Page 1 of Strike a Chord
Memoriesalwaysfloodedhimwhen he visited Vancouver for an art show, or a gig with the band.He’d lived in the city for decades and every corner of it held ghosts both good and bad.
But Dax van Camp had long given up trying to get ahead and get any decent bit of land on the mainland.Everything—even the shit boxes—were over a million dollars now.And even though he did well for a fifty-year-old single guy, he also wanted to be able to retire at some point and travel.
Besides, he really wanted some fucking chickens and goats.
So he sold his condo in Burnaby, and moved to the island.
Vancouver Island to be precise.
A ninety-minute ferry ride from Vancouver, but a slice of paradise in the Pacific Ocean.
With the money he made off the sale of his condo, he was able to buy just over an acre of land in a little town called Nanoose Bay.His neighbors were farmers on either side of him, and he sold eggs at his ramshackle farm stand at the top of his driveway.
His goats were garbage cans that ate everything and climbed on everything else, and Dax had never been fucking happier.
Pulling into the ferry line destined for the island, with his instruments and equipment in the back of his pickup truck beneath the canopy, Dax exhaled a deep sigh.
His ex-girlfriend who was now just a friend, ran a very successful art gallery in downtown Vancouver and he’d just dropped off a few more paintings for them to sell.He also had his art in a few galleries on the island, as well as a gallery in Seattle and one in Sechelt on the Sunshine Coast.
The odd online commission would come in, but he only accepted those when he liked what the customer wanted him to paint.If he didn’t like it, he passed.Life was too short to do shit you didn’t want to do.Even for a couple grand in cash.
Closing his eyes, he let the hard rain pummelling his windshield lull him into a doze.
Hopefully, the wind stayed at bay until he at least reached the island.
That was one of the downsides to living on the island which was only reachable by ferry or plane.You were at the mercy of the wind gods.And if the wind gods got angry for whatever reason, then you were stuck.On one side or the other.They cancelled sailings and flights all the time—particularly in the winter during the stormy season.
But, despite the icy rain, the wind didn’t seem too bad.
He kept his eyes closed, exhausted from the two shows he and his band had played on Friday and Saturday.He wasn’t a spring chicken anymore, and two shows in three days wiped him out.
He must have actually dozed off, because the honk of the horn behind him made him jump.He opened his eyes to find one of the ferry workers, decked out in reflective rain gear giving him the stink eye and directing him to stop holding up traffic and get a move on to board the ferry.
He hit the button to start his truck and it roared to life.Then, with an apologetic wave to the ferry worker, he followed the cues and boarded the ship on the upper car deck.
Good.
He hated the lower car deck.
You weren’t allowed to stay in your vehicle during crossings if you were down below.They made you go upstairs to the passenger decks and sit with all the other passengers.And since it was cold and flu season, he was almost always guaranteed to be sitting behind or in front of someone with a nasal drip and a non-stop sneeze.And no matter how much Vitamin C Dax took when he got home, he still wound up sick.Maybe he needed to start drinking hand sanitizer and not just incessantly rubbing it on his hands.
He parked behind a red Kia sedan and turned off his ignition, reclined his seat and closed his eyes.He didn’t even know when they pulled away from the terminal or how close to the island they were.But that fucking kombucha he had a couple of hours ago hit his bladder like a freight train and his eyes shot open.
“Fuck,” he murmured, knowing full well he wouldn’t last until he got home.It was another thirty minute drive once he got off the ferry.And yeah, sure, he could stop at Tim Hortons to piss, but he probably wouldn’t even make it.
Grumbling, he reached for his plaid jacket from the passenger seat and opened up his driver’s side door.They were crammed onto this ship like sardines, so you couldn’t just swing your door out.You had to be careful and not only make sure you didn’t hit anybody, but you didn’t hit any cars, either.
He shrugged into his jacket and checked the signage for the nearest elevator or stairs.
It was cold on the deck since they were in the middle of November and Mother Nature was reminding the world she was displeased with the way people treated her.She baked them in the summer and froze their asses in the fall and winter.The shoulder seasons of temperate weather were getting shorter and shorter.You don’t believe in global warming?Then roast alive, motherfuckers!
He hightailed it to the stairs and made his way to the first passenger deck, knowing full-well that with such a full ship, the passenger decks would be packed.
No fucking thanks.
He just needed to piss and get back to his truck.
What frustrated the shit out of anybody he spoke with was that on a lot of ferries the men’s washroom was on one side, while the women’s was on the other.Of course, where he came up off the stairs, he was on the side with the women’s washroom.So he had to find a place to cut across through the cafeteria, his bladder close to fucking bursting.
