Canary (6 page)

Kevin Holland startles awake, surprised to find himself back in Philadelphia. When had he drifted off? That almost never happens to him on planes. He’s usually awake for every cramped, dim, agonizing twilight moment. What’s more bizarre is that he slept through the landing, too. Only the final
bing
of the overhead seat belt indicator roused him from slumber.

Then again, this is what happens when you drink a little too much at an airport bar and then basically pour yourself into your window seat.

The tear started the way it usually does.
Used to;
he doesn’t do this anymore, it’s just an aberration, he tells himself. He had one beer to calm his nerves, maybe help him sleep on the flight even though he knows he never sleeps on flights. Second beer in, he’s primed up for one Jack on the rocks, just one, you know, to calm his nerves on the flight, even though he’s never been a nervous flier. One Jack becomes three and Kevin knows that’s enough, more than enough, but one more and maybe he really could sleep on the plane, because tomorrow’s Thanksgiving and there’ll be so much to do, so much he can’t even keep it all straight in his head. But the bartender, a blonde with purple streaks and some hard living on her face, was his buddy by now and poured him a double, no extra charge. And then it was a rush to grab his bag and settle up and dart to the men’s room for an epic piss and wash his face and look in the mirror to see Old Kev staring back at him. Hey, where you been, poser?

What worries Kevin is the utter lack of hangover, which means he’s still drunk this morning. He turns on his phone and texts Sarie. She texts back a nanosecond later, from the cell phone lot. Rock-solid dependable as always, his daughter. “Strong like bull,” he used to joke in a grunting voice when she was younger, and it remains true. He’s relieved as hell she agreed to pick him up this morning. Two trains all the way to the Northeast on Thanksgiving morning would be depressing. Kevin doesn’t drive, not since he lost his license in high school in the worst way you could lose it. Even though he was allowed to drive again, he refused. Kevin never wanted to be back in that kind of situation ever again. Laura always drove. Then Sarie took over. Kevin is the eternal passenger.

Kevin makes a detour into a terminal men’s room to splash some cold water on his face and check on the condition of his eyes. They don’t call it a red-eye for nothing, but there’s plane red-eye and still-drunk-and-unfocused red-eye. Sarie and Marty know the difference. The cold water feels good on his skin, and the busy thrum of holiday travelers all around him is somehow reassuring. Life resumes. You’re going to be okay.

As long as you maintain The Fiction, Mr. Holland.

The Fiction is the defense mechanism he came up with over the summer. He knows it won’t work forever, but that doesn’t matter; it’s working okay now. A blend of his own counseling training and his imagination, The Fiction is a state of mind designed to help him deal with the awful new realities of his life one day at a time. Yeah, same basic thing he’s been telling his patients for years. Don’t think about never having a drink again for the rest of your life—that’s too much weight to carry. Just avoid taking a drink today. Don’t think about how you’ll never lose yourself in that high; just avoid sticking the needle in your arm today.

The Fiction is: Don’t think about the fact that Laura is gone forever. That you’re never going to feel her fingertips running up and down your forearm, because she knows it relaxes you—she knows all the places that relax you. You’re never going to kiss someone whose lips taste like a blend of cinnamon and strawberries. That the intangible, wonderful, fragile, beautiful, difficult thing you shared can never be replicated, and was gone for good. That is too much for anyone to bear.

So: She’s only gone
today.

According to The Fiction, Laura Gutierrez Holland is merely in Guadalajara taking care of her mother after hip surgery. She’ll be gone a few weeks, maybe a little more. She doesn’t call or email because the connections down there are so unreliable, but she’s thinking of him all the time, and she misses the kids so very much.

It doesn’t matter that Kevin knows The Fiction is exactly that. Kevin’s never even met Laura’s mother, nor will he ever. He has no idea about the condition of the woman’s hips. And the real Laura would never go a day without hearing the voices of her children. She never could understand how Kevin could travel for days at a time and seem to be okay without hopping on the phone on a regular basis. Laura never traveled alone, and even if she did, she wouldn’t let many hours pass without hearing from her babies.

So today is Thanksgiving and Laura isn’t here because she’s taking care of her mother in Guadalajara. They’re going to have a small meal together because they don’t do Thanksgiving in Mexico—Laura always thought the holiday was bizarre anyway.

Sober up, Kevin, you’re on duty this holiday.

Kevin exits the men’s room, pulling his roller bag behind him.

Sarie pulls up to the crowded curb looking happy to see him. Behind the open trunk Kevin hugs his daughter tightly, hoping the five mints he chewed and the cold morning air are enough to mask the lovely
eau de Daniels
that he’s sure is oozing from his pores.

“How was the party?” he asks.

“You know, pretty much what I expected,” Sarie says. “How was San Diego?”

“They kept me busy pretty much the entire time. Though I did manage to sneak off to the Gaslamp to walk around a little.”

Kevin told his kids he was visiting his ex-colleagues at the retreat for a couple of days. Which was true. But he didn’t tell them he was up for a job at the retreat. And he wouldn’t—not until he was sure the job was his and the contracts were signed.

“No La Jolla?” Sarie asks.

“Why would I do that?” Kevin says sharply, and just like that, the awkward silence is back. La Jolla. Why did she bring that up? Of course to her it’s a happy memory; to Kevin, it’s a brutal reminder that The Fiction is Fiction. He does a forensic analysis in his head and realizes he may have snapped at his daughter. Fuck.

“Did you end up driving Tammy home last night?” he asks, as Sarie merges onto I-95. Planes scream overhead. Everybody’s coming in for a landing on the busiest travel day of the year.

“No. She didn’t show.”

“Seriously? That whore!”

Sarie giggles. “Yeah, well.”

“So you were there alone?”

“I knew some people from the triple, so that was fine. And before you ask, I limited myself to one can of beer, nursed lovingly over a period of four hours.”

How much did you limit yourself to, Kevin?

“I think you can handle more than one beer, Sarie. You could have had a little, I don’t know, fun?”

“The beer wasn’t very good. Anyway, I don’t have any of the sides ready yet. And I didn’t start the stuffing, either. By the time I got home I was exhausted and just crashed and then I got up to pick you up and—”

“Don’t worry. We’ve got all day. Seriously.”

The Civic speeds past some of the most depressing vistas Philadelphia has to offer. Abandoned fields of industrial muck and a few struggling refineries. Burst of fire in the distance. Smoke. Weedy swamps and dump sites. Must be a shock to tourists when they land and hail a cab to the City of Brotherly Love and feel like they’re pulling into the set of
Blade Runner.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“You told me to always tell you when something happens, no matter what, right? And you won’t freak out?”

Kevin’s stomach sinks. Sure, he probably meant the words when he spoke them. Doesn’t mean he actually wants to hear the words that will follow. Instantly his mind sprints to dark places. Roofies, and grabby hands, and worse. He glances over at his daughter. She’s seemingly no worse for wear, no visible bruises. But Kevin knows that doesn’t mean anything, which takes him to an even darker place.

“You can tell me anything.”

The moments between that last word and the next are excruciatingly long, giving Kevin’s brain plenty of time to invent new awful scenarios.

“Somebody was passing around a bong.”

“And …?”

Sarie turns for a second to lock eyes with her father. “And what?”

“And how was it?”

Sarie turns her attention back to the highway for a second to make sure the Civic isn’t about to slam into anything, then locks eyes again.

“I didn’t try it, I
swear,
I sort of just … faked it and passed it down the line. Why would you think I’d try it?”

“It’s okay, just asking. Watch the road.”

“I swear, I didn’t know they’d have pot at the party.”

“Seriously, it’s okay. And I appreciate you telling me.”

“Why
wouldn’t
I tell you?”

The implication being,
I tell you everything, Daddy.
And that makes Kevin more relieved than anyone could possibly know. Despite all they’ve lost this year, he hasn’t lost her.

With that screeching halt Kevin Holland has been slammed back into vivid sobriety; adrenaline has burned off the remaining booze buzz. His heart is slamming inside his chest, and all he can think of is Marty waking up at his friend’s house to the news that his sister and father both died in an accident on I-95. This is why he loses control. Or so he explains to himself in the moments after he yells at Sarie so loudly and borderline incoherently that she runs from the car and into the Wawa almost shaking. Forget The Fiction. He’s been slammed back into Fact. And the fact is, he can’t control himself. He can’t control anything anymore. He’s an asshole and a horrible father and he’s the only thing his kids have left. God took the wrong one.

Wildey feels like a massive dick, doing this to a college girl. But Kaz is right—this is the only way she’s going to crack. She’s not like the other CIs he deals with. She doesn’t need to be courted or threatened. She just needs to feel the full-on pressure of that Monday morning deadline all weekend long. Kaz seems to think she’ll crack long before then. “Give her a good night’s sleep, she’ll come to her senses. No guy is worth throwing away your life for. Believe me.” Wildey hopes she’s right. He doesn’t want to keep this up all weekend long.
Excuse me, Auntie M.—I need to go torment this little girl for a minute. Enjoy your turkey roll.