The Healing Touch, Page 2

  Chapter 2

  Tory watched with envy as her father rolled up a scrawny airline pillow covered with a paper pillow case, tucked it in-between their seats, settled his head, stretched out his legs and closed his eyes. Practiced in the art of catching “cat naps”, Tory knew he would be asleep in seconds. Although he would fall asleep, Tory also knew that his sleep would include sleep jerks, uneven breathing, and nightmares. His sleep patterns were one of the few tangible signs of the disconnection between how well adjusted he appeared to be and how he really felt inside. Tory longed to talk to him about his nightmares. She wanted to tell him how one afternoon when she had laid on her mother’s side of the bed and pulled her father’s pillow close to her she had seen the vision of how tortured he was inside. She felt his pain and knew he missed her mother as much as she did, but she could also feel the wall he put up as soon as Tory even came close to talking about feelings.

  Four magazines full of boring stories of self-improvement, make-up techniques, and anorexic models, an attempt to get into the plot line of The Book Thief, two chocolate bars, four bags of airline mixed snacks and one clear plastic glass of Diet Coke later, Tory “replaced her chair and tray to the upright position and prepared for landing”. Her father startled into awake mode when the pilots voice came on announcing their arrival and explaining passengers continuing on to the Island destination could remain seating as the stopover would be short.

  Tory and her father watched as almost everyone on the plane gathered up their things and exited. Tory watched a young man in a business suit turn on his Blackberry checking messages while he impatiently waited to get moving. Tory had a brief vision of him accepting a job offer and moving into a new apartment. If only all her visions could always be such happy ones.

  When the plane was almost empty, a girl that looked only a couple of years older than Tory struggled on, juggling a baby, a diaper case and an overflowing backpack. Tory heard the mother explain to the flight attendant that she was visiting her parents for the weekend. She joked about how great it would be when the baby was old enough to make the thirty minute flight by himself to visit Nanna and Grampa so she could stay at home in the city in peace. Tory could see the hazy green color that seemed to envelope both mother and baby in a protective shield and Tory knew the mother couldn’t even imagine letting her baby out of her sight even as she joked about it. As Tory watched the mother settle into her seat hugging the baby, the hazy green started to turn into a vision of herself as a baby looking up at her mother. She quickly blinked her eyes to dissolve the vision and turned her focus out the window.

  It seemed they barely got up in the air again before they were once again on the descent, this time for good. Tory felt her stomach tighten at the thought of “landing for good”, and watched as her father tried to fake his own nervousness by pretending to be engrossed in the flight magazine. His nonchalance might have been convincing if not for the nervous jiggle in his leg.

  The Island airport was barely bigger than a small studio apartment but it was packed with people waiting for the one plane of the day. Most people were picking up packages and boxes not passengers. In fact, Tory, her father, the girl with the baby, and two older ladies were the only ones other than the flight crew to disembark. Tory figured it wouldn’t be that difficult for the baby to have made it on his own. There was one gate, one suitcase carousel, a few cargo pick-up and drop off desks, washrooms and a car rental agency in the terminal. The gift shop was really just a shelf display set up in the corner. Aside from gum and chocolate bars there were plastic lobsters, stuffed toy lobsters, pictures of lobsters, and recipe books on how to cook lobsters. Tory shuddered at the thought of eating what looked like a giant angry bug and focused her attention on the small group of people waiting for arrivals.

  There was Grandma Nan waiting looking large and in charge, talking away to everyone. She seemed to both stand out and fit right in, all at the same time. Grandma Nan was wearing a flowered sweatshirt and faded blue jeans. Her grey hair was tied back into a long braid and Tory was pretty sure the cowboy boots poking out from under her jeans were real working boots and not a fashion statement.

  Tory had thought Grandma Nan’s clothes had looked strange and out of place in the city. If Tory hadn’t been so consumed with grief, and worried about not showing her emotions, she might have been embarrassed by Grandma Nan’s appearance. None of Tory’s friends Grandma’s ever wore jeans, at least not unless they were stretchy and pressed with a sharp crease. They wore matching pant and sweater sets in soft pastel colors, or gently flowered dresses with low heeled pumps or sensible shoes. They always looked pressed, smooth and painted, as though they had spent a lot of time getting their clothes, make-up, and nails, just right before they ventured out. Very few of them would ever “allow” their hair to remain grey and spent hours in the beauty salon. It seemed the ordinary thing for Grandma’s to do.

  But then, there was nothing ordinary about Grandma Nan. She didn’t just wear jeans; she wore jeans that were heavy denim, not stretchy. They fitted her pretty snugly, but in a no- nonsense, working jeans, way. The knees were worn and threadbare but unlike Tory’s cherished designer distressed jeans, Tory didn’t think Grandma Nan paid big money to buy hers like that.

  Grandma Nan seemed to know everyone in the airport and already news had spread that her granddaughter and son-in-law were going to live with her. Tory could see women eyeing her recently widowed father. He was good looking with his dark thick curly hair, solid body builder muscles, and soft blue eyes. Tory knew he looked young enough that most people thought he was her older brother not her father. He looked even better when he smiled and he did smile when he saw Grandma Nan. They hugged and Tory heard her grandmother whisper, “welcome home”.

  Just then Saint Albert started putting up a big fuss in his carrier, wanting out to see where he was and probably feeling pretty disorientated. Saint Albert hadn’t enjoyed the last landing and he was anxious to let everyone know he had been sorely mistreated.

  “I brought something for this little traveler,” Grandma Nan said. “Is it okay if I give him some Rescue Remedy to help him adjust to the changes,” she asked looking at Tory for permission?

  Tory remembered Grandma Nan giving her a couple of sprays of Rescue Remedy at the funeral. Her father had rolled his eyes at the idea of her “hoo- doo –voo- doo potions”, but he had sprayed some in his mouth like a breath freshener. He had showed Tory how to use the spray and they had shared it back and forth every five minutes or so until they felt in control again. Tory remembered the calming effect and knew it couldn’t hurt Saint Albert so she nodded in agreement feeling appreciative of the adult role Grandmas Nan has so quickly put her in by asking Tory’s permission and not her fathers’.

  Grandma Nan cooed at St. Albert, sprayed some of the remedy in his mouth when he opened it to complain and pulled him out of the carrier into her arms. Much to Tory’s surprise he cuddled right up in her arms, wrapped his thick black tail around himself and purred, while he kneaded Grandma Nan’s sweatshirt with his white paw.

  “Strange,” mumbled Tory because Saint Albert usually hated everyone but her. Nobody seemed to hear her or pay any attention.

  Loaded down with suitcases, St. Albert’s carrier, and boxes with all their worldly belongings that hadn’t already been shipped, Tory, her father and Grandma Nan, still hugging Saint Albert, headed out to the parking lot.

  As soon as they stepped outside Tory could smell salt air and sea grass. She watched as her father took a deep breath and seemed to hold it while he closed his eyes. Tory knew he was remembering something from the past.

  Grandma Nan marched right up to the biggest, oldest, rustiest pick-up truck Tory had ever seen. At some point it might have been pink but the rust had overtaken any chance for real color. Across the doors there was a picture of a horse in mid air over a jumping fence and Meadowlands Farms was written in bold green lettering.

  Grandma Nan opened the door and s
ettled Saint Albert on an old horse blanket. Then she started picking up suitcases, throwing them into the back of the truck.

  “I’ll do that Nan,” Tory’s father said.

  “Nonsense,” huffed Grandma Nan. “I’m nowhere near dead yet. When you live on the Island you have to be able to look after yourself.”

  Tory thought about that as they rumbled down the rough roads to the farm. The horse blanket and Saint Albert were on her lap, Grandma Nan was at the wheel and her father was scrunched up to the passenger window trying to keep away from the horse hairs on the blanket. Tory figured that was a lost cause because horse hairs seemed to float everywhere in the cab of the truck and there was a distinct barn odour lingering on everything. There wasn’t a mall, store or fast food restaurant in sight. It was just miles and miles of country. It seemed there wasn’t a place you could be that you couldn’t see the ocean on one side and trees, grass and fields on the other. Farmers on tractors in their fields raised their sunburnt arms to salute Grandma Nan’s truck as it drove by. Everyone seemed busy and yet not in a hurry to be somewhere they weren’t.

  Tory was starting to feel a bit like Anne in the Anne of Green Gables books her mother brought her for Christmas one year. Tory could imagine Anne driving in the bouncy horse cart with Matthew on her first introduction to Island scenery. After about twenty hot, cramped, bouncing minutes in the truck, Grandma Nan slowed down at a fork in the road and they rattled over a wooden bridge. Below them a creek gurgled by in no more hurry than anyone else on the Island it seemed. Trees lined the road on both sides and horses cantered up to the fences and seemed to nicker at Grandma Nan. There were horses of every size and color. Grandma Nan leaned out the truck window and called them by name as they drove by.

  The white farmhouse at the end of the road looked inviting with its pink shutters. It seemed like Grandma Nan had a fondness for pink just like Tory. The house looked like a doll house beside the huge red roofed barn that seemed to be the focal point of the whole place. A collie lifted his black and grey head at the sound of Grandma Nan’s truck and slowly got up to stretch and limp to meet them.

  Saint Albert suddenly woke up and arched his back when he saw the dog. “Don’t worry Saint Albert,” Grandma cooed. “That’s just Old Rusty. He’s half-blind, pretty slow and scared to death of cats, but he’s the best friend I’ve got so you’ll have to get used to him.”

  Tory thought it seemed like Grandma Nan might know a thing or two about friends. She certainly seemed to understand animals if Saint Albert was any judge. He crawled over and stretched himself across her lap, placing his white paw on the door handle. He looked out the truck window and seemed to be waiting for her to open the door and introduce him to his new home.