Chase the geese. Get to know each other.”
“Um—”
Before she could give me her usual vague reply, I cut in. “I’ll be down at the ferry dock at twelve o’clock. I’ll bring lunch. If you’re there, great. If not, I’ll eat all the sandwiches myself.”
Every nerve in my body was firing at once as we left the restaurant and walked along the alley to Spadina.
“Thanks again. See you,” Ninon said.
“Bye.”
I watched her walking south, disappearing and reappearing in the Friday afternoon crush like a faulty bulb flashing on and off. And then, before I knew what was happening, I found myself striding in the same direction. I told myself I wasn’t following. I was just taking an indirect route to the subway. She showed no sign that she knew I was behind herbut, to be sure, I took a diagonal to the other side of the street at the first corner. With each cross street that appeared I told myself I would turn off Spadina, but I didn’t.
At Queen Street, Ninon crossed Spadina with the flow of pedestrians, then stopped and looked west, one of a crowd waiting for the streetcar. Screened by a wall of bodies, I made my way to the south side of Queen, then stepped into the shadow of a music store doorway. I had a clear view of her across the road, waiting, talking to no one. I’d just stay put until she got on the trolley—sort of see her off.
It wasn’t long before a streetcar came to a stop. She waited for the disembarking passengers to clear, then scooted up the steps. I could see her though the windows, standing by the token receptacle for a few seconds, then moving down the aisle. The light changed and the streetcar crossed the intersection.
At that moment a taxi pulled up to the curb right in front of me. A woman got out of the taxi, hung a purse on her shoulder and reached into the back seat for a briefcase. The streetcar rumbled past, no more than a few metres away. Its bell clanged. Before the woman could close the taxi door I slipped into the back seat.
“I know this is going to sound corny,” I said to the driver, a wide-shouldered man wearing a knitted cap. “Follow that streetcar.”
He studied me in the rear-view mirror.
“My sister’s on it,” I explained. “I forgot to give her something.”
Slapping the car in gear, the man growled, “Whatever you say, chief.”
The taxi crept along behind the streetcar, stopping atevery intersection to exchange passengers, waiting for the traffic light to change, moving off again. I’d have been just as far ahead to follow on foot. Every metre I travelled piled guilt on my shoulders. What was I doing? Things had just begun to look up for me and here I was invading the privacy that for some reason was so important to Ninon. Why couldn’t I leave it alone?
To make things worse, the fare indicator on the meter rose alarmingly whether the taxi was moving or not. I’d be out of cash in no time at this rate. No, wait, I reminded myself. I had a credit card in my wallet. I only carried it for emergencies, and this was beginning to look like one. I sat back, relieved but sinking deeper into self-loathing, as the streetcar towed us into an increasingly downscale neighbourhood. Boarded-up storefronts. Discount stores. Rundown hotels and cafés. Lost-looking men and women on the sidewalks.
The streetcar came to a halt and I saw Ninon step down.
“Here, pull up here,” I told the driver.
I had just enough cash to cover the fare. I paid the driver, who muttered, “Say hello to your sister for me,” before he roared off.
Ninon had turned the corner and set off down a side street. I waited a couple of minutes before following. She walked quickly along the sidewalk, about fifty metres in front of me. Farther along, a sign hung out over the doorway of a blank-faced brick building. A couple of guys and a woman stood smoking by the door under the sign. Without greeting them Ninon pulled the door open and went in. I stopped. From that distance I could
“Um—”
Before she could give me her usual vague reply, I cut in. “I’ll be down at the ferry dock at twelve o’clock. I’ll bring lunch. If you’re there, great. If not, I’ll eat all the sandwiches myself.”
Every nerve in my body was firing at once as we left the restaurant and walked along the alley to Spadina.
“Thanks again. See you,” Ninon said.
“Bye.”
I watched her walking south, disappearing and reappearing in the Friday afternoon crush like a faulty bulb flashing on and off. And then, before I knew what was happening, I found myself striding in the same direction. I told myself I wasn’t following. I was just taking an indirect route to the subway. She showed no sign that she knew I was behind herbut, to be sure, I took a diagonal to the other side of the street at the first corner. With each cross street that appeared I told myself I would turn off Spadina, but I didn’t.
At Queen Street, Ninon crossed Spadina with the flow of pedestrians, then stopped and looked west, one of a crowd waiting for the streetcar. Screened by a wall of bodies, I made my way to the south side of Queen, then stepped into the shadow of a music store doorway. I had a clear view of her across the road, waiting, talking to no one. I’d just stay put until she got on the trolley—sort of see her off.
It wasn’t long before a streetcar came to a stop. She waited for the disembarking passengers to clear, then scooted up the steps. I could see her though the windows, standing by the token receptacle for a few seconds, then moving down the aisle. The light changed and the streetcar crossed the intersection.
At that moment a taxi pulled up to the curb right in front of me. A woman got out of the taxi, hung a purse on her shoulder and reached into the back seat for a briefcase. The streetcar rumbled past, no more than a few metres away. Its bell clanged. Before the woman could close the taxi door I slipped into the back seat.
“I know this is going to sound corny,” I said to the driver, a wide-shouldered man wearing a knitted cap. “Follow that streetcar.”
He studied me in the rear-view mirror.
“My sister’s on it,” I explained. “I forgot to give her something.”
Slapping the car in gear, the man growled, “Whatever you say, chief.”
The taxi crept along behind the streetcar, stopping atevery intersection to exchange passengers, waiting for the traffic light to change, moving off again. I’d have been just as far ahead to follow on foot. Every metre I travelled piled guilt on my shoulders. What was I doing? Things had just begun to look up for me and here I was invading the privacy that for some reason was so important to Ninon. Why couldn’t I leave it alone?
To make things worse, the fare indicator on the meter rose alarmingly whether the taxi was moving or not. I’d be out of cash in no time at this rate. No, wait, I reminded myself. I had a credit card in my wallet. I only carried it for emergencies, and this was beginning to look like one. I sat back, relieved but sinking deeper into self-loathing, as the streetcar towed us into an increasingly downscale neighbourhood. Boarded-up storefronts. Discount stores. Rundown hotels and cafés. Lost-looking men and women on the sidewalks.
The streetcar came to a halt and I saw Ninon step down.
“Here, pull up here,” I told the driver.
I had just enough cash to cover the fare. I paid the driver, who muttered, “Say hello to your sister for me,” before he roared off.
Ninon had turned the corner and set off down a side street. I waited a couple of minutes before following. She walked quickly along the sidewalk, about fifty metres in front of me. Farther along, a sign hung out over the doorway of a blank-faced brick building. A couple of guys and a woman stood smoking by the door under the sign. Without greeting them Ninon pulled the door open and went in. I stopped. From that distance I could
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