“I’m not talking to that son of a bitch about anything.”
“Fair enough,” says Sid. “It wouldn’t solve the problem soon enough, anyway. You need citizenshipnow.”
“So if I surrender her, then you take custody of her—”
He shakes his head. “No. You shouldn’t have to do that. Plus, there’s a good chance they wouldn’t pick me. I’ve never hosted a sanctuary case before, and I’ve got no blood relation. They’ll send her to someone with a stronger track record. Children’s immigration is super strict. The only way you could legally share custody with me would be—oh, shit.”
He stops so suddenly, I’m sure he’s spotted something on the pond, but when I look, there’s nothing but the moon’s dim light reflecting off the surface. Yet Sid—pale as he always is—has somehow gone translucent.
“There’s a way I could share legal custody?”
“It’s two demerits, right?” Sid asks. “So, three years until you can apply for citizenship?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.” He sets down the cigarette so he can crack his fingers against each other. “You could share legal custody with a citizen, get access to the medical system, all that garbage, if…”
“Just spit it out.” I grab his arm, amazed he’s thought of something. “I’ll do anything.”
He laughs, though not like when he found out I cussed out Tom. This laugh is chilling and hollow.
“We could share custody if you married me.”
THE LAST TIMEI thought about marriage, it was with Curtis.
We were going to get married one day. Or maybe we already were. Who knows what counts as legal authority when you’re living in the woods? If there was an officialness we were waiting for, it was working up the nerve to tell my mum, because in our heads, it was a done deal. We were teenagers and we were married and we were idiots.
This proposal—if it is one—is just as reckless.
What would be the best reaction right now? Laugh it off? Punch Sid in the arm? The face? I keep waiting for the bubble to pop. This can’t be real—so why is he still wearing that stricken expression? And why haven’t I said anything?
I clear my throat, my voice startlingly calm. “But… but Tom wouldn’t let that slide, would he? He’ll give me another demerit or—”
Sid shrugs. “Demerits measure how much of a flight risk you are. You would actuallylosea demerit if we got married.”
“You’re kidding.”
“You would lose the second one if you got pregnant.”
My body launches into the air. By the time Sid has a chance to react, I’ve put a couple metres between us.
“I’m not suggesting it! These are the legal facts. Do you want to know the legal facts of your situation?” He gestures wildly, face burning red. “They take it as a sign that you’re integrating into the nation if you settle down and have kids with another citizen. Salt Spring still needs people, it’s just… they expect gratitude. They need people who can prove theywantto be here. Which, by your own admission, you don’t.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.” I meant to say marrying. I’m notmarryinghim.
“Obviously not! It’s fine, Kayla. You’ve clearly got a lot of trauma around sex or—or something. Frankly, I havenointerest in dealing with—”
“Excuse me?” I fold my arms. “I do not have—”
“You shot meon sightat the border”—Sid holds up his scarred hand—“just for talking to your sister! Like I was trying to cart you two off like a pair of virgin sacrifices. If that isn’t some post-sex cult bullshit—”
“Whatever! Fine, it doesn’t matter. We’re in agreement. We’re not going to sleep together so—so what’s the point of all this?” I take a step closer, not because I want to be near him, but because I would rather only the crickets eavesdrop on us. “I’d do a lot of stupid shit to save April. Butyoucan’t want to marry me. Why are we even talking about this?”
He’s silent. I let out a sigh, because at last, something I’ve said has killed this foolishness. I was almost starting to consider it. Losing a demeritandgetting insulin for April? Doesn’t sound half bad.
“I’m not a virgin, by the way,” I blurt out.
Sid’s eyebrows lift. “Oh?”
