Sea Change (7 page)

The pilot is getting out, looking at me. He knows. Everyone knows. But then Dad says, “Sumi told the camp crew that it was a hunting accident.”

I look at him and I know he doesn't believe it. I start to tell him but he interrupts me. He says, “Up here, hunting accidents happen all the time.”

He's letting her have this half-truth, and me too. He says, “I should have been with you.”

It's half an apology, but it will do. I say, “It's okay.”

“No, I really wanted to be here. But Deirdre and her mother, they're all sick with that damn flu and I didn't feel I could leave.”

I say, “It was good you stayed.” I mean it too. “Sumi would want to know her family was being cared for.”

He nods. “Apparently she was asking about you too.”

I'm not sure what that means, but he grins so I guess it's good.

The pilot makes a point of checking his watch, and my father says to me, “You're on the next flight out of Sandspit.”

“You're not going?”

“To Vancouver?” He shakes his head. “No, I'm going…”

“Home.”

“Yes, home.” He reaches into his jacket and hands me a printed boarding pass to Vancouver. “I've prepaid your ticket on to LAX. You just have to pick it up at the airport.”

I wish he were a total stranger. It would be easier to feel this way, like the pain I'm so used to is just a feeling. Like he is nothing at all. But he's not. I say, “I've still got a few days. I could stay with you.”

He rubs his hair and already I regret saying it. But then he says, “There's nothing I'd like better, Lucas, any other time.”

He might mean it too.

On the flight into Vancouver, I show the guy sitting across the aisle the photo on my camera of the halibut. “You let it go?” he says, like I'm crazy.

When the plane lands, I follow the stream of people out to where family members are waiting, hugging and laughing, and I keep walking. At the SkyTrain, I pause just long enough to figure out where I'm going, and then I take a seat and wait for my stop: Vancouver General Hospital.

Acknowledgments

With deepest appreciation to SH, KD and the writers of UBC CrWr509, and to Maureen in Haida Gwaii.

Diane Tullson has written numerous novels for teens, along with
Red Sea
and
The Darwin Expedition
. Diane lives in Delta, British Columbia.

o
rca s
o
undings

The following is an excerpt from
another exciting Orca Soundings novel,
Masked
by Norah McClintock.

978-1-55469-364-1 $9.95 pb
978-1-55469-365-8 $16.95 lib

WHEN DANIEL ENTERS A CONVENIENCE
store on a secret mission, he doesn't expect to run into anyone he knows. That would ruin everything. When Rosie shows up, she's hoping to make a quick getaway with her waiting boyfriend. But the next person through the door is wearing a mask and holding a gun. Now things are getting complicated.

Chapter One

“Uh, do you have a bathroom I can use?” I'm ready with an excuse for when the man behind the counter says no. I thought long and hard to come up with it. You have to when you're asking to use the bathroom in a convenience store, which doesn't have to provide one the way restaurants do. I have to get yes for an answer if my mission is going to be a success.

The man behind the counter scowls. He peers at me from under gray eyebrows that look like steel wool. Is he on to me? Does he suspect?

“What about your coffee and taquito?” he says. “Are you still going to want those?”

“Yeah. And a two-liter cola and the latest
Wrestling World
, if you have it.” I throw those in to improve my chances of getting a yes.

“We have it. What about
Wresting Today
? You want that too?” His piggy little eyes drill into me. I see immediately where he's going. If I want to use the facilities, I'm going to have to cough up some more money. I take another glance at the magazine rack.

“And
Wrestling Connoisseur
,” I say. What the heck—I'm getting paid enough. A few magazines aren't going to make a dent in my paycheck.

“Through the door beside the coolers and down one flight,” the man behind the counter says.

As I head down the narrow aisle toward the coolers, I glance in the security mirror at the back of the store. The man at the counter, the owner, is watching me.

Going through the door beside the big Coke-sponsored cooler is like stepping from Oz back into Kansas. The tile floor in the store sparkles. The wooden floor on the other side of the door is dingy, scuffed and slightly warped. The lights in the store are blindingly bright. On the other side of the door there is only a single naked lightbulb that makes the places it doesn't hit look inky and a little spooky. The walls of the store are chock-a-block with neatly displayed and colorful products. The walls of the small room are bare except for a car dealership calendar that hangs from a nail directly above a battered old table and chair. On the table is an adding machine—I didn't even know those still existed. Next to it is a two-drawer olive green filing cabinet. On the wall, in an ancient fixture with a pull chain, is another naked light-bulb. This is where the owner does his accounts. To the left of the door is a flight of wooden stairs. But I don't go down it.

Instead, I listen. It's quiet in here. It's also quiet out in the store. I tiptoe over to the desk. I'd been expecting a computer, but there isn't one. I open the top drawer of the filing cabinet. It's jammed with files. I thumb through them, looking for the one I've been sent to find. I don't see it. I close that drawer, open the next one and thumb through more folders.

Bingo! There it is, neatly labeled.

I pull it out and scan the sheets inside. They look like the ones that were described to me. I dig the miniature camera—a spy camera, if you can believe it—out of my pocket and photograph every sheet. I put everything back into the folder and replace the folder in the file cabinet. I tuck the camera into my pocket. I start back to the door.

Before I get there, I hear the man behind the counter yell something—a name. I'm about to push the door open and go back into the store when I hear a different voice—a familiar one. This has never happened to me before. I decide to wait. If I go out there, I'll be recognized. If I'm recognized, I'll be exposed. If I'm exposed, I'll have to abort my mission. And if I abort…let's just say I don't want to kiss my paycheck goodbye.

o
rca s
o
undings

For more information on all the books
in the Orca Soundings series, please visit
www.orcabook.com
.