Selkie

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Taylor, BC, is north. It isn't Arctic Circle north, but it is NORTH, and it is small. It has an airport, but it's the kind of airport with one plane at a time. One small, vulnerable to turbulence, a single seated row on each side of the aisle,  plane. 

I must admit that I was beginning to question my decision. I remember sitting at the Vancouver airport and looking out at the toy-sized plane I was about to board and feeling like I was on the executioners block. I had already taken two planes to get there. The first one was normal enough. Your average international flight. The second one - Calgary to Vancouver - had a slightly rougher vibe. People were a little louder. There were more baseball caps and yellowed jeans. 90% of carry-ons were emblazoned with a sport or company logo. I felt very far from home. 

Have you ever been through Canadian customs? They're good looking. They are also extremely polite. The border agent made eye contact with me and asked about the reason for my travels like he actually wanted to know. Unfortunately, I wasn't sure how to answer, so I told him everything.

"Well... um... My Dad just died, and I found out that I'm adopted, but my birth mother left me a bunch of property and stocks, and it's all a bit much, so I figured I would come out and see this place for myself. Also, I'm not sure if this means I'm actually Canadian? Or maybe I'm Scottish because the other property is in Scotland. Have you ever heard of a place called Hoy? I can't believe I own property? Have you ever been to Taylor, BC? Apparently, it's near some place called Fort St John. Which sounds like Fort Adams. Dad took us there once when we were kids, and there were historical reenactors, so I just keep imagining Ft St John as a Colonial living history town. It's all just a lot."

His kind brown eyes softened, "As a matter of fact, I have been to Scotland I'm actually from Orkney originally. You'll love. It's beautiful and a bit wild." He looked at me as if perhaps he might have been describing me rather than his home island. "It sounds like you've had one heck of a week." He stamped my passport with a wink and ushered me on. "Good luck."

I was mortified. I was a little out of breath. But, honestly, how often do you meet a hot, friendly border guard? At the time I thought that it was probably a Canadian thing. I know better now.

The flight was 50 minutes, but it felt like 6 hours. I swear the pilot was trying to hit the turbulent spots. The view coming into Fort St John was worth it though. It was spectacular. Fort St John looks like its been sliced in half by the Peace River, violently. The waters cut a deep ribbon across the land. The whole place felt rugged and remote.  The cliffs were golden and brutal - rough-hewn by millennia of water. Even in April, with the last fingers of winter digging into the land, it took my breath away.

I wondered what it looks like in the summer - I still wonder - it is probably  an impossible green. 

The landing was horrific. 

Have you ever tried to rent a car in a small town? It is very different than renting one in the city. The bottle-blonde middle-aged woman taking down my driver's license was charming. Unfortunately, Canada is a wild place; you can drink at 19 in British Columbia, but renting a car is a no-go. To rent a car, you have to be over 24. 

This was my first major obstacle of the entire journey. How was I supposed to get to my birth mother's property in Taylor, B.C., if I couldn't get a car? It is in moments like that that you realize just how privileged your life has been. Just how much you rely on your family. I had no idea what to do and it must have shown on my face.

"I gotchu, honey," the woman behind the counter was a blonde angel. She wore an overly patterned tunic and too many clattering bracelets on both wrists. But, without hesitating, she picked up the phone and called someone named Brett. "Brett, baby. I've got a little lost lamb at the airport trying to make it into Taylor. Can you give her a ride?" Turning to me, she added, "Brett's a teddy bear. You will love him. He's got a place out there, but he works in FSJ during the week. It's no trouble for him to give you a lift. Whereabouts are you headed? I handed her the address, and she visibly blanched. "Oh my." She looked at me curiously. "Well, that's just across from the church and the elementary school. Rev Sampson has been trying to talk the Lewis brothers into renting it to him for years now. It's a nice house, dear, but you aren't planning on staying in it alone, are you?"

Of course, I was.

She wrote her number down on a piece of paper, spelling her name with a heart over the 'i', and handed it to me. "You give me a call if you need anything at all."

I kept the note. I put the number in my phone too - of course - but it was just too sweet to be given a handwritten phone number. I planned on making a scrapbook about the trip when I got home. What a weird thing to think of now. Imagine!

In my memory, Brett's arrival was like something out of one of the old Westerns I watched with Dad. Brett may have been a teddy bear, but he was also the biggest man that I had ever seen. He was tall enough already but wore cowboy boots for some reason. They made an already tall man into a giant. He had kind eyes and a sweet face, but it was covered in a layer of dust and grime. When he took off his cap his forehead was a full shade lighter than the rest of his face. But, it didn't look silly.

I remember thinking he had effortlessly achieved what Dad's footballers worked so very hard to project. Sheer masculine energy.

"I'm Brett," he said sheepishly, offering me his hand."

"I'm Edith May," I replied with a grin. "And I hear you're here to be my knight in shining armour."

"Well, Miss, I don't know about that but I will do my very best."

He walked me to his truck and made pleasant small talk. Looking back, I should have been more cautious, but I was tired and wanted to put my bags down and rest.

The drive to Taylor was only about 10 minutes, but it was long enough for me to be sure I liked Brett. He was funny and clever and had great taste in music. He also had some decent advice.

"No one has lived in that house for a long time. You're going to need some household things. Why don't you let me take you back to town tomorrow, and we can fix you up?"

"Thanks, Brett, I really appreciate it, but my first priority is buying a car.

"You want to buy a car?"

"I think I need to since no one will rent me one." That sent him off chuckling. "You really thought you could just show up and rent a car? How old are you?"

"Old enough."

"Clearly not. Well, what kind of car are you looking for?"

"Something reliable?"

"Okay, well - Tirecraft is about a 20-minute walk, and I'm sure Steve can set you up. He's a good guy. I went to school with him. Let me make some calls."

I had to laugh. Why were people being so helpful? Maybe that's just how people are in small Canadian towns? My best theory is that I looked so down and out that they couldn't help it, like with a lost puppy or a cat with only three legs. Honestly, at that moment, I did not care.

Brett insisted we stop at a drive-through for a hamburger and bought me a breakfast sandwich and a coffee.

"Pop them in the fridge for the morning. Trust me. You'll want the fuel in your system if you're walking to Tirecraft in the morning. No one should deal with Steve on an empty stomach."

Brett had an easy way of making me laugh.

The sun had gone down by the time we reached the little house on the edge of town. It had a long drive and was set back from the road. The management company that was caring for it had hidden a key for me under the mat. Not a super secure system, but the convenience paid off when I made it inside.

Brett waited until I was inside and I found myself smiling as I heard the crunch of his tires as he backed out of the drive.