The Year of Broken Glass Read Online Free Page B

old-growth fir preserved as park and viewing for the four million tourists who pass through this way to Pacific Rim National Park, Ucluelet and Tofino each year. Dusk is sifting down through the tiers of their splayed branches, the dash light of the mid-seventies Dodge Dart I’m driving starting to cast its dim green hue on my hands as I steer through the trees.
    One look at the insignia stamped on my float and Fairwin’ was alight with an idea. “I know a woman,” he’d said. “Miriam Maynard. She owns a lodge out in Tofino, the Glass Globe beach house. She’s a major beachcombing buff. I met her at a workshop there years ago.” Fairwin’s far less excitable than Svend, so though he was enthusiastic, his voice was calm. “A workshop?” I asked, amused by the idea of Fairwin’ in attendance at any gathering of people, much less a workshop. “Yes. A beachcombing workshop. She gave a bit of a talk that weekend on some of the more rare and sought-after floats to be found.”
    We caught the last ferry off the island and agreed with some Lasquetian unfamiliar to both Fairwin’ and I to pay two hundred dollars for the two-day rental of this gas-guzzling though groovy piece of shit I’m now driving. We were happy to pay it, none of us looking forward to the otherwise near-hopeless enterprise of a scruffy-looking young man, an overweight middle-aged man, and a freaked-out-looking old man trying to hitch a ride to Tofino in the dark.
    Anna thinks I’m delivering in town or running the boat around from the inlet, and I called Jin Su to tell her I’d be coming early next week instead of tonight as I normally would be. I’ve yet to figure out what lie to tell next to rectify the discrepancy. I’m tired and hungry, but also excited by the possibilities at play here. What kind of money, if any, will this Miriam lady be able to lead me into, and what liberty will that then afford me? If I could, I would buy Anna out of what little equity we own in the Prevailer and begin our separation. I’m not sure beyond that; how I’d then approach my life with Jin Su and Emily, or how I’d explain them both to Anna, Willow and my mother.
    I’ve often wondered if Anna’s seeming indifference to my whereabouts the Friday nights I spend each week with Jin Su and Emily is indicative of her own infidelities. Perhaps she’s more than happy to be rid of me, making it easy to rendezvous with whomever her lover might be. And that could be anybody. Anna is one of those women who is every man’s type. I’ve come close many times to asking her, in the midst of one fight or another, but I fear such an unfounded accusation would only indicate my own betrayals, so I resist.
    Svend is quiet now in the back seat. I peer at him in the rear-view and he appears to be dozing off, his thick head wobbling above his shoulders. “So what happened to you?” Fairwin’ asks, his voice rough yet frail over the old car’s many whirs and rattles. “Last I saw you, you had that beautiful woman at your side—Anna right?—and that plump son of yours on your shoulders. Then, no more of your mother, no more of you.” I think for a moment about what to tell Fairwin’, and what not to. “I’m a crab fisherman,” I say. “And I have a daughter now. Emily.”
    â€œEmily. A daughter of yours and Anna’s must be very beautiful.”
    â€œShe is,” I reply, then consider for a moment whether to, and how to, elaborate or clarify further. “Though some may not think so.” Fairwin’ takes his eyes from the road and looks toward me as I say this. “She was born with a port-wine stain on the left side of her face,” I continue. “On its entirety, from the base of her neck to the top of her forehead.” Fairwin’s look is one of puzzlement and concern. “Do you know what that is?” I