think so. I should get home. I have a lot of work to do.” She started down the steps and toward Howe Street.

He caught up to her as she reached the bottom of the stairs and started toward the bus stop. “Can I see you again?”

“I don’t know. Let me think about it.”

“How will I know when you’ve made up your mind?”

She stopped and looked at him. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

He shook his head. “We had a good time, I thought. I’d like to do it again.”

“All right. Tomorrow, meet me at the Granville Island Market. 1:30. Don’t be late.” She looked down the street. “My bus is coming.” She fished in her purse for her wallet and pulled out the yellow bus pass. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The 44 UBC stopped and four other people got on the bus with her. They all had similar bus passes to hers. She sat down midway on the bus by a window and watched as Peter disappeared as the bus drove away from him.

She wasn’t sure what to make of him. She found that she was suddenly suspicious of everyone since James had died. She wasn’t sure who she could trust. Her name had been in The Province and The Vancouver Sun and since then people she had barely known before were suddenly her best friend.

It took thirty minutes to get back to the house on Drummond Drive in West Vancouver. Every time she took the bus downtown, she was always grateful that it went down 4^th and not 3^rd. She did not want to have to go past James Cassidy Junior’s house and be reminded of how she had gotten everything and James’ family had gotten nothing. She understood why he did it now. They were all selfish, callous people. That didn’t stop her from feeling bad that they now had nothing thanks to her.

When she got back to the house, Kelly and Victor were playing in her yard with her mother. Sylvia watched the Roberts kids bundled up in their warm rain coats and winter boots as they ran around her yard playing a game of tag. She missed being with them all the time but she didn’t miss all of the other chores that came with being a housekeeper and nanny. Mrs. Roberts had been very kind to her since everything changed. She invited Sylvia over for tea and let her take the kids to the park the way she used to whenever she wanted to. Mrs. Roberts had even befriended her mother, Katherine, when she moved into the huge house with Sylvia. She wasn’t sure how she would have made it through the last few months if it hadn’t been for the advice from Mrs. Roberts and Mr. Busby, and the support of her mother.

“Hi, everyone,” she called as she came into the yard. Kelly shrieked and ran to her, jumping into her arms almost before Sylvia was ready to catch her.

“You’re home. I thought you’d never get here. I have some important news.” At eight years old, Kelly thought that the fact that it would rain tomorrow was important news.

“What’s that?” Sylvia asked.

“I got picked to say my speech in front of the whole school. It’s about killer whales, you know.”

“That’s great, Kelly. When’s the big day?”

“Next Monday. Will you come? Mrs. Kirkpatrick said that I could invite four people. I already told Mommy and Daddy. They said they would try to come if they weren’t working. And I asked your mom. She said she would be delighted.”

“I’ll be there. Nothing could keep me away.”

“Great!” Kelly squirmed to get down now that she had what she wanted.

Victor moved next to Sylvia after his sister had gotten down and started running away toward Sylvia’s mother.

“I’ll be there, too,” he said quietly. “My speech was picked as well. It’s about how bullying can affect people even as adults.”

“I can’t wait to hear it. Why don’t you go play for a while longer before we go in for some hot chocolate.”

He smiled at her and ran off to where his sister was playing with her mother. Sylvia went inside and took off her coat and hung it on the coat rack inside the door. She went into the kitchen where she put a kettle on to boil. She got the hot chocolate mix out of the cupboard and poured some into four coffee mugs. She poured a generous amount of milk into two of the cups and then added the boiled water.

When the hot chocolate was ready she called the kids in. The kids sat at the table to drink their hot chocolates and Katherine asked how the trip to the art gallery had gone.

“Not bad. But I still don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t think art is going to be a good direction for me. I just don’t know what I should do. I could do anything but now I have too many choices.”

“When you were little, you wanted to help people. I understand you were going for a business degree because you thought it would help you get a good job. But I knew that it wasn’t what was going to make you happy. You just need to figure out what makes you happy and then turn that into a career. You have the ability to do that now.”

Sylvia sighed and leaned against the counter, watching the kids drink their hot chocolate. “I know. But there are so many things that deserve attention. What should I focus on? James left me his estate, I want to do something good with the opportunity he gave me.”

“So you didn’t get anything from the art exhibit?”

Sylvia shook her head. “No. But I did meet someone. He seems nice and I’m seeing him again tomorrow.”

“A boy?”

“Mom, he was older than me. He had to be at least twenty seven. I don’t think he can be called a boy anymore.”

Katherine laughed. “When you get to be my age, everyone under the age of forty is a boy or a girl. So tell me about this boy you met.”

“I think he was interested in me, but I don’t know. Ever since the articles ran in the papers there have been a lot of people who seem to be interested in me but are really only interested in my money. Peter didn’t mention it at all though, so he may not have realized who I am. I hope not anyway.”

Kelly set her cup down with a thunk and pronounced, “I’m done! Can we play the Wii now?”

“What do you do with your cup when you’re finished with it?” Sylvia asked.

Kelly sighed heavily and climbed down from her chair. She took her cup from the table and put it in the sink. Then she turned to look at Sylvia expectantly.

“You can go play now. Thank you for putting your cup away.”

The little girl smiled a large, gap-toothed smile and raced off to the play room where the Wii was set up on a sixty inch flat screen television. James had decorated this room with the games and toys after he met Sylvia, Victor, and Kelly. Sylvia suspected that he had been lonely and wanted them to want to spend time there. They hadn’t needed him to buy the expensive things for them, but he didn’t know another way to act at the time. He only understood people who sold their love as a commodity.

Victor finished his drink slowly and got up to put it away. He carefully set the cup down in the sink upside down so that the last drips would drain into the sink.

“Thank you for putting your cup away, Victor.”

He smiled, too and went to play with his sister.

“You’re very good with them,” Katherine said as they followed the kids into the play room.

Sylvia shrugged. “They like to be able to do things for themselves. It gives them independence. But more than that, they like to know that someone is watching and is appreciative. The Roberts’ are good people, but they don’t seem to have enough time for their children.”

Kelly had put Just Dance 3 into the game console and was already dancing like a maniac. Victor was dancing as well. When Sylvia had met the kids, Victor wouldn’t have ever played a game like Just Dance. He would have sat and watched Kelly have all the fun. Slowly, Sylvia had got him to participate as well.

After they had danced themselves into exhaustion Sylvia looked at the time. “Okay, guys, it’s time to go home.”

“Awww! But why?” Kelly asked.

Victor had been about to go for his shoes and jacket, but Kelly’s protest stopped him.

“Because your mom is home now and she will want to see you and ask about your day.”

Kelly pouted but went for her shoes and jacket. Victor, seeing his sister’s attempt at staying defeated, went as well.

There had been a time when Sylvia first started when she had used a similar line to get the kids to see their mother and Kelly had protested by saying that her mother didn’t care how her day had gone. They went downstairs and saw Mrs. Roberts and she had listened with divided attention while the kids told her about their day. That night, Sylvia had told Mrs. Roberts what Kelly had said and immediately things began to change. Mrs. Roberts listened closely to her children now.

Sylvia put her own shoes and jacket on and walked the kids to their house. Mrs. Roberts came to the door to let them in.

“Hi guys, your dinner is just about ready, why don’t you go wash up and then you can tell me about your day?”

Both Kelly and Victor hugged their mother and went to do as she asked without complaint.

“Sylvia, you don’t have any idea how much I appreciate you still watching the kids during the day. I feel so much more comfortable knowing they’re with someone I trust. And you’ve helped them so much.”

“It’s no problem at all. Really. My mother and I love to have them. I understand why James always invited us over now. The house is far too big for just the two of us.”

“You’re not thinking of moving, are you?”

“Not right now, no, but maybe in the future. I’m still making a lot of decisions. I wanted to mention though that the kids invited me and my mother to their speech readings. We both said we’d come, but I wanted to make sure it was okay with you, as well.”

Mrs. Roberts laughed. “Of course it is. I was the one who prompted the kids to ask. They were afraid Katherine would say no.”

Sylvia smiled. “But not that I’d say no. I see they understand me well.”

“They do. Well, I should go. They’ll be at the table waiting. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sylvia walked back to her house. On the way she looked up at the three story structure and wondered again how she had come to own something so absurdly expensive. The house was worth over fifteen million dollars. An old Victorian house sitting on a 38,000 square foot lot, it had six bedrooms and eight bathrooms. She still hadn’t figured out what to do with it. It was far too big for only her and her mother.

She knew she would have to make some decisions soon. She only had a few more weeks before she had to choose her classes for the winter semester at UBC. By that time, she hoped she will have figured it out.

NaNoWriMo Part 3

I'm still working on the story, but I don't think I'm going to make 50,000 words this month. That said, I will continue to write it so that I can continue to post it for any and all who are interested in reading it.

Peter Hartley looked at the building in front of him and wondered what he was doing here. This was not where he was supposed to be going with his life. He was a licensed private investigator, not a puppet. But he needed the money or else he may not be able to eat this month. Or pay is rent on his tiny apartment/office. If he didn’t have a place to do business, he couldn’t make money to pay for anything.

So he’d taken the job. It was a terrible job that went against every moral he had, but it paid well. All he had to do was find out some bad things about a person he didn’t know. How hard could it be? It was just like any other job he’d ever done as a PI.

Except for the one minor difference. In the week that he had been working on the assignment, he had not come across a single bad thing about this girl. Not even a parking ticket. Granted, she didn’t have a car, but that wasn’t the issue. There was nothing that his clients could use against this girl and if he found nothing, he didn’t get the bonus at the end of the job. The bonus would take care of his rent for the next three months.

So he decided to do the unthinkable. He was going to get to know the person he was investigating. It was what the client had wanted him to do in the first place, but he had maintained that he would be able to find something the old fashioned way, through research. However, you can’t find something that has never been recorded. It was possible that this girl had some secret that couldn’t be found on any database or in any file. He had to go to the source to find out.

Thus, he was here, at the Vancouver Art Gallery, to meet the girl that apparently did nothing wrong.

He went in through the main entrance, ignoring the protestors on the front lawn. They had been “occupying Vancouver” for weeks now, through rain and bitter cold nights. Peter thought they were all insane. The peaceful protest wasn’t going to change anything. The rich would remain rich. The poor would remain poor. A small percentage of the population would still retain the vast majority of the wealth in the country.

Peter didn’t care. He got to the front desk, paid the $17.50 admission and went in search of the feature exhibit: the Audain Collection. That was what Sylvia Rowland had come to the Art Gallery to see.

He found her admiring an Emily Carr painting. Her unruly auburn hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that curled down her back. Her green eyes moved over the painting quickly, lingering for a moment on the people in the background of the picture. She was shorter than he imagined her to be, even though his dossier stated that she was only 5’3”.

All at once he was overwhelmed by the thought that he shouldn’t be doing this. He should not be prying into the woman’s life so that other people can use the information against her.

When she turned away from the painting, she looked right at him and he had to struggle to keep the guilt from his expression. She smiled at him and was about to walk away. He had to say something.

“Hi,” he said, stalling, trying to think of something. Should have come up with something before coming in here, idiot.

“Hello,” she said to him.

He had managed to make her stop for a moment. He had to think of something else to say. “So, you like art?”

Of all the stupid things you could say.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid question. My name is Peter. I just couldn’t help but notice you looking at the Emily Carr painting. It’s quite something isn’t it?”

“It is. She uses such interesting colours.”

“Are you here by yourself?” he asked, looking around as though he was expecting to find someone with her, even though he wasn’t.

“Yes.”

“That’s too bad. It’s nicer to be able to talk about the pieces with someone.”

“True. But I really just wanted to take a look at some art, see if anything sparked my interest. I figured the best place to see art is at the Vancouver Art Gallery.”

“Spark your interest?”

She nodded. “I’m trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. I really don’t know. I thought I did. But then things changed and now suddenly I have more options than I know what to do with.”

“It’s nice to have options.”

“Yes, but also makes it more difficult to choose.”

“I’d like to help, if I could.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

He spread his hands and tried to look trustworthy. “Honestly? Because you’re interesting. I saw you standing there and I just wanted to get to know you.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly. He did think she was interesting. She was young, had inherited a large estate worth a fortune, and seemed to be a bona fide good person. Peter didn’t meet many good people in his line of work. Now, here he was trying to prove she really wasn’t what he hoped she was.

She looked at him for a long moment before speaking again. “I don’t think you can help me choose what direction I am going to take for the future. However, I suppose that if you really are interested, we can walk around in here together. If you’re still interested when we leave, I’ll consider what can come next. My name is Sylvia, by the way.”

Peter smiled and tried not to look too relieved. If this hadn’t worked, he doubted he’d have gotten another shot.

NaNoWriMo Part 2

Well, I was doing really well, making all my word counts. Right up until Tuesday when I donated blood. The trouble is that donating blood makes me really tired. I came home, had dinner, and went to bed. And didn't write. And even just one day behind made it a lot harder to write Wednesday and today. Now, I'm really far behind and I am going to have to spend all day tomorrow writing. Anyway, here is the second part of the story.

After the reading of the will, Sylvia went to the park where she and James used to take the kids she watched.

She sat down on the bench and stared at the envelope in her hands. She wanted to tear into it, read it, hopefully understand why he had given her everything.

But she also wanted to wait. This was the last conversation she would ever have with James, one-sided though it may be. She wanted it to last.

She took a deep breath and carefully ripped open the envelope along the top folded edge. She removed the letter and unfolded it.

Dear Sylvia,

You probably don’t understand why I made you my sole beneficiary. I’m not quite sure I understand myself. Only, one night I lay awake in bed thinking of all life as given me and taken away and suddenly I knew that my sons did not deserve to inherit my estate. They’ve had everything handed to them their whole lives. I don’t want to hand them their future forever. They would use it selfishly, as they have used everything ever given them in their life.

When I made this decision I knew that I had to re-write my will or else they would get everything. I was getting older all the time and it wasn’t something that could wait. I met with Busby late the following day. It was the day I had asked you what you would do if you won the lottery.

You told me that you would quit your job, finish school, and travel. I asked why you would finish school and you told me it was for two reasons. First because you never know when the money might run out and you wouldn’t want to be caught broke with no education. Second because you wanted to finish what you started.

I was impressed and I am no longer easily impressed. They were such wise words for someone so young.

Even going to Busby’s office that afternoon, I had intended on splitting my estate up and giving it to charities. But I sat down with Busby and I told him I didn’t want my sons to get my money and he asked who I was going to give it to then and I told him, Sylvia Rowland.

The moment I said your name, I knew it was the right thing to do.

I love you, Sylvia. If you had been my own daughter, I couldn’t have loved you more. I hope this helps.

James Cassidy

Sylvia folded the letter and slid it back into its envelope.

Children were screaming, running, and playing everywhere in the park. She hadn’t noticed until now. She wouldn’t be bringing the kids here anymore. She wouldn’t be the housekeeper/nanny for the Roberts family anymore. The summer semester at UBC was almost over and she could take a semester off to figure things out. Then she could go back full time. She had always wanted to go to school full time, but never had the money for tuition and bills. Vancouver was a very expensive city to live in.

But she didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

It suddenly hit her. She didn’t have to worry about money anymore. She could pay all her bills next month. She could buy a new winter jacket and boots this year. Her feet would stay dry this winter. She didn’t have to take transit anymore. Vancouver transit was pretty good, but her mother lived in Langley. Getting out there on weekends was very difficult and took about two hours by transit.

Everything was going to get easier from now on. For her and for her mother.

November 2011

They sat together in the drawing room of James Cassidy Jr.’s house on 3^rd Ave. The room was large and bright. A chocolate brown leather sofa and chair were predominant in the room. Blue and white throw pillows decorated each end of the sofa as well as the chair. There was a luxurous white rug that covered the hard wood floor. They had had sex on the rug less than an hour ago and were now dressed again and sitting on the sofa. Though most of the Cassidy family lived in the large house, everyone else was not home.

He suddenly spoke. “We have to do something.”

“I know,” she replied, taking a hairbrush from her bag and brushing her tousled blonde hair. “But what can we do? We’ve already tried to get it back. The will is uncontestable.”

“There has to be another way to get the money. It’s ours. It’s rightfully ours. We waited for years to get that money. I had plans for mine.”

“So did everyone. Look at William. He has gambling debts and they’re about to be called in. Senior always paid them before. I doubt dear Sylvia is going to offer to do that.”

“Junior isn’t much better. He may not have debts, but he sure can get in a lot of trouble when he’s been drinking. Remember when he went to the Boulevard Casino with William and they got thrown out after James started a fight over a roulette game?”

“I remember.” She stood and paced to the window, looking out into the gloom of November rain. “I wanted to get away from here this winter. Winter in Vancouver is always so depressing. Why couldn’t we move to California?”

He got up to pour himself a glass of scotch. “We don’t have the money now. But I might have an idea of how we can get it.”

She turned to him. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, we can’t very well kill her, now can we? She may already have a will leaving everything to some charity or something. That would be like her. Giving it all away.”

“What is your idea?” she prompted. She knew how much he hated philanthropy. He thought that people only gave money to alleviate their consciences and that charities were no better than homeless people begging for money.

“We’ll have to get her to make sure we’re in the will before she dies.”

“And how do we do that? She doesn’t like any of us. She won’t speak to anyone in the Cassidy family without her lawyer, present. Busby is a tricky one. He knows us all too well. He’d know we’re up to something.”

“That’s why we won’t be the ones she gets to know. We’ll hire someone to get to know her. He’ll cozy up to her, pretend he likes her, and he will find out what kind of dirt she’s hiding. Everyone has something they don’t want known. Maybe we’ll get really lucky and it’ll be something illegal. Once we have the dirt, we’ll convince her that she should write us into the will and also pay us a million dollars to keep quiet. When we’re in the will, we’ll kill her and inherit everything. You and I can leave Vancouver together. We’ll go to California, or somewhere in Europe, where no one will ever find us. We can be together and we’ll have the whole fortune. We won’t have to share it with anyone else in the family.”

She stepped toward him as she thought it over. “It’s a good idea. She might not want to write us into the will. I don’t know if I can live on only a million dollars for long.” She continued walking closer and closer to him through the room until she was standing right in front of him. “It’ll be tricky.”

“But it’ll be worth it.” He grabbed her around the waist. “Worth every penny.” Then he lowered his head and claimed her mouth.

NaNoWriMo Part 1

The first 3000 words are written. Two days down, 28 to go. My goal is 1500 words on weekdays and 2000 words on weekends (including Remembrance Day). Here are the first 1205 words. Keep in mind that I will not be editing anything until after the 30 days of November are up. I hope you enjoy reading my scrambled attempt at writing a novel in 30 days.

July 2011

James Cassidy died quietly in his sleep with only a picture of his late wife, Ruth, to keep him company. If he had been asked, that was how he would have preferred it anyway.

He had been the only one there when Ruth had succumbed to breast cancer. Now, ten years later, she was the only one to witness his final moments of life, if only from within a framed photograph.

The church was full on the day of the funeral. There was the usual mix of people for a funeral of a rich and powerful man. Some genuine mourners, but a lot of people there just to see that the old man was really gone.

Cassidy had been out of the real estate business for fifteen years, but he had made some lasting impressions in his time.

His two sons in the front row with their families. Not one of them shed a tear for the loss.

                                                                                                            

A week following the funeral, the family gathered, this time in the conference room of the Busby and Associates Law Firm. Mr. Evan Busby had been Cassidy’s lawyer for more years than he cared to remember. It was Cassidy money that had helped him start his own law firm. And while he didn’t do quite as well as his client, Busby did extremely well for himself.

He glanced into the conference room and took a deep breath. It was not going to be easy, what he had to do next. There were nine people seated around the large conference table. James Junior and his wife Clare sat opposite the two empty seats where he and the young lady with him would sit. Next to James was his brother William and then his wife Vanessa. She was the only one dressed in black. She had a tissue in one hand but her eyes were dry. Next sat William and Vanessa’s oldest child, Colby and then his sister Pamela. On the other side of the table Pricilla, James’ oldest child sat primly next to her mother. Her hands were folded in her lap and she stared straight ahead at nothing. Next to her sat her two brothers, Gordon and Robert. Her husband John was not present, nor was her baby daughter, Cecilia.

He opened the door and bid the young woman enter first.

She was dressed in a pale blue pencil skirt and matching jacket with a white blouse underneath. She had done her hair up in a simple pony tail. Her black framed glasses hid her blue eyes.

The first thing James Cassidy Junior thought when he saw her was prim and proper as well as vaguely familiar. She sat down in the chair Busby held for her and then he sat down beside her. Obviously, his assistant.

Busby laid a thick folder on the table and opened it. Then he patted his pockets until he realized he was already wearing his glasses. He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher in the centre of the table and then wordlessly offered a glass to the young woman next to him. She shook her head no and so he set the pitcher back in the centre of the table. He took a sip of water. He adjusted his glasses. He straightened his tie.

“Mr. Busby,” James Jr. said. “Could we please get on with this? I have a squash game at 3.”

Busby glanced at the man who looked so much like his father. Busby had never liked his client’s oldest son.

“Of course, Mr. Cassidy. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to delay your game. Perhaps I should just give you the gist of what’s here so you may go.”

“That would be fine, Busby. Please just tell us what we get.”

“Nothing.”

If a pin had fallen on the table in that moment, it would have sounded like an explosion.

“Excuse me?” William asked, the younger son.

“You get nothing. All of you. Except Cecilia who has a college fund held in trust with me. If she goes on to post secondary education it is fully paid for. If she graduates from post secondary, she will receive a bonus of $100,000 to help start her future. The same is set up for any other grandchildren and great-grand children who may wish to use it. He said to consider it a Cassidy scholarship.”

“What happens to the rest of the estate?” James asked.

“Your father left it all to Sylvia Rowland.”

The woman next to Busby gasped and started so hard she nearly fell out of her chair. “What did you just say?” she asked.

“He left everything to you, Ms. Rowland,” Busby told her.

“But why? I was just his next door neighbour. When you told me he had written me into his will, I thought you meant just something small, some token or something.”

“No, Ms. Rowland. Everything. The entire Cassidy estate.” He turned to the Cassidy family sitting across from him at the table. “He and I figured you would want to contest the will.”

“You’re damn right, we do!” James erupted.

“Before you go to the trouble and expense, I can assure you that your father did this quite a while ago and we have the documentation that the doctor gave us saying that he was of sound mind and body. I made sure this will was iron clad. If you take it to court, you will be wasting your time and money.”

James stood and everyone else followed suit. “We’ll see about that.”

When the Cassidys left the room, Busby turned to Sylvia Rowland who sat beside him in shock.

“They don’t have a case against you. The estate is yours. I have some paperwork that we’ll need to go over, but you can move into the house whenever you want to.”

“The house?” She looked at Busby, confused.

“The house is part of the estate. Unless you’d rather sell it and buy another.”

“I don’t… I don’t know. He never told me. Why didn’t he tell me?”

“I can’t tell you that, but maybe he can.” He reached into the folder and pulled out an envelope with Sylvia scrawled across it in James Cassidy Sr.’s bold script. She gently took the letter and fingered the envelope.

“I loved him you know,” she said, looking at the envelope. “My father died when I was five and so James became like a father to me. And now he’s gone, too.” Tears formed quickly in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. They dripped off her chin and onto the table but she didn’t wipe them away. She held onto the envelope, the last thing James would ever say to her, and cried.

Eventually she noticed that Mr. Busby was holding a tissue out to her so she took it and dried her face and blew her nose.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay. You’re not the first person to cry at the reading of a will. You won’t be the last. But I should get on with it. I really do have to read this will. Are you ready?”

She looked at the envelope in her hands and nodded.

Untitled

Here it is. The last entry before NaNoWriMo. It starts Tuesday. I'm quite nervous. I'm going to have to write about 1500 words every day in order to make the number of words I need. Wish me luck.

The house of delight leered at me from my spot on the sidewalk. We lived there once. No longer a house of delight, but a shabby monument to a brighter time.

I always swore that I didn’t believe in a higher power, but it took only a taste of sacrifice and suddenly I am praying for hope, relief, another chance, freedom. There has been no answer yet. So I’m here, standing in front of the house and wondering where you are.

Remember when the rooms of this house held us in a warm embrace that seemed to keep the world at bay? Now, the world has invaded our togetherness and we didn’t survive the invasion.

I admit that I saw you. You saw me, too, but I pretended not to notice. I am conflicted. Not sure whether to hold on or to let go. But you. You were laughing and carrying on with friends. I had to swallow a pitcher of bitterness at the knowledge that while I toiled without you, you were happy without me.

I hoped to come here to the now decrepit house (was the paint always peeling? Did the screen door always hang crooked?) and let go. But I am here now and just as conflicted as before.

I want to hold on.

I want to let go.

Failure

This story I just sat down and wrote. I had no idea what I was going to write when I started, I just did it. Anyway, it probably needs some work.

Last week I said that I would be writing a longer story in installments on my blog. However, I have come to realize that NaNoWriMo is starting in just a couple of weeks and when it does I want to be able to focus on the story that I have been thinking about. That is the one that I will be posting in installments on this blog. At least, probably. Since I'm going to fully participate in NaNoWriMo this year, I need to make sure that it isn't against the rules to be posting the story here as well as wherever I'm supposed to post it. (For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, it's National Novel Writing Month every November. The goal is to write a 50 000 word novel in 30 days.) Anyway, enjoy this short story and I'll have more for you next week.

The hallway was silent and dark. Four pictures hung along one wall. Pictures of happier times. Alice walked slowly down the hallway, her expensive shoes clicking loudly on the hardwood floor. She paused for a moment by each of the pictures on the wall.

The first was of her grandparents at their wedding fifty years ago. It was black and white and faded, but the happiness shining out of her grandmother’s eyes as she clung to her new husband hadn’t faded in all the years since.

The second photo was of her mother on her wedding day. Her mother wore a beautiful ivory white dress. Satin and silk draped over her body and flowed down the red carpet that lined the isle in the church where she had married her husband of thirty years. She smiled like she had a secret.
The third picture was of her older sister. She had been married on a magnificent day in July five years ago. The sun shone brightly in the sky and it seemed that the flowers had all bloomed just for her that day. Roses and carnations and lilies. Pink and red and orange. Not a single cloud marred the perfect blue sky. It was all for her.

The last picture that she stopped at was her own. She smiled at the photographer with such exuberant joy. It had been barely eight months since the happiest day of her life. Alice scrutinized the image of herself, laughing in the arms of the man she had married. They had been so perfect for each other.

She reached up and removed the picture from the wall.

Ann-Louise's Story - Chapter 1 "The Beginning"

I'm sorry that I again missed a week. I haven't been very good at writing every week. I think the problem might be that I don't really like writing short stories. I like writing longer pieces. So today I am posting something that I wrote a long time ago. It is the beginning of a story that I haven't finished. What I am planning on doing now is taking one of the stories that I have posted the beginning of and continuing to write and post only that story. If you have a request as to which one you would like to hear more of, please post or send me a message (though I'd really like it if you posted since I haven't gotten any real posts yet).

Anyway, this is the beginning of Ann-Louise's story. It is only the first scene from the first chapter. Let me know what you think.

“You want to know why I did it, don’t you?”

The young man at the door nodded. He had never been to this house before, had never met the woman at the door, but he had come here for information that only she could give him.

She stood aside and said, “Come in, Kevin.  Would you like coffee?  Or would you prefer tea?”

“Tea, please.”

“I’ll put the water on.”  She led the way into her kitchen.  “Twenty years is a very long time.  You look like your father,” she said, pausing to look at him.  His dark hair was quite short and small rectangular glasses perched over strikingly blue eyes.  His black and white suit was impeccably tailored to his wiry frame, and it looked like he kept well in shape.  She shook her head and turned back to filling the kettle.  “Anyway, it seems like a lifetime ago.”

“It was.”

He sat down in her sparkling kitchen and watched as she set the water to boil on the stove.  Her sleek black hair held a few strands of grey that wouldn’t have been there before and though she was looking away from him now he had seen her green eyes were still bright with life.  She really wasn’t all that much older than he was at forty to his twenty; everything that had happened made it seem like there were more years between them than there was.  He watched the way her slim body stretched to reach the cups on the top shelf and seeing her fluid, no-nonsense movements reminded him of something his father had once told him.

“He told me you were graceful, that you used to dance.”

She nodded.

“I think he was half in love with you.”

She smiled and shook her head.   “No, he wasn’t.”

They were silent as the water finished boiling and she poured two cups.  They added their own milk and sugar and she asked him, “Shall we go into the living room?”

“Here is fine.”

“It’s a long story,” she warned.

“Here is fine.”

 She nodded and took a sip of her tea.

“It really was so long ago.  It seems almost to have happened to another person.  But I remembered it all, as accurately as it is possible to remember something with twenty years between then and now.  I knew that, one day, you would come to me and ask me this question of why.  And I knew that, those nine months we spent would force me to answer.”

She took another sip of her tea and looked at the young man across from her.

“You’re looking for truth, Kevin.  Beware that this is what you’re going to get.  It may not be pretty, and it may not be what you’re looking for.”

When he nodded, she looked away from him into a past that he could never see.

“The year was 2039 and my friend, Lucy and I were looking for jobs.  I still find it slightly ironic that the 1930s and the 2030s were decades of severe economic depression for Canada.  As my history teacher would later tell me, there are no new ideas in Canadian history.

“Lucy was a beautiful girl with long blonde hair and the kind of a body a man would kill for.  She was gorgeous.  She had gotten involved with someone a couple of months before and he had gotten her pregnant.  Then he left and we were on our own again.

“Needing money, we went to the last place either one of us wanted to be.  We didn’t want to get caught up in the controversy surrounding the place.  But they paid good money.  Kwan Dynastic is what would eventually help turn the economy back around for Canada, since the whole world wanted what he was supplying.  First, they offered jobs, which Canadians from all over came for.  Then, by putting a lot of money back into the country, the company put Canada back on its feet.

“Lucy and I, however, we didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into.  We didn’t know our lives would be irrevocably changed as a result.  It was our fault, I suppose.  We never asked what the consequences were until it was too late.”  She shrugged.  “Plus, we were desperate.”

A Beginning

I really don't know what this story is about exactly. I was thinking about making it a fantasy story but I really am not yet sure. Hope you like it and if you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them.

Darkness surrounded him and rain pelted down on his bare head. He should have remembered his umbrella. Lightning flashed, illuminating the deserted street for a brief moment before plunging him into darkness once again. The young man continued walking and two steps later, thunder crashed around him.

He moved forward steadily, unhurriedly, heedless of the rain that poured around him.

“It was stupid,” he said to himself. “I should have been more careful.” He shoved his wet hands into his wet jacket pockets and kicked a stone dejectedly as he continued to walk.

“But of course, you do stupid things all the time,” he continued. “Like deciding to walk home but leaving your umbrella behind.”

Rain dripped from his dark eyebrows into his green eyes. It dripped from the tip of his sharp nose. It collected in his normally brown hair, turning it almost black and dragging the ends of it onto his forehead.

He kicked another stone.

The stone jumped and skittered away, scaring a cat seeking refuge under a bush from the storm.

He kept walking, unconcerned.

Lightning flashed again, and the street was visible to the end of the block for half a second before the light died away again.

The young man didn’t flinch.

Not at the lightning.

Not at the rain.

Not at the thunder a few seconds later.

He just kept walking. Muttering to himself about how big a fool he was.

He walked all the way to the end of the block and never noticed the dark van slowly trailing him.

The lightning flashed again and the van sped up, pulling next to the young man. As the resounding thunder rumbled through the sky, the side door opened and the young man was pulled inside.

The door slammed shut and the van took off all in the same moment that the thunder died away.

Through his fear, the young man thought again of what a fool he was.

Secret in the Attic

I'm sorry I missed a week and am late this week. It's been a little crazy lately what with work and driving and lack of sleep and all. I wrote something new and I'm not sure exactly what it is, but I hope you like it.

It was a really windy, the day she arrived at the house. It had been threatening to rain all day, but so far only the wind had arrived.

She had driven all day to make it to the house before everyone else arrived. She wanted to have some time to herself to face the house. She hadn’t been here for five years, but she had been expected to be here this time, regardless of whatever had happened previously.

The house was three stories tall with whitewashed siding and a dark green door and shutters. It was an old Victorian house. Most people would love the house. It really was beautiful. She was not most people.

She forewent the front door and instead went to the back yard. There was a rope swing hanging from the large oak tree. She used to swing off it into the lake that stretched out to the East. She looked toward the back door. There was a screened porch around another dark green door with a window.

She remembered the door well. It was the one that had allowed her to escape.

She had run out of the house that day through that back door. Now, she would enter the house for the first time since then through that same door.

She strode determinedly toward it, climbing the five stairs quickly. She opened the screen door to the porch and crossed to the green door. But there she hesitated. She could hear again the screams of that day. She didn’t even have to go inside to hear it. To see it.

She had run down the stairs from the attic and found her mother in the kitchen. “How could you not tell me? Why did you never tell me?”

Entering the kitchen she could see the scene between herself and the woman who had raised her. They had fought for an hour before she had finally left. Her mother called after her, “Really, Eliza. It’s not that big a deal.”

But it was a big deal. So big that she hadn’t spoken to her mother since. She hadn’t been to the house where her family spent most weekends during the summer since that day.

She moved through the kitchen and started climbing the stairs to the second floor. Then to the third. Then finally, she pulled the hatch down to release the stairs to the attic where she had found the papers that had torn her world apart.

She found the spot where the papers had been. She didn’t know if they’d still be there, but it didn’t matter. She remembered what they said.

“I thought you would be here before everyone else.”

Eliza turned around to see her father coming up the stairs to the attic. “I had to come. My brother is getting married. I couldn’t miss that. Even if he really isn’t my brother.”

“Just because we adopted you doesn’t mean we’re not your family.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We didn’t want you to feel exactly what you are feeling now.”

Eliza looked down at her feet and then up at the man who had been her father all her life. She wanted to forgive him.

“You’ve had five years, but I can see that you need more time. I will be here when you’re ready.”

Blackheart's Treasure

I know I promised new writing this week, but I didn't get it typed up in time (it's quite long). It'll be here next week. For now, enjoy this scene from a romantic suspense story that I never got around to finishing. I do plan to come back to this story eventually. But not yet.

May 1635

Juan, El Corazòn Negro, looked over the side of his ship and sighed.  The sun was setting in the West over the land where he had settled his family.  He still missed his Spanish home, but his new home was beautiful as well.  And his sons were still able to have Spanish wives brought over from the old country.

A rare smile touched the old man’s face as he thought of his sons, Nicodemo and Ricardo, finding the letters he had left for them.  Let them fight over his treasure now.  All those years of piracy had made him a rich man, but for what?

“One more trip, Elisa,” he would say.  “Then I’ll stay home for good.”

But that one more trip always became one more and one more and one more, until now he was too old for one more trip and Elisa had died.  The smile fell from his lips and a tear slipped down the battle-scarred cheek of El Corazòn Negro.

Le Cœur Noir.  The Black Heart.  A merciless pirate known throughout coastal Europe and the Americas.  He had found nothing but gold on the seas while the true treasure waited for him on the land he had bought in the Colonies.

Since Elisa’s death three months ago he had found nothing to fill the hole in his heart.  A heart that wasn’t as black as his name described.  Not even his two precious sons could open his life once more.  He longed only to join Elisa.  While Nicodemo had grown up like his mother, Ricardo had, regretfully, grown up like himself, restless and full of an insatiable greed.  But since their mother’s death they had begun to fight tirelessly over the fortune Juan had amassed through his years of piracy.  He had eventually split up most of it to give them equal amounts.  However, there was one piece left.  The treasure from his final voyage, by far the most booty he had ever returned with.  His greatest prize settled now in a wooden crate back in a deep cave in the ocean.  The letters told them how to find it, but who knew how long it would take to find the three underwater caves?  And then they’d have to choose the right one and find their way through the mass of tunnels to the right place.

The letters said:

I know you will fight over the last piece of treasure until one kills the other, so I have hidden it.  There is a place deep within the ocean where three caves sit side-by-side and tunnels wind through them.  But I must warn you that the true treasure does not lie deep within Davie Jones’ Locker, the true treasure lies beside you each night and lifts their small arms to you each morning.  It is the love of your wife and child.  Do not repeat my mistake, son.

Your Father.

Juan wiped the tears from his eyes, tears that no one would ever have believed he shed, and took a match from his pocket.  He lit it as his eyes followed the line of black gunpowder to the three barrels stacked in the center of his legendary ship.  He touched the flaming match to the end of the line at his feet.

Years later, they would still talk of the demise of El Corazòn Negro and wonder what his last thoughts were when the ship was blown away.  Speculation abounded but none even came close to touching on his last thoughts.

In the final moments of his life, Juan Marcos-Ramirez cursed the treasure so that only love, true love could find it.  Then Juan Marcos-Ramirez, El Corazòn Negro, was no more.

Why'd We Stop?

This story is creative non-fiction. I wrote it awhile ago as well. Next week however, I am going to have brand new writing for everyone to read.

“Thumbs up means faster. Hand slicing across your neck means stop. Thumbs down means slower. If I twirl my finger around, it means we’re turning around.”

He didn’t always use that one.

These were the instructions before I got on the tube for the first time. Some people might recognize them as skiing instructions, which they are, but the one time I got up on skis lasted a whopping grand total of five seconds. The tube is much easier to get the first time. And when I got it, it got me.

I met Tony when my family and I lived on Fraser Avenue in Port Coquitlam. He lived next door and made friends with my dog before he made friends with us. When we finally introduced ourselves, we learned that he had a daughter my age that he never got to see. As a result, I became his other daughter. My parents didn’t seem to mind much, liking Tony as they did. Besides, he loved my sisters just as much as he loved me and didn’t play favourites.

The six of us would often go out on his boat in the summer time. We would go to the Fraser or Pitt River and spend the day on the beach and once, Tony showed me what tubing was. Well, I got hooked.

Anytime he would ask, “Who wants to go tubing?” I’d be the first one with my hand in the air.

“I’ll go.”

So, attached, with seventy-five feet of rope, to the back of the red and silver Cobra that Tony used to drive, I would whip up and down the river until my arms were so tired from holding on that they were ready to fall off. I never did.

Though every time I get on the tube to tear after the boat is another adventure, one time always sticks out in my memory.

As we scream down the Fraser I let go long enough to throw my thumb upwards. He sees the signal and picks up more speed. All I can hear is the wind rushing past, the engine of the boat – much more than the 95 it says on the back, and my own laughter.

He turns back to check on me again and again I tell him I need more speed.

When he stops and starts pulling me back I ask, “Why’d we stop?”

“Weren’t you scared?” he asks me.

“No,” I reply, indignant at the thought.

“I was.”

We start to go again. I lean back as we pick up speed and the power of the boat pulls me onto its wake. I watch the waves as they rush toward me. Lean left as Tony turns left, lean right as he turns back right, clench your teeth so you don’t bite your tongue, hold on tight here comes a big wave. Thoughts run through my head as I sit in the tube being yanked around left and right as Tony tries to dump me. I hold on through it all.

He starts to do donuts in the water, making the waves I’m going over bigger and bigger with each turn. Then, I see one coming toward me. It’s the mother of all waves, bigger than any I’ve ever been over before. I lean back, grasp the handles with all the strength I have left, and feel the tube get lifted off the wave with the force behind the water. My feet fly over my head and I can hear Tony cut the engine.

When he stops I look at him safely from inside the tube.

“Why’d we stop?” I ask.