Return of the Trickster Eden Robinson (sight word readers TXT) 📖

organized her own search and, once it was in full swing, two people had contacted her, saying they were sure they’d seen David beating Jared in the alley. They’d had cellphone footage, but it was jerky and blurry, shot from too far away to make out details, interrupted by traffic. Still, Mave had recognized the location, which led her to check the security footage from her clothing co-op, The Sartorial Resistance; the shop camera had caught the beating but not the attempted murder. Mave reached across the table to hold his hand.

“You came home that day,” she said, taking his hand. “And didn’t say a word.”

Jared tried to pull his hand back, but she put her other hand over it as well and held on.

“Is that when you started drinking?” she said.

“Yes,” Jared said. Not a big lie.

She squeezed his hand. “No one is above the law, Jared. He won’t get away with hurting you this time.”

Hand in bubbling oil. Screaming and screaming and screaming. His mother’s buck knife sliding easily between David’s ribs. “I don’t think it matters anymore,” Jared said.

“Your life is worth fighting for.”

This wasn’t the bubbly Mave he was used to. His aunt had an intensity that made it hard to look away from her eyes.

“If David comes back, you need to tell me.”

Safe promise, as David would only come back as a ghost. “Okay.”

“Good,” she said, letting go of his hand. “We’re going down to the police station. Investigating officers are going to ask you some questions for a written statement that you’re going to sign. I’ll see if Sophia’s serious about her offer of a lawyer.”

“Don’t,” Jared said. “I mean, it’s not the time. With what’s happened to my—to Phil.”

“Let me handle it,” she said, and punched Sophia’s number.

Oh, good gravy, Jared thought, and texted his mom. Mave wants me to make a statement to the VPD about David.

A few seconds later, his mom texted back: Good. Go do that. It’ll keep her busy and surrounded by cops.

She’s going to ask Sophia for a lawyer.

Fuck me sideways. If Sophia shows, don’t mention dead bodies.

What?

Just don’t. Don’t mention Phil. Don’t say his name. She’s not steering the boat by herself these days and dead bodies and the names of the dead are trigger words.

Jared sat at the kitchen table and felt the world spiralling through the galaxy, making endless fractal patterns. He tried to take Mave’s phone out of her hands. She’d gone ahead and called Sophia.

Mave waved him off. “Yes. Thank you, Sophia. Yes, I’ll handle it. Uh-huh. Just a minute. Let me get a pen.” Mave wrote on her pad of paper.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” he said.

“I can’t thank you enough. Again, if you need us at all, please let us know.” Mave cleared her throat. “Jared would like to say hi.”

Jared waited, tensing.

“Fair enough,” Mave said. “Thanks again.” She hung up, then held the cellphone to her chest and stared at the numbers she’d written down. “Give her time. She’s dealing with so many things right now. Okay?”

—

The lawyer Sophia sent didn’t look old enough to have finished high school and was so short she came up to his collarbone even in sky-high stilettos. She smiled at him, her straight white teeth framed by apple-red lipstick. Her black hair skimmed her shoulders, which were shrouded in a chunky grey blazer. After they talked, she arranged a meeting with the cops. He was expecting to have some time to think things through, but everyone seemed eager to get it done. Before he knew it, Mave laid out a pressed shirt and slacks for him to change into and then they were following the lawyer’s car in Mave’s Canuck bug.

The station wasn’t far. It was so different from the last time he talked to the police, when he woke up in the hospital and the cops had been more interested in hearing about his mom nail-gunning David than about David breaking his ribs.

Once they were all seated in an interview room, Jared jumped in, quickly describing his long history with David. The officer asked for a few dates, details and clarifications but, otherwise, listened and wrote things down. When the interview was done, Mave asked if Jared wanted to go out for something to eat. Jared shook his head.

“I’m proud of you, Jared,” Mave said. “You did good.”

—

After they came home, Mave said she wanted to surprise Sarah by setting up the bed before she and Justice came back. After they got the large cardboard flat-packs open, Mave said she could do the rest herself and insisted that Jared eat a bowl of soup instead. She sat him down at the kitchen table, opened a tin of soup and plopped it in a bowl she put in the microwave. When it dinged, she brought him the chicken noodle soup along with a saucer of crackers with margarine smeared on them. She kissed his head and said she was going next door to get her tools back from Hank.

The soup had hot spots, so Jared stirred it. The soft noodles collapsed into mush in his mouth. He spat them back into the bowl and brought it to the sink. He drained the oily, yellowish broth and lifted up the top layer of garbage to hide where he’d dumped his noodles. He rinsed the bowl. He wondered if she had Popsicles—he wanted something sweet and simple—then remembered that Charles the Wild Man of the Woods had given him a zip-lock bag of alder bark. Maybe some tea would help.

He took two of the little sticks out of the bag and put them on a cutting board. He filled the electric teakettle and turned it on. Then he hunted through the cupboards for a heavy glass jug, which he rinsed. When the kettle boiled, he dropped the bark into the jug and poured the hot water over it. Red tendrils spun away from the sticks as it steeped.

He was pouring himself a mug