so scared in his life. Gran had drummed into him that he needed to be wary of the outside world, and now he knew exactly why.
But Joe was on his way here. Would he notice that Ian was this thing , this hybrid, this experiment? He waited for the knock at the door, almost unable to breathe.
Joe showed up clutching a cardboard box of groceries. "In case you run out of anything," he said. A half-gallon jug of milk inside it made a buckling, slopping sound. "Damn, I'm so sorry about Maggie. We're going to miss her. Let's sit down and work out what you need to do, son. Once all that officialdom's out of the way, it'll be a lot easier."
"It's all done." Ian was certain that Joe was studying his face, but it might just have been normal concern. He wanted to tell him his shocking, horrible, impossible news. I'm a monster, and she wasn't my gran . But he had no idea where to start, and Gran's instructions hadn't said to tell Joe about all that. She'd had her reasons. "Gran set it all up. Even the funeral. I'll show you."
Joe sat down on the sofa. "I'm real sorry we don't visit you more often, Ian. Proves how long it's been. You look different every time I see you."
"It's okay," Ian said. There. It's definitely true. It's not my imagination. Joe's seen it too. It was probably why the sheriff had looked baffled. Nobody would think they'd actually seen a guy change. They'd think they were imagining it, just like Ian had. "Look, I don't have a driving license. I'll need to visit people soon. Seattle, probably. Can you give me a ride sometime?"
"Whenever you want. No sweat. You want to come over and stay with us tonight?"
"No, thank you, I'm okay. I need some time to think."
"Okay, I'll check in on you later and help out with the animals. But call me if you need anything, day or night, yeah?"
"Sure. Thanks, Joe."
After Joe left, Ian sat at the kitchen table for hours, unable to face a meal. Another random thought added to the evidence that he really was some kind of monster. He knew he'd had his shots as a kid, but he hadn't seen a doctor or a dentist for as long as he could remember. There was only Kinnery. Ian had thought Gran was just afraid of being put on some official database to be cross-referenced and scrutinized, but now he knew it was more than mistrusting the authorities with personal information.
There was something real to fear if anyone found out what he was. The consequences didn't have a shape or form yet, but one thing he'd learned from Gran at an early age was that companies and governments were never on your side.
And Kinnery had deceived Ian just like Gran had, then.
Ian had to call him. He was the only other person who understood what Ian was, and he had responsibilities . This was all his doing.
A voice at the back of Ian's mind said that men didn't wait for someone else to solve their problems. They took the initiative. But he was trying to get used to too many new and terrible things to think straight yet.
One thing was clear, though. This was a crisis he couldn't escape by grabbing the emergency bag and running. It was part of him, locked into every cell of his body. He'd have to find a way of living with it.
THREE
I know it's none of my business now, but I don't want to switch on the news one day and see you being lynched by a bunch of screaming hysterical foreigners. They're not worth it. No country or company's worth it. It wasn't worth it when you were a Marine, either. I know you love your job, but just because you're willing to die doesn't make it right.
Beverley Harris, formerly Beve rley Rennie, in a rare email to ex-husband Rob.
DUNLOP RANCH, ATHEL RIDGE
TWO WEEKS AFTER MAGGIE DUNLOP'S DEATH, EARLY JULY
"It's okay, Ian." Joe herded the last of the sheep up the ramp into the back of his truck. "If you ever change your mind, I'll bring them straight back."
The chickens and dogs – all except Oatie – had already left for their new home. Oatie refused to be parted from Ian.
But Joe was on his way here. Would he notice that Ian was this thing , this hybrid, this experiment? He waited for the knock at the door, almost unable to breathe.
Joe showed up clutching a cardboard box of groceries. "In case you run out of anything," he said. A half-gallon jug of milk inside it made a buckling, slopping sound. "Damn, I'm so sorry about Maggie. We're going to miss her. Let's sit down and work out what you need to do, son. Once all that officialdom's out of the way, it'll be a lot easier."
"It's all done." Ian was certain that Joe was studying his face, but it might just have been normal concern. He wanted to tell him his shocking, horrible, impossible news. I'm a monster, and she wasn't my gran . But he had no idea where to start, and Gran's instructions hadn't said to tell Joe about all that. She'd had her reasons. "Gran set it all up. Even the funeral. I'll show you."
Joe sat down on the sofa. "I'm real sorry we don't visit you more often, Ian. Proves how long it's been. You look different every time I see you."
"It's okay," Ian said. There. It's definitely true. It's not my imagination. Joe's seen it too. It was probably why the sheriff had looked baffled. Nobody would think they'd actually seen a guy change. They'd think they were imagining it, just like Ian had. "Look, I don't have a driving license. I'll need to visit people soon. Seattle, probably. Can you give me a ride sometime?"
"Whenever you want. No sweat. You want to come over and stay with us tonight?"
"No, thank you, I'm okay. I need some time to think."
"Okay, I'll check in on you later and help out with the animals. But call me if you need anything, day or night, yeah?"
"Sure. Thanks, Joe."
After Joe left, Ian sat at the kitchen table for hours, unable to face a meal. Another random thought added to the evidence that he really was some kind of monster. He knew he'd had his shots as a kid, but he hadn't seen a doctor or a dentist for as long as he could remember. There was only Kinnery. Ian had thought Gran was just afraid of being put on some official database to be cross-referenced and scrutinized, but now he knew it was more than mistrusting the authorities with personal information.
There was something real to fear if anyone found out what he was. The consequences didn't have a shape or form yet, but one thing he'd learned from Gran at an early age was that companies and governments were never on your side.
And Kinnery had deceived Ian just like Gran had, then.
Ian had to call him. He was the only other person who understood what Ian was, and he had responsibilities . This was all his doing.
A voice at the back of Ian's mind said that men didn't wait for someone else to solve their problems. They took the initiative. But he was trying to get used to too many new and terrible things to think straight yet.
One thing was clear, though. This was a crisis he couldn't escape by grabbing the emergency bag and running. It was part of him, locked into every cell of his body. He'd have to find a way of living with it.
THREE
I know it's none of my business now, but I don't want to switch on the news one day and see you being lynched by a bunch of screaming hysterical foreigners. They're not worth it. No country or company's worth it. It wasn't worth it when you were a Marine, either. I know you love your job, but just because you're willing to die doesn't make it right.
Beverley Harris, formerly Beve rley Rennie, in a rare email to ex-husband Rob.
DUNLOP RANCH, ATHEL RIDGE
TWO WEEKS AFTER MAGGIE DUNLOP'S DEATH, EARLY JULY
"It's okay, Ian." Joe herded the last of the sheep up the ramp into the back of his truck. "If you ever change your mind, I'll bring them straight back."
The chickens and dogs – all except Oatie – had already left for their new home. Oatie refused to be parted from Ian.
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