Page 53 of Voice to Raise
“That doesn’t sound…” His look had me stopping.
He waved me off. “It sounded good, but I was tired of sleeping on a pull-out couch. Most of my friends had bedrooms of their own. I understood my parents eschewing wealth…but a bed of my own? I was a teenager by then and fed up with all of it. When I turned eighteen, I took my education fund and headed to the University of British Columbia. I entered the business school and bided my time until I could go to law school.”
I broke off a small piece of bread. “So basically everything your parents didn’t believe in.”
He offered a wicked grin. “Exactly. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I believed in many of their causes. I just didn’t believe one had to live in penury to make a difference.”
The starkness of our circumstances struck me. He lived in a fifty-year-old one-bedroom condo in Mount Pleasant while I lived in a mansion in Arbutus Ridge. Shame hit hard and fast.
Something must’ve shown on my expression, because he quickly shook his head. “I’m not saying that. Hell, I lived in a nice downtown condo—all steel and glass and expensive. I still contributed to charities, but I focused on a job that I thought would make a difference. Don’t you see?”
Slowly, I shook my head.
He nodded, as if understanding my confusion. “I worked with a leading-edge biomedical research company. Their innovations were making a difference in people’s lives, and they did plenty of charity work. Well, maybe charity’s not the right word. But they’d extend treatment beyond what was required for the trials. They seemed to care about their patients.”
Something in his tone caught my attention. “But something changed?”
“Yeah. We had this really big project. I can’t talk about it because my severance came with an NDA. I think nondisclosure agreements are bullshit—and I didn’t care about the money—but they threatened to report me to the bar association of British Columbia for breach of trust. Which—” His face made this weird expression that I read asI sort of did. “The money didn’t mean anything. I donated it all. But then I couldn’t make the mortgage payments on my condo in the sky. I had enough equity that, when I sold the place, I was able to buy this one. No floor-to-ceiling windows. No view except the trees behind the building. Hell, I face north, so I never get direct sunlight.”
Whereas I live in a mansion with massive windows on all sides. The floor-to-ceiling is two stories in the kitchen and family room.I could fit thirty people in that space without anyone feeling cramped. The dining room sat twenty. Occasionally I talked my bandmates and their families into joining me. Inevitably, we ignored the dining room and opted for the family room, kitchen table, and bar stools at the island counter. Casual. Comfortable. “This is still a really nice place.You might not get sunlight, but your recessed lighting is bright. I mean, it’s dark and dreary outside, but you’ve got a cozy place here.”
He chuckled. “Cozy, it is. I just realized—I’ve never asked you where you live. Or, perhaps more succinctly…you’ve never told me.”
I panicked.
Chapter Fifteen
Spencer
If not for Malik’s dark complexion, I would’ve said all the color drained from his face. He definitely took on a stillness that I didn’t associate with him. Yes, we’d sat down and shared two meals today. Both times, though, he’d appeared restless. Almost like a caged tiger, ready to bolt when the cage door opened. I didn’t like to think of him as caged, or even restrained.He’s probably doing it for you. So you don’t freak out and accuse him of not thinking things through. Of not being aware of consequences.Still, he remained motionless. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me. No big deal. Here I am, running off at the mouth. You might be living in someone’s basement, or couch surfing, or—I don’t know—living in your SUV.” Although I probably would’ve noticed. “Truly, it’s none of my—”
“I live in a seven-bedroom, six bathroom, five-thousand-square-foot mansion on extensive grounds in Arbutus Ridge. Worth eight figures, no less.” He rubbed his forehead. “My bandmates know where it is because there’s a recording studio in the basement. My parents’ life insurance paid off the house,and gives me an annuity to pay the taxes on the place every year. For spending money—like to feed myself and keep the lights on—I have to work. Which was, undoubtedly, my father’s plan. He thought I’d stay with the orchestra until I retired. Ha. More fool him. I should just sell the place—” He rubbed his face. “But my mother loved it. She decorated it to her tastes.” His voice caught. “As long as I leave it as it is, then a part of her still lives on. I never go into the primary bedroom. I never enter her library or my father’s den. Those places are—” He placed his hands over his face.
Unbidden, I moved to crouch before him. “Sacred spaces. I get it. I really do. It’s not the same, but I feel that way in This Land is Ours’s offices. Like Maude built this place and I have a legacy to maintain it. I know it’s not the same—”
He pulled his hands away from his face and wiped at the tears. “It is the same. I get it. I live in a shrine and I don’t have the courage to change it. Hell, I don’t know if I want to. I’ve never lived anywhere else. Until I quit the orchestra, I’d never considered doing anything else. Somewhere along the way, I rebelled against my dad. But only after he was gone. And not in a malicious way. I mean…he was a tyrant. Always knew what was best. Insisted on being right all the time. I was terrified by and respected him at the same time.”
“But you wanted something different.”
“Yeah. The orchestra was great…but I needed a way to express myself, and that wasn’t the right venue.”
“And Razor Made is.” I ensured the words came out as a statement—not a question. He loved his band. That came through in the music, the videos, and the way he smiled when he mentioned them.
He cocked his head. “You get it.” Gently, he stroked his index finger down my cheek. “Sorry to get all weepy.”
I cupped his cheek. “You’re entitled. It’s only been a few years—since you lost them and since you quit a safe and secure life and moved into something…less stable.”
“Yeah. I mean, I could rent out my recording studio for tons of money… But I don’t want people to know where I live. What my worth is.”
“Money’s nice, for certain.”Especially when you have little.Still, I pressed my hand over his heart. “This is what counts. What’s inside you. What you do to express that.”
“I’m not a fly-by-night.”
I cocked my head.
“You think I’m a flash in the pan. Here today, gone tomorrow. I believe in what you’re doing—that Indigenous rights and the environment are so tied together that they can’t be separated. That if we help ensure our Indigenous brothers and sisters are protected—especially their land—then we can rest a little easier since they’re better stewards of the land than anyone else could be.”
He was probably right. Aside from a few die-hard environmentalists, most tribes cared for the land in a way I, as a white person, was only beginning to understand. My work was just one piece in a massive puzzle. But if I could do some good, then all was not lost. “I’m coming to understand that you’re more than just a guy who wants clicks and likes.”
