“Now, Johnny, you know I love you,” Mrs. Cochrane whispered, “but I need to make a call. You go get the cordless phone. I have to call Isadore.”

“Mama, who is Isadore?”

“Isadore Stanley. He’s a Métis artist who lives down the hall. I want him to see Annie’s drawings.”

“And how do you know him, Mama?”

“He’s the artist-in-residence this year, and you know what? He’s hot!”

“Oh, my Gawd, my mother is back!” Johnny and his mama burst out laughing. Falling over laughter. Laughter you never want to have stop. The kind that makes you walk away from one another because you can’t stand the ache of it all. When they had finished laughing, Johnny went to get the phone.

The days flew by. The seasons changed bit by bit. On the island, the seasons seemed to move slower. Leaves took longer to change colour. Leaves took longer to drop to the ground. Leaves took longer to roll up and crunch when you stepped on them. Island life was filled with leisurely humidity.

Annie kept drawing and drawing and walking and walking. Isadore Stanley took her on as an art student, and soon her work was being displayed in local shops and restaurants. Her hummingbirds and flowers sold and sold. She started to make a bit of money. Enough to keep her afloat. After a year, she had found a bit of contentment. She had routine to her days and a few treasured friends. Mrs. Cochrane was one of those treasures.

She never told anyone about her past. Only Johnny and his mom knew what had happened. And her boy. They knew the pain never really went away. It only faded a tiny bit and returned with sharp pangs on days she didn’t want it to.

Tainna
(The Unseen Ones)

Billy Townsend slid his skinny ass onto the John Deere lawnmower. It was still a bit dark out, leaving the early spring morning air heavily scented with dew. He loved that smell. One of the best things about his job was being able to head out onto the golf course and drive the mower in the early morning.

After three decades of military assignments that scattered his life with time zones, this early morning duty was his simplest. He had finally reached that point in his life where he could relax at work, something he had never been able to do when serving his country. Today was the first mowing of the greens for the season. One of his favourite days. He knew it would be a long day, but the first mow was always the best mow.

He had seen it all during his years of service. So many cold nights during Desert Storm, so many hot, sweltering days when you begged God for a breeze—and when it came, it was loaded with sand that would seep its way into every crack of your body. Every line on his face. He put in those final years and got the hell out. Out onto Civvy Street, where his biggest concern was getting through the Tim Hortons drive-thru on his way to work. It was a simple life now.