My co-workers and I watched Aurora's mayor and GreenGlass' CEO cut the ribbon in front of the new Timberline Library. A speech by our CEO. When she announced GreenGlass' plan of distributing free laptops to youth, it was punctuated with applause, then shuffling feet as we climbed the cement steps to the entrance.
"Ooh, I approve of whoever designed this," Danielle admired, leading her little niece and nephew to the play area.
"Race you!" Ella squealed to her brother.
"Eddy! Ella! One second," Danielle groaned and jogged after them.
For all the excitement—my team members had blown up my phone to smithereens with text messages—the library's interior was underwhelming. The library's exterior was constructed to match the ginger-brick buildings of Aurora's downtown district. Among the high-income neighbourhood of single detached homes, generous lawns and cobblestone driveways, I had expected the library to be grandiose. But the colour scheme was unflatteringly monochrome. The smell of polished desks and new books clashed with each other. It was much like exploring the inside of a sleek, newly-bought car instead of a community space.
I was not a huge fan of libraries. They were unnervingly quiet. The intense scholarly concentration muffled all other thoughts, even my own. But maybe that was what I needed today. Besides, as an information source and a comforting pitstop on any journey, they dampened my restlessness.
"So these are the computers your company makes," said Hannah. Our reflections were cast like black mirrors in the rows of desktop monitors. "They don't look different from the traditional models."
Vihan was using one of the desktops at the far end of the table. He clicked and dragged on what looked like a simulator, occasionally consulting an open textbook. There wasn't a discernible sign in his expression that hinted at what changed, if anything, following his phone call at the Farmer's Market. Emmanuel had sounded relieved. He only told me that his husband and son were out hunting for materials for a school project. Baking wasn't for everyone. But I hoped for Emmanuel's sake that once Hannah's business was transferred into his hands, they could appreciate what he was trying to do.
Erasing that future from my mind, I typed in my library credentials. The library logo glowed before welcoming me to the home screen. The keyboard has a distinct, lighter feel that my fingers easily flew over. "The computers are expensive for the things you can't see. I do think it's worth it. The cooling system lets it run for hours without heating up. The newer models are made of recyclable plastic. Mostly it's the internal processing components that changed."
"Are you going to use that computer? We're sitting over there." Hannah pointed.
My Google search of engaging art activities for kids turned out unhelpful. "Guess I'll have to make it up," I sighed, logging off.
My heels pressed through the thin carpeting. My marketing team, Hannah and I settled in the lounge area. Here, it was all natural lighting thanks to the large windows that looked over Aurora's downtown. Curiously, there were square panels on the table. Inside were electrical sockets, each with the leafy GreenGlass logo.
"How convenient," said Tomas, plugging in his phone charger.
"Don't get too comfortable. Is it me or does Marcus have no idea about the plan he sent us today?" Alek asked.
"I'm supposed to be at the Little Engineers program," said Danielle, checking her phone. She glanced at her niece and nephew who were climbing up the stairs to the second floor. "Do you think they'll be able to handle themselves."
Just then, a librarian walked over to our table. He had a disorganized air about him, if his skewed glasses and glitter-covered hands were any indication. "Hi, you're our GreenGlass people, right? Are any of you assigned to the art station?"
"That's me," I said, standing up. I glanced at his nametag. "Sorry Max, I didn't realize what was happening."
"Totally cool. We don't, either," he admitted.
He led me to the MakerSpace corner on the second floor, where an impatient group of kids waited. Danielle's niece and nephew were there too. Parents hovered over the younger ones, encouraging them to create their masterpieces. I would want to get my hands on everything, too: the 3D printer at the back, the sleek tablets hooked up to the walls, and the tubs of art materials, many of which were scattered on the round table. Splotches of green felt leaves, flowers and fake vines were neglected in favour of their red and gold counterparts. I summoned my marketing manager enthusiasm and waved to the kids. If it wasn't for Ella and Eddy's reciprocal greetings, I might have given up then and there.
The librarian, Max, did a short lesson on the importance of the environment before letting them explore their creative tangents. My task was to help them use the GreenGlass tablets to search up eco-themed crafts. But it became apparent that the kids had more interest in whatever was on their minds. Max certainly had it all handled. It left me to paint something of my own, which thankfully grabbed the attention of a couple of older girls. I showed them how to dip a paintbrush in several colours without blending them into a brown mush. What came out was the giant head of a daisy, its pale white petals messily streaked with blue and grey. Not my best, but not my worst. After the girls seemed more invested in their own artworks than mine, I hesitated. A drop of black dripped onto the daisy's yellow center. I put my brush down. Much like my key painting, this one felt impossible to complete. The joy of creating dried as quickly as the acrylic paint.
Was it too much like a company logo, and not enough like a scenic landscape? I brushed the stray bits of glitter and cut-outs from the little canvas. Like most things my skills came from experience, the Internet and trial and error. Marketing logistics and business language came naturally, but painting felt right. This daisy held permanence. Significance. Unlike the dozens of marketing projects, this painting held meaning regardless of how much time passed by.
The Timberline library opening was supposed to be a cause of celebration. Indeed, we were relieved, but the day was passing over my head like a cloud. I was supposed to be helping Max with the program, not be a part of it. But it was why I liked the job, and marketing in particular—it was never repetitive.
Still, this painting was lifeless compared to my company designs. I discreetly reached in my jacket pocket for my key. My fingertips brushed the cool metal.
I was in public. If my visions were too vivid, it would serve more harm than good. My mood needed to be in tip-top shape to power through the day. I'd wait until I returned to my apartment.
"Ms. Whelan, you like flowers? Look at mine!" Ella exclaimed over my shoulder.
She proudly clutched her tissue-paper marigold. The ruffled yellow petals and fuzzy pipe cleaner stem was like a sun compared to my mournful painting. Just like her aunt. I smiled sadly. "That's a beautiful flower you have. I'm not done with my painting yet."
"Who is it for?"
"My grandfather," I said without thinking. I glanced at the watery black dot. "Oh, you mean who it's for. Sorry, I heard—Well, are you giving your flower to someone?"
"It's for my brother to feel better." Ella leaned in to whisper in my ear. "He's a scaredy-cat."
Eddy marched up and snatched her flower away. "Am not!" he snapped.
"Now kids, don't be rude," Max warned, walking over.
"I got this," I mouthed.
After wiping my paint-splattered hands, I ushered the grumpy siblings into a corner for privacy. Hannah's blond hair bobbed a couple of bookshelves away. What would Hannah do?
I bent down to Ella's level. "Why do you say Eddy's a scaredy cat? That's not very nice."
She stomped her foot indignantly. "He doesn't want to go to Canada's Wonderland 'cause he's scared."
"What am I gonna do with a flower?" Eddy retorted. "Ella's just tryna show off."
Ella burst into tears. Eddy crossed his arms and turned his back on Ella, which made her sob harder.
I wasn't sure if I followed. Gathering context was difficult, but kids added an extra layer of blatant pettiness. "Ella, is your flower for Eddy to feel better?"
"I don't need stuff like that!" Eddy crossed his arms.
"I just wanted to say sorry," Ella said in a quavering voice.
"For what?" I asked.
"For calling him a slowpoke when I beat him at racing. And calling him a scaredy-cat," Ella added.
"She said what I made was trash," Eddy muttered under his breath.
I wasn't sure if I followed. Eddy looked extremely uncomfortable. He held his drawing behind his hands, folded in half. I wanted to reassure him that some rides were scary for me too, but addressing it might add fuel to the fire. Instead, I showed him my painting.
He frowned. "What's that supposed to be?"
"I think it's a flower, after it was rained on..." said Ella uncertainly.
"Exactly. You might not like it," I said, "but it matters very much to me. The same with your drawing. Art is personal. Regardless of your art skill, or what other people think, it's precious to you. I understand that. So please don't feel bad about your drawing. Your aunt would love it, I know she would."
"You're lying."
"She's my co-worker, Eddy. I might not know your aunt as well as you do, but she can't draw on paper for her life. She knows it's hard, and it's all the more reason for why she would be proud of you for trying."
"Just convince him that rides aren't scary, please?" Ella said. "Otherwise we won't be able to go!"
"I'm here," Danielle said breathlessly, coming up beside me. "Thanks for handling them. Eddy. Ella. We're gonna go home to talk about this, and you two are , but don't be mean to each other, okay?" She ruffled their hair. "Come on, let's get out of here."
"Aunt Dani, is Ms. Whelan gonna—"
Danielle held a finger to her lips, and Ella quickly did the same. "I'll tell you the details," she said mysteriously, "but only after you two say sorry. At home. Not here. Let's go!"
"Thanks a million," Danielle mouthed at me as she ushered her squabbling niece and nephew down the library stairs.
I released a long sigh, leaned against the wall, and closed my eyes.
"Nora? Nora, are you here?"
Hannah's voice snapped the tendrils of sleep pulling me in. "I'm here!" I said, blinking into the scene that hadn't changed from a minute ago. Or was it two? Hannah's hair appeared through a gap in the bookshelf. She paused and removed a book, revealing her face. She grinned. My heartbeat eased. Too close.
"That's where you are," she said, coming up to me. Her eyes silently slid to my painting in hand. "We were talking with Emmanuel and Oni. I thought you wanted to know they're okay now. Vihan is playing computer games with his friends. After you're finished with the art program, of course."
I mentally gauged how much time I had left. "I should tell Max—"
"I told him you were in the washroom. I think we need to talk," Hannah said. Her fingers covered her mouth while she tried to pry open my thoughts with her eyes.
It felt invasive. How could Hannah know so much about me, and I so little about her? Her wants. Her needs.
"Are you...moving back to France?" I asked, a little flatly. "Was that what you were discussing with Emmnauel?"
Hannah widened her eyes. "You did it again."
"What?"
"You pick up even the subtlest things. I don't know how you do it. I thought you were worried enough about your family and the house, I hoped you wouldn't notice. How did you guess?" she asked weakly, as her eyes welled.
"Vihan tipped me off about Emmaneul's job changings," I said, reaching out to hold Hannah's trembling hands. So she wouldn't break like glass. I gripped them firmly. "I am always going to worry, because I am always going to notice. Even if that screws me over in the end...I'm not going to be satisfied with anything but the truth. So please tell me."
"I—I don't know when I'm moving. It's all up in the air, because there are so many uncertainties, you see. The timing, for instance, and my business. I have talked it over with Emmanuel, many times, and each time I doubt if it's the right thing to do. I came to Canada to continue the business I poured my heart into. But I miss my family and friends so much, so much that I keep going back every year because I can't make up my mind. I understand what you mean now," Hannah said suddenly. She put on a brave smile. "I have been thinking about it ever since you told me you wanted to reconnect with your family. It takes courage to go back. It's hard to choose."
"But you chose?" I asked. Fear crested my voice.
"Not for some time. At least a year. Many accommodations will have to be made, and unlike the last time, I need to plan it out carefully. I'm not leaving you yet. Please know, Nora, I won't do that to you! Not now, of all times. We still have to...I want to be there for you," Hannah repeated.
I nodded numbly. "You hid things from me. You're still hiding something. But I'm the same, because I am afraid that saying what I feel is going to bite me in the back. How does that make me any better than them?" I groaned.
"Let's sit, then. Come on." I joined Hannah cross-legged on the carpet. It reminded me of the hours I would spend as an undergraduate, pouring over psychology textbooks until my brain was fried. My Unlocking ability would have compromised my work. Psychology relied not only on observation, but on the deconstruction of your patient's past. What if I tore it down rather than healed? Except there was no "what if," but rather, "I would." It was all my visions were good for after all.
My little painting sat like a feather in my lap. The watery black paint had dried into a standing oval. Surrounded by the drooping petals that washed off like spoiled cream, I saw a silhouette of a man with a hunched back. "I don't want to go back anymore," I said softly.
"That's okay."
"But it's not!" I insisted. "I've painted two times in the last five or so years, and both times I loved it. But whether it's painting for myself or digital designing for work, I think of my aunt. And then I think of my father. And—!" I threw my hands up. "They're siblings, for goodness' sake. You're supposed to stay close. Protect each other."
"I hate and love my siblings. We're living contradictions, but you're right; I can't imagine a rift like that. Usually we find a way. To forgive, I mean."
Everything in Hannah's life sounded like it was destined to come back full circle. I said, "This is so different from my job. You problem-solve. Old wounds get in the way for teamwork, but there's no functioning middle ground to exist. If you have the right people, then you have the same goal, and that's what brings the final product together."
Hannah touched my arm. Her reassurance formed as a statement. "Grudges aren't healthy."
"My father deserves it."
"I'm talking about you. What could you have ever done as a kid? To be unforgivable? You're a different person now."
I looked at her in disbelief. "That's because you know so little, Hannah. It's ignorance in bliss. I made the mistake of knowing too much. It's like discovering all the clues at once. Present them in the wrong order and you'll think the mystery solved itself. You become numb to all of that information. And then you miss the most obvious clues until it's too late."
Hannah curled her hands into fists. "And you're not doing the same thing, right now? You're exhausting yourself. Your company isn't going to take care of your new house. And you're certainly not taking care of yourself. Who's going to catch you when you fall?"
Her pleading eyes finally cracked my resolve. I showed her my painting, because pictures told a thousand, overwhelming stories. But describing my visions would be like fishing for words in a sea of ink. This truth—or at least a fragment of the truth—was horribly simple.
"It's my grandfather," I told Hannah, pointing to the black dot. "He died a few months before I packed up to leave. And these petals..." I traced the daisy. "It was snowing that day. In March. Could you believe that? I waited until the summer to leave, but it rained non-stop. So a lot of times, I ended up loitering in public libraries. In a corner. As long as I kept my head down, and my hair dyed, and I didn't smell, no one paid attention."
"You hate books," said Hannah with a sad smile.
I returned it. "I'll read your romance novel someday. Eventually. But it was in a library that I started to regret running away. Everything I hated about my parents fueled my rage, but libraries made you think clearly, with your head. I used my brain, and when I..." I spread my hands. "I was too stubborn to admit I was wrong."
Hannah let me lean on her shoulder. I was taller than her, and it hurt my neck a little. "It's not too late to forgive yourself. You are the strictest person I know, Nora," she told me, "but a second chance is waiting for you. Strive for it. Then you can find happiness, with or without your family. I'll be here for you."
"I know."
Her words washed over me, warm as molasses. That night, my visions were sheets of ice that coated my dreams.
—
Toronto from down below, looking up, like a floating city of lights.
That sounded like something R would say. If she was here. Her dreamy metaphors either hit home or fly outside of our solar system.
Why was I remembering this now? Because I took those times for granted. In recent months I'd avoided Unlocking anyone's keys other than my own. It was like stepping into a room full of voices from people I might or might not have met.
Mom had threatened to leave after Dad confronted her about her irresponsible spending. Then Grandpa pushed to be put in a retirement center. Finally. My visions were paying off. But we knew what everyone but Mom wanted wouldn't be financially stable, no matter which direction the future took us. Mom had the house's finances wrapped around her little finger.
"It's not your fault," Dad said suddenly.
Worry lined his wrinkles. Even in the near darkness, hours away from the city, Dad wore his secrets like a cloak.
"Who said it was?"
"You told me the truth. That takes courage."
I nearly burst into a derisive laugh, but held myself. I needed to be better than Mom. For Dad. "And you? When are you going to face the truth, Dad? You're drowning inside," I told him.
My last vision from his key was a bit alarming. The city landscape had blinked and out of view, each blink bringing me closer to falling down. Dad knew better than to sleepwalk on a rooftop, right?
"When we're ready," he said with a heavy sigh. He winked at me, but it had none of Grandpa's foolish confidence. He was nervous, because he knew I knew his secrets. "Once you get your driver's license, we might get out of here."
A spark of fear tightened my throat. I propped myself on an elbow. "You mean....once I get a job."
"I'll support you."
I sighed and flopped back on the grass. Despite my Unlocking ability, it wasn't like reading someone's mind. The sky had deepened to a dark chocolate shade. The stars shone more yellow than white. In my mind's eye, bare thread lines connected them into constellations. If it really was a city, then the lines would be the roads guiding us, not the actual stars.
The idea was preposterous. Things must be bad if Dad was the one suggesting it. I practically lived at school and the library; home may as well be a foreign place.
Instead of telling Dad all of this, we stared up at the stars and braced for the storm.
I've accepted that I need to learn how to write genuine dialogue. Not very happy with this chapter, and to be honest I'm doubting if the ending is...well, maybe I'm overthinking, but I feel the pressure to handle the themes right.