Carter's War - 7. Chapter 7

It wasn't a long drive, he thought as he worked his way down through lower Scarborough towards the lakeshore and his inevitable destination at the Scarborough Bluffs. It was a place full of ragged turns and pretty little houses in that last bastion of Toronto just before it became Oshawa.

He was glad to get out of the main city; it was a place he always found smoky and cruel. He could feel his skin crawl whenever he was there. It was the sense of humanity doing what humanity did best; crushing other people's spirits. He had been trying to escape it when he had been hiking east, he couldn't stand it anymore. The city with all its anger, its hatred, and its death, it reminded him of everything he had tried to escape, everything that he could never have. He wasn't good enough to do what he needed to do. He wasn't in love with her.

Libbet had understood when he had told her he couldn't stay at her apartment any longer. He had felt awkward there, going through the motions purely because he felt he had to and that was just wrong. He knew he could simply go on lying to himself, but did he really want to go through all of that again? He had tried to escape from himself, from Libbet, from the past, only to be drawn back into it before he could get too far. He knew it was what he was fated to do, pay for his mistake. He just wanted to run, sit in the sand and forget. And part of him needed to forget somewhere beautiful.

As he turned Libbet's Volkswagen off of Kingston Road and onto a beach road he felt an instant sense of relief. He could see the lake stretch out in front of him down below. It was an immediate sense of release and he reached out and turned up the old radio and let the angry rock pound itself into him.

Libbet's mother had bought a cottage here when she had been alive; what had made her buy a cottage down here instead of up in Muskoka was beyond Marc. Perhaps it was the same feelings that Marc felt as he looked over the lake, the wind stirring his hair. The sun beat down on him as the music flowed from the radio and he felt free for a moment as he passed the empty snow-covered beaches slowly melting under the warm spring sun. Soon there would be kids playing in the sand, and teenagers basking on the shore.

He glanced at the scrawled directions Libbet had given him, and in minutes the Volkswagen pulled up to the front of a squat little cottage Libbet had given him permission to stay in for as long as he needed it. He wasn't sure what had made him say yes and agree to stay there. But as he stood there with the keys in hand and looking at the small home he smiled, glad that he was a few hundred feet away from the sand.

He unlocked the door and set his bags down; it wouldn't take him long to get unpacked and then he would look for a grocery store or a convenience store to get some food. He remembered Libbet had told him that the best place was a small hasty market about a mile up the road, and that seemed like as good a place to begin as any.

The sun was bright when he stepped outside; it illuminated the row of cottages dotting the shoreline and he looked up at the small houses and wondered at the people who could afford them...how could anyone afford two homes? He couldn't even afford to rent one, to him it was just another example of extravagance.

He drove across the road to the small market, pulling up out front and hopping out of the car; he could have walked it, but why bother? The breeze was still cool, but abnormally warm for March, and it played with his hair a bit as he marched into the store.

He grabbed a basket and wandered up and down the aisles picking up some Coke and water, a couple sandwiches from the deli and some chips. That would do him for lunch, but he expected to be there a bit longer, he might as well start buying some real food.

The store was crowded, full of families and couples. A guy and girl, probably 18 or 19, stood in front of the beer case speaking to each other with all the sweetness each could muster.

"Get whatever you want, honey," the young guy said; small and scrawny he looked like a strong breeze could blow him over, all sun-bleached hair and freckles. There was something vaguely familiar about him, something Marc couldn't quite place, but then everyone looked like someone else. The couple could very well have been him and Libbet when they had first met.

"I want whatever you want, Lucas," she cooed at him. She was a beautiful young woman with a shock of blonde curls that formed ringlets against the delicate nape of her neck.

Shut up, Marc thought to himself as he stuffed a large bag of chips into his cart. At that moment he hated them, all of them. All those sickening couples, holding hands, staring longingly, giggling. Even the old couple in matching jogging suits bickering about the price of frozen peas. They were in love and therefore Marc's natural enemies. Love was something that he craved but couldn't find, if only he could bring himself to have feelings for her. He needed something more powerful than physical sensations, desire the fuel that had inflamed the soul and burnt all of them. Marc had a sacred duty to fight the forces of romance, minions of the great villain, Hallmark.

He stalked down the frozen food aisle, imagining himself in a tight blue suit, leaping tall buildings and sowing acrimony between all things cuddly. As a shadow loomed down on him and he saw shoes in front of him, he looked up. The mist curled as it rose from the open ice case, wrapping itself around his form and his eyes locked with him. Before him, in his costume of khaki shorts and white tank top, white necklace around his throat and peering into him with deep brown eyes, stood Libbet's brother.

Marc knew him the moment he saw him, there was something in the eyes, and something familiar that reminded him of her. They were a deep soulful brown that reflected everything about him. He had known that he lived around there somewhere, but that still didn't prepare Marc to come face to face with him, in a grocery store of all places.

"You want some ice," the other guy offered, his politeness masking his nefarious purpose.

"Uh, yeah," Marc said as he reached in for a bag.

"Nice day, huh?" he said after a pause as he looked up towards the windows of the small convenience store. Marc wasn't sure what he had been expecting; it had been a long, long time since he had met any of Libbet's family, and now he had come face to face with her brother, the same one who had apparently wanted to kick his ass after he had hurt her. He had expected wings and a halo or something, not an average-looking guy in his late twenties commenting on the weather.

"Yeah," Marc said, throwing the ice in his basket. "Great day for the beach." Marc wasn't quite sure what else to say, he hadn't been prepared to meet any one that knew Libbet and it was disconcerting to him.

"Yep. You on vacation?" as he spoke, he began to restock the shelf above the refrigerator. A rich kid who stocked shelves. There was a quiet confidence about him, something that said he was in control, that he didn't need to jump or yell. He was calm, collected.

"Yeah," Marc replied as he looked about him.

"Cool." He glanced down, giving Marc the once-over. It was an almost imperceptible move, but then Marc was observant. "Well, we're always open so if you need anything, stop by." he said, as he gave Marc a tight smile and turned back to walk up to the cash.

"See ya," Marc replied, awkwardly.

Marc watched Libbet's brother walk past the two lovebirds standing in front of the liquor fridge. The way he walked, it was as if he had just noticed something was wrong, an edge of cold anger to his strides, and Marc shook his head as the guy admonished the pair.

"Tyrone," The young woman said stepping back from the young man as if she just realized their proximity.

"Emily," his voice adopted a harsh note, "you're supposed to be working the cash." He turned and looked over at the young man who was staring at him in surprise, "and you, did you need something or are you just here to distract my girlfriend?" There was a warning tone in his voice, as he stood with his shoulders relaxed. There was no doubt in Marc's mind; he was preparing to take a swing at Lucas.

He watched as they scattered, Emily hurrying to relieve the young man behind the cash register just as Marc moved up to pay for his groceries. He spared a last glance up to see Libbet's brother standing in the doorway to the store, watching as Lucas hurried away. Marc studied him a moment, then took his bags and loaded them into the Volkswagen.

He drove back to the cottage, contemplating the chance encounter. A couple of offhand questions to Emily confirmed that Libbet's brother's name was Tyrone, that his dad owned the store. But as usual the information was disjointed, muddled and confused. He would have to be more careful in the future.

There was a dutiful part of him that considered waiting outside the store and talking to Tyrone, but he quickly decided against it; he wasn't ready to deal with formal introductions yet, especially not to her family members. And he dropped the hammer on the short drive back up the street to the shore.

The beach on which the house was located was very secluded. Libbet had told him her mother had discovered it once after getting lost on a hike during high tide, that it spoke of her love of natural beauty. And the house was meticulously maintained if old: the walls had been painted several times and showed cracks of age, the wood was worn, and the furniture was a throwback to fifties functionality. At least everything was comfortable.

Marc glanced at the deserted beach and wondered at it. In the summer months the beaches would be full by now, especially on the weekends. But there was a feeling of solitude there, like it would still be empty as if it existed only for Libbet's mother, and now for him. It was a place of solitude where he could just lose himself in his thoughts. There were other houses on his little road, but they were still and silent, it was the off-season and they were probably empty.

He dropped the bags of groceries on the counter in the small kitchenette and after taking a moment to grab a couple of beers he was back out and walking past the rows of houses. Climbing up and over a hill he walked up a small set of wooden steps that was there to help people over the high sand bank. He sat down on them and stared out over the small set of cottages, the store at the end of the street and the main road that stretched into the sprawling metropolis of Toronto. It was a stark reminder that civilization lay on the horizon, and even though he was in a remote corner, tucked away from it, the dark skyscrapers would always overshadow it.

His eyes scanned across the horizon to the deep blue sea, sun bouncing off the waves like a child skipping rope. A large, weather-beaten rock stood in the centre, with a lone pine tree on top. He trudged to the far side of the beach; his shoes leaving indents in the last of the winter's snow that was melting under the intense sun streaming down. He sat down in the shade and picked up a polished flat rock, sending it skipping across the water.

He was in a tight position, desperate, and relying on Libbet was too easy. He needed to figure out a direction for his life, maybe sort out a job and go from there. It was early spring and the weather was warm so he would be all right for a while. But he hadn't counted on Libbet's brother running the general store. Once he figured out who Marc was, there would be big trouble.

He was halfway through the bottle of Heineken he had brought with him from the house when he heard footsteps, scattering dust on the path above. He cocked his head to see who was coming. It was just his luck that today of all days, when he most wanted to be alone, he would be joined by a pack of rowdy teens, or worse, a fawning couple.

The person, and it seemed to be only one, drew closer, finally coming into view around the rock. Shit. It was him, from the store; Libbet's brother. Had he followed him? And did he know who he was?

"Hey!" Tyrone said, an odd tone in his voice. "I didn't think anyone would be here."

"Hey. I just saw you in the store, right?" Marc said feeling suddenly nervous; he wasn't able to fight someone bigger than he was, and he was alone on the beach. There was no reason to assume this guy knew who he was, but he hadn't survived as long as he had by accepting coincidences on face value.

"Yeah. I didn't follow you, I promise. You wanna be alone? You want me to go somewhere else?"

Marc was confused, did the guy know who he was or not? If he did he should be kicking the shit out of him by now, if not... "No. You don't have to go anywhere. There's plenty of beach."

"Cool. Thanks man." He was standing only a few feet from Marc now. He approached, his taunt arm extended. "Tyrone." Marc reached my own hand out and felt a powerful grasp. There was a charge of something there.

"Marc," he said, smiling over his sunglasses. "Nice to meet you, Tyrone."

He stood for a moment, smiling down at him, then sat down opposite him without invitation. "I think I know you," he thought for a moment. "You used to date my sister Libbet for a bit. The two of you went to university together?" Tyrone asked after a slight hesitation. "U of T or something?"

Marc watched him silently a moment. Trying to get an idea of what Tyrone was about. He didn't seem hostile; in fact he seemed quite relaxed, calm even.

"Yeah, if I remember you dropped out of school or something. Everyone was looking for you for a while." Tyrone watched him a moment, struggling to remember, "My sister was really upset, she didn't get over it for months." His tone suddenly hardened, "What are you doing back?"

Marc didn't reply immediately, there was no point; he sat a moment taking a sip of his beer. "It doesn't matter," he replied slowly. By Tyrone's appearance Marc guessed he was about 27. He was lean and muscular, but not a gym bunny. His hair was cut short in a style that had been popular a few years ago, a messy tangle, and his face was smooth and broad -- roguish even.

Tyrone nodded, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"You did," Marc replied. "You want to know why I'm here instead of getting on with my life as far from Toronto as I can get."

Tyrone shrugged, "Just curious as to what you have planned for Libbet." He sighed, his tone softening, "She called this morning and asked I keep an eye out for you."

Marc looked down at the wet sand, "You're gonna kick my ass then."

Tyrone looked off into the distance for a moment as he shook his head, "Everyone deserves a second shot, but if you hurt my sister again I am going to beat the shit out of you."

"Right," Marc agreed as he shifted on the sand and took his jacket off and breathed a long sigh. "I don't know what I'm doing right now," he replied honestly. "Everything's kinda fucked up for me right now."

"I understand, bro," Tyrone said as he lounged on the sand; he reached into his pocket and pulled out a joint. "You get high?"

"What?" Marc was startled. The answer was a yes, but he was still caught off guard. Libbet's brother smoked up? Could this situation get any more bizarre for him?

"Do you smoke weed?" He was on his side now, stretched out on the damp sand, his legs scissored and his arms flexed.

"Yeah, actually." Was Tyrone a dealer or something? Yeah, right, Marc. Brilliant. You're sitting on a beach with a dealer with the Police keeping their eyes on you.

"Cool." Tyrone sounded relieved, "Then you're not going to mind if I smoke up." He rose and grabbed something out of his pack. Marc sat back and watched him as he smiled slyly and plopped down cross-legged across from him. There was something in the way he studied Marc, like he was weighing him up for something. Assessing him.

Marc was no stranger to drugs, but he had learned to be wary of them. He expected at any moment to have the police cruisers pull up and arrest him. But there was an inherent recklessness about it, and he needed to relax. And since it wasn't his weed, and since the police had lightened up on possession charges, he figured why the hell not.

"It's good shit," Tyrone said, as he put the joint into his mouth and sparked up the lighter. "I only do it once in awhile."

Marc reached out and helped himself to the joint and re-lit the tip. The smoke filled his lungs with coarse fingers. He took a drag and coughed, it had been a long time since he had smoked.

"You don't have to smoke 'cause I do," he said, smiling. "If you're a non-smoker..."

Marc chuckled in relief as the smoke left his lungs. Tyrone inhaled expertly and then stubbed it out, "Bad habit, I'm gonna quit."

They sat and talked for a while, Tyrone telling him about the store and life down on the Bluffs. He had fallen in love with them when he had visited them with his mother, and he had his first job at the general store during summer vacations. His father had been so impressed that he had bought it and given it to Tyrone as a graduation gift. It let him stay close to the beach and do something he loved. It sounded strange to Marc, why anyone who was related to Libbet's dad would work, but he got the impression Tyrone was content.

"When did you get back?" Tyrone asked, a little too curiously.

"Couple days. I might stay out here."

"Cool." There was a beat. "Why'd you leave school?"

Marc glanced over at him; it was as if he couldn't simply accept that anyone would willingly come back to the beach, to the life beneath the poverty line, not when they had a chance to escape it forever. "I needed to figure a few things out, why I'm there, what I want from life, the usual shit."

As the afternoon wore on, they both began to relax. Tyrone rolled up on his side, and faced Marc. "I have to go," his eyes studied Marc's a moment. "But if you're going to stick around here you might as well get to know the guys." After a pause, he said, "Meet me for a beer tonight, the yacht club up the beach." He pushed himself to his feet, "See you later, Marc."

Marc watched him leave and turned his gaze back to the sea, well that was interesting.