Bicycles whisk by us, as ordinary life goes on in all its incredible complexity. I can’t move, too overwhelmed. The gratitude I felt back there wasn’t so much for Tom and his policies, but for the man in front of me. For him.
I kiss his fingers. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I mean for everything. For standing by me when they asked about the slingshot. For marrying me. For…” I choke as I think of those awful first days on the island and then again, when I was too broken to leave our home. “For wanting me when no one else did.”
“Kayla.” He threads a hand behind my neck. “That was all you, too.”
“I don’t see how.”
“You…” He isn’t a crier. But something is caught in his throat. I understand the feeling all too well. “Youtrustedme. No one’s ever looked at me and expected me to be the good guy before. No one until you. I don’t know how I can ever deserve—”
“Don’t talk that way. You don’t have to earn me.” At that, I go up on my toes and kiss him. He holds me like he’s trying to make sure I don’t escape. Like this is a dream we could wake up from. When I rock back on my heels, I slide my hand into his so I can pull him toward our bus stop. “I’m here for good.”
He grins. “That’s all I wanted to hear you say.”
“Come on, worrywart.” I tug him forward, anxious to be back in the quiet and familiarity of the acreage. “Let’s go home.”
I’M NOT SUREat what point life slips into the kind ofhappily ever afterthat used to end the children’s books April and I scrounged from collapsed homes. I never knew how to picture that when life was nothing but a smear of survival. If I lived happily ever after, what would be the illustration the author used to communicate my bliss?
I can name a few moments.
Like Christmas Day. April and I give bracelets we wove from cedar to all the boys and Sid surprises me with a fabric box. Inside are my mother’s earrings.
“But how did you…?” I scream, and throw my arms around his neck while he laughs.
“After we got married, I went to the hospital and reworked the billing so it was in my name. They gave me a full refund.” He grins. “Headed to the exchange right after.”
“But they must have cost more than I sold them for.”
He shrugs. “You need to get your ears pierced.”
As it turns out, on Salt Spring Island, even Santa Claus is real.
Then there’s the day April and I are granted fullcitizenship. We celebrate by surprising April with her own bicycle. She shrieks in terror when James lets go of the seat for the first time and suddenly, she has to rely on her own momentum to stay upright. That day is perfect, too.
And I’m not quite sure I would call ithappily, but life does seem like it will be at leastbetterever after on the day Council grants our petition to revoke Astolia’s provisional ally status, with a full investigation to come. And yes, okay. I admit it. I am happy when the Grand Astrologue—or should I say,Gord—spots me watching the hearing. He starts cursing when he recognizes me and tries to make his way toward me, only to be caught by the island guard. And,ohdoes it feeldeliciouswhen the mayor declares that this makes the decision easier.
That night, I wake up gasping, cold with sweat, trying to make sense of where the nightmares came from, but Sid’s hand is there, steadying me. Helping me find the right pace for my heartbeat.
No one told me that about happily ever after. It can still have sleepless nights and days where I admit, that yes, my husband is right. I need to start therapy. So I finally go and talk to someone who helps me make sense of myself. And just like how all Wildlings lie on their papers, apparently most of us also have issues left over from—how does she put it?My time disconnected from a safe environment. She even says it’s normal that I reacted so negatively to my first taste of safety, because my body wasn’t used to living without a crisis. I had years upon years of unprocessed pain waiting to burst out of me when I got here. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, she says. It stings to clean a wound before it heals.
It’s worth putting up with those days, because in March, the election comes. Amy makes Council, because of course she does. But so does Sid. His involvement inthe Astolia situation reassured voters that he was someone with a balanced view on human rights and immigration and all that government shit. Tom, as my brave sponsoring immigration officer, played a role in the success too, so he also gets in with a landslide. The newspaper even makes him and Sid pose together for a photo—not that it will actually go in physical papers, but Amy says they have a database on a computer somewhere that holds onto important records of the island’s history, in case there’s a distant day when they can print the images. Our victory matters enough that it’s going to be saved there.
As people come to shake Sid’s hand and congratulate him, a few throw me winks and say they would have voted for me, if they could.
“Oh, believe me. No one wants someone with my mouth in government,” becomes my refrain. “And honestly, I would get bored.”
When Mrs. Buckerfield hears this line, she blinks in surprise. “Well, what is a brave girl like you doing with herself so she doesn’t get bored?”
“Well… not a lot. But I really like to cook.”
“Do you? Why haven’t I seen you at my place, then? Bring Carlos by. He never visits.”
“O-okay.” I can’t fight the grin on my face.
But none of those moments beat today. It’s a little over a year since I first arrived on the island. I’ve been given the day off work from the café to help with the pandemonium on the acreage. Dom has agreed to move into the spare room in Albert’s unit so we can open one of the apartments to another family—sanctuary seekers. They asked for us in particular.
