Sourmouth (21 page)

             
“That would probably be the same one, yes”.

             
“What about him? Why would he give you my cellphone number?”

             
“My wife and I were speaking to him about some of the local lore and he
mentioned that you’d be a great person to have a coffee with on the subject”.

             
“You are aware of my project?”
Tsitusem
asked, his
voice giving away that he was intrigued that the topic had come up so
unexpectedly.

             
“Yes. Yes, we are. And we were hoping that we could sit down with you and find
out what you know about Squamish culture and some of the legends in it,
preferably as soon as possible”.

             
The young man made a sound that was similar to a laugh mixed with a cough.

             
“Can I ask you what it is that you’re looking to find out? ‘Lore’ is a very,
very extensive subject. And as much as I would hope I could help you, my time
is rather pressed and I do not think I would be interested in teaching you
hundreds and hundreds of years of our history”.

             
“Sorry, I’m not explaining this very well. I’m looking to find out about a
specific piece of lore, about a legend that goes by the name of ‘
Sourmouth
’. Do you know it?” Riley asked, his fingers
crossed around the phone handle.

             
Tsitusem
paused on the other end of the line, making
no sound but the sounds of him breathing. 

             
“I cannot be certain without delving into my notes, but I believe that I have a
few pages on it. That ‘
Sourmouth
’ word is related to
the creation myths, correct? I am not mistaken in the association?”

             
Riley wanted to tell the boy that he’s the one that should be confirming these
sorts of things, but opted to go for the more diplomatic approach.

             
“From what we’ve been told,
Sourmouth
is connected to
the Wolf Star. And we were also told that you might have more on it since
you’ve been collecting information”. 

             
“Consider me curious, Mr. Tyler. It is not often I come across someone wanting
to know about Squamish history, at least not from an academic standpoint. And
certainly not about our fables”.

             
Riley smirked into the phone, just as his wife approached with her bag of
groceries. His expression told her all about how the conversation was leaning.

             
“You’re interested in sitting down with us?” he probed as his wife leaned in as
she attempted to listen in on the call.

             
“I would be able to find an hour out of my day. Where was it that you said you
were situated?”
Tsitusem
said.

             
“We’re staying in a house on Bowen Island, up in the mountains by the lake”.

             
“Oh, dear. Well, I am at the university right now, in Vancouver of course. That
might make the meeting in person problematic”.

             
“I was hoping that you were here already. Bill had said that you frequent the
island”.

             
“I did once upon a time. I had to spend days there on and off, convincing and
interviewing the elders to get what stories they had. But there is little
reason for me to make recurring visits now”.

             
“Is this something that we could do over the phone then?” Riley asked.

             
“If I have a choice I would prefer not to. I have a roommate in my dorm that
keeps odd hours. It is difficult to have extended conversations on the phone
without waking him. Might I ask how urgently this information is required?”

             
Violet leaned towards her husband and whispered into his ear, “Really damn
soon”.

             
“My wife would like it really damn soon”.

             
Tsitusem
chuckled, “Alright. I certainly cannot meet
up tonight. But how about I visit tomorrow during the day? I have to turn in a
paper in the morning, but then I’m free. I can take the boat over and meet you
somewhere to go over what I have. Does that sound serviceable?”

             
“That’s fantastic. Name the time and place and we’ll be there”.

             
“There is a restaurant called Artisan Pie Company that I have always been fond
of. I can be there for 1PM if that works”.

             
“That works just fine. We’ll reserve a table under the
Tylers
”.

             
“I will see you tomorrow then. Goodbye,”
Tsitusem
said as he abruptly hung up without so much as a hint of subtlety.

             
Violet pulled back and gave her husband a polite, soundless golf clap.

             
“I’m surprised that it went so well,” Riley admitted.

             
“I just hope that he doesn’t end up giving us the same information that we
already know. I’d hate to have to sit through him droning on about the stars
and whatnot”. 

             
Riley grabbed the grocery bag from his wife and thumbed through the contents.

             
“I already told him that’s the minimum that we already know. I didn’t tell him
much else. If he arrives and starts telling us about the family and the wolves
we’ll just have to say that we knew that, too”.

             
“And admit that he’s come all the way to the island for nothing? No thanks. I’m
not a fan of admitting that I’m in the wrong or that I’ve made a bad decision.
I’d rather just sit through it and hope that things will improve,” Violet
disclosed.

             
Riley walked off with the bag and headed towards their car.

             
“Now we know why you married me. The joke’s on you though, things will never
improve...”

Chapter 12

             
The weather had quickly worsened up by the lake. The temperature seemed to have
dropped drastically due to the sun being hidden by the thick clouds, which only
amplified how fast the heat vanished. The winding curves of the mountain roads
funneled the wind over the lake, rippling the water and rustling the leaves on
the trees. The cold air seemed to have convinced the wildlife that winter was
ready to fall, as the rodents were out and about scavenging for food to hide
away for the frost season.

             
The
Tylers
sat back in the living room, staring at
the cuckoo clock that they had just noticed no longer worked. They hadn’t had
the nerve to go upstairs yet, finding solace in their mutual company from the
safety of the couch. In their laps sat fruit and sandwiches wrapped in
cellophane that they had purchased from the grocery store on the way up. They
sat and ate, thinking individually about what their plan of approach would be.

             
“What do you think would happen if we showed
Sourmouth
its book?” Violet questioned amusedly.

             
“It might implode or something. Like travelling back in time and meeting
yourself”.

             
“If I wrote down your name in a book and you read it, would you implode?”

             
He took a big bite of some BBQ pork that hung off of his bun, “I’m not a
mystical wolf man”.

             
“Point taken”.

             
“Why? What were you thinking of doing?”

             
She shook her head, her eyes trying to pierce through her husband’s calm and
cool façade. She knew that he was hoping for a stupid answer so he could make
fun of her about it and was just pretending to want to know for any other
reason.

             
“No real reason. Just asking what you thought”.

             
“You’re lying,” he laughed with a mouthful of bread.

             
“I’m not. I’m not a liar,” she answered.

             
“You’re lying about that, too”.

             
“Can we change the subject?”

             
“Don’t you want to figure out what we’re doing next?”

             
“Yes, I do, which is why I want to change the subject to something that’s
beneficial to the situation,” she replied.

             
“I think this is beneficial to the situation”.

             
Riley picked off a slice of tomato off of his bun and flicked it at his wife.
The rubbery fruit slapped against her arm and slid down onto the couch.

             
She eyed him with feigned intensity.

             
“What are you, twelve?” she laughed.

             
“If I am, the things that you’ve done to my body would put you in prison for a
really long time. You pervert".

             
Violet reached over and tried to smack her husband, coming into contact with
his arms as he shielded himself.

             
“Damn it, Violet...hasn’t this house seen enough abuse...?”

             
As soon as he said it he instantly regretted it.

Violet’s face morphed into a shocked cringe before she
began laughing until her stomach began to hurt. In all of her commotion on the
couch the collection of food in her lap fell to the ground in a squelchy
thud. 

             
“Stop it! I’m going to hell now and you’re laughing it up,” Riley said with a
shit eating grin. 

             
“You’re a sick man, Mr. Tyler”.

             
Riley turned in his spot and got onto his knees facing his wife.

             
“What?” Violet asked, her face red from amusement.

             
Riley gradually crawled forward and found his way between her legs, his hands
on both sides of her body as he pushed her back into a supine position with his
weight. Slowly he leaned in, his lips pressing against hers.

             
She began to press back, her hand on the back of her husband’s head as they
embraced. Violet snickered as she flicked her tongue over his before gently
biting his bottom lip.   

             
He ran his hand through the bangs of her hair, his fingers parting the strands
as he looked her in the eyes. Riley pressed himself against her, his erection
aching through his pants against her inner thigh.

             
“Baby...” she began in a whisper.

             
“Hmm,” he moaned in response as he ran a hand over the top of her breasts, the
palm feeling the sharpness of her nipples as he rubbed by.

             
“You know that I’d love to get off with you...”

             
Riley let out an agonized groan, pulling himself back slightly to look at his
wife more fully.

             
“But?” he said, clearly slightly irritated.

             
Violet pushed off of the sofa cushions, sitting up in a position that was more
suitable for the talk that they inevitably were about to have.

             
“I don’t know if I want to do it here”.

             
“Do what here?” he asked, sitting back on his side of the couch.

             
“Have sex. Fuck. I don’t want to do it in this house, especially after what
happened last time”.

             
Her face was visibly anxious as she fiddled with a piece of tape on the side of
the backrest.

             
Riley couldn’t tell if she was only upset at the idea of having sex in the
house or if she was more upset that she was having to talk about not wanting to
have sex with him.   

             
“I’m sorry. I know that this isn’t the most romantic getaway that you could
have imagined. But the other night you seemed fully capable of having a dirty
rendezvous with me up in the master bedroom of horrors. I didn’t think that
you’d have any issues with it now,” he expounded, honestly trying to let her
know he wasn’t angry and just puzzled by her response.

             
“That was before
Sourmouth
decided to play peeping
tom. It was bad enough that we’re in some sort of hell-house where god knows
what happened. But add the fact that we’ve got a possible killing machine
living in the mirror upstairs and my libido kind of disappears”.

             
Riley slunk down as far as the material of the couch would allow; his body
ready to meld onto it until he became one with the frame.

             
“I don’t like it...but I understand your decision”.

             
“You do?” she asked in a way that made her husband feel bad for even being
frustrated.              

             
“Of course I do. I get why you don’t want to. But that doesn’t mean that I’m
not disappointed. I look at you and it’s all I can manage not to just start
humping your leg. It’s going to hurt when I’m shot down, even if it’s for a
valid reason,” Riley rationalized.

             
Violet reached out and grabbed him by the hand, pulling his dead weight closer
to her until he was resting his head on the top of her chest.