Pushing open the door, Buddy looked up and confirmed the sun was shining. Somewhere. He couldn’t actually see its position in the sky, but imagined it blazing in the blue vault of heaven, out past the hump of Esplanade Street to the southeast.
He shook his head, pulling the camper door shut. “Coffee,” he mumbled. My one and only addiction. Coffee! Coffee! Coffee!
He rummaged through the cupboards, looking for the things he’d need: the bag of Nabob Espresso he’d bought the day before, French press, cup, cream, sugar.
Bernice had said he could ‘step over to the house anytime’ and ‘invite yourself in for a cuppa.’ But he preferred to make the Looner Module home. What if Harry limped into their kitchen while he was fixing himself a brew? The last thing Buddy needed was stink-eye at seven thirty in the morning. True, there’d been a degree of conviviality over dinner the night before, but he didn’t want to push it.
So he squeezed his morning fix out of the camper’s French press, doctored it up, then decided to take it into the great outdoors, tight-roping his way over the threshold and down the camper’s wobbly steps, trying not to slosh too much over the brim during his descent. Destination? Kin Beach Park.
Touching down on solid ground, guarding his coffee with his left forearm, he brushed past the tickling branches of the laurel hedge, which hemmed the Bigfoot camper. He pushed on past the dually, too, making his way toward open ground at the driveway entrance. From there, he could see out into Stuart Channel, scanning the yellow and gold escarpment of Vancouver Island, arcing toward Saltair in the north, the hump-backed forms of Thetis and Penelakut islands to the northeast, and the outer Gulf Islands beyond.
Like a bomb disposal expert, he made his way toward a bench atop the park’s sea wall without too much spillage. I’ll sip and watch the day unfold, he thought. Off to his left, a dog woofed. He resisted the urge to take a confirming glance, concentrating instead on his coffee as he descended the sloping terrain past the deserted playground. Big dog, he thought, judging by the timbre of its bark.
Suddenly, though—silence. A species of expectant, unnerving silence.
“Avi!” someone shouted. Then again, “Avi!” In a harsh, panicked voice. He turned, just in time to see a squat, muscular creature making a beeline for him, trailing a long leash. A woman galloped in pursuit, yelling now for the dog to “Come! Come here!”
“Shit!” Buddy dropped his coffee, crouched and squared himself. “Go!” he bellowed, poised to do whatever he could to fend off the bared fangs of his attacker. Snarling and snapping at the air, the dog crouched two feet in front of him. Just in time, the woman grabbed the dog’s leash and yanked him toward her. “Sit!” she commanded, and the dog obeyed, still eying Buddy malevolently.
“I’m so sorry!” she pleaded. “Are you alright?”
“Is your dog always this friendly?”
“He’s a rescue,” she kneeled behind the beast, stroking and trying to calm him. “I come here early to give him some off-lead time while nobody’s around. I should have been watching more carefully.”
Buddy bit his tongue. Accident, he told himself. It was an accident. As the adrenaline surge subsided, he imagined an invisible hand stroking his neck, transmitting calm. No point ranting.
“What’s ‘Avi’ stand for?” he asked by way of introduction.
“Avatar,” she said.
“Oh.” Buddy looked surprised. “Names like Cerberus and Baskerville do come to mind as possible incarnations,” he joked. The woman allowed herself a tense grin. “Name’s Buddy…” He checked the impulse to extend his hand, smiling and bobbing instead.
Beautiful, in a butch sort of way, he was thinking.
“Andrea,” she countered, then looked puzzled, as if she was trying to place him. “You from around here?”
“What makes you think that?”
She squinted, giving him an are-you-that-dumb kind of look. “Guy’s wandering around in the park, coffee cup in hand, at seven thirty in the morning. I’m not Sherlock Holmes, but it sort of makes you think he might be local… unless you’ve got a camper parked somewhere out of sight?”
They laughed; Avatar growled.
“Well, it just so happens I do. You know the Sandersons?” he asked.
“Bernice and Harry? Yeah. I live just across the street from them.”
“Well then, you live just across the street from me, too. I’ve moved into that Bigfoot of theirs in the back drive.”
“You mean you responded to their ad in the Courier?”
“Yup.”
“Howdy, neighbour!” she smiled. “Hope you don’t mind me saying, but a lot of folk were worried about the kind of handyman-companion an ad like that might attract.”
“Fair enough. I’d be suspicious, too, if I didn’t know what a nice guy I am.”
She laughed.
Is she resisting the urge to shake hands, too?
On what? he wondered, suddenly aware he was wearing his goofy grin, that crooked upturning of lips activated by muscle groups he hadn’t exercised since…
“So, tell me, does Avatar ever get used to strangers? I mean, can you have friends over for dinner who aren’t the main course? Can family visit? Sorry! Don’t mean to be nosy. Just curious.”
“I never would have adopted him if I’d known he was going to turn out this way. At first, he was shy, avoided people whenever he could, and cowered when they tried to pat him. Then, as he got attached, he started showing signs of aggression.” She paused thoughtfully. “Maybe I could have done something different at that point. I did take him to a professional trainer, but nothing worked.”
“If I was a dog psychologist, I’d say he had a tough go before you adopted him. Now he sees you as his sole protector and companion, and he’ll do whatever it takes to occupy the centre of your affections.”
She nodded miserably. “It’s like, what would you do if you had a kid or partner who was obviously going insane? You can’t just chain him up in the backyard. There’s no institution for mad dogs. But he’s yours, and you’re just as attached to him as he is to you? I know Avi’s just a dog, but he’s my dog, and I’m tortured every day by the decision I might have to make if he ever hurts someone.”
“Sorry!” Buddy consoled. “Didn’t mean to pry.”
“S’okay. Most people don’t ask, they just judge.”
“Mind me asking another question?”
“What?”
“Why not put a muzzle on him? Wouldn’t that make it safer for everyone, including Avi?”
Andrea looked annoyed, then thoughtful. “It’s part of the knife edge I dance on, I guess. Sure, it would be the smart thing to do, and if I’m walking him in a busy public space, I do, but he needs some free time, too. Stupid, I know, but…” She stood up, coiling Avi’s leash and holding him tight to her leg. “Well, gotta,” she said.
“Nice talking,” he offered.
“Yeah. See you around.”
“Coffee in hand, no doubt.”
She headed toward the park entrance and Maple Street, letting out the lead as they went. Avi trotted as far ahead as the leash permitted, proud to be his mistress’s dog. Andrea strode on confidently too, as if she’d made up her mind about something.
No looking back for her, Buddy watched. Lock-on to the next plot point and go, then lock-on again and go, he figured.
Next: Out of Kilter