From There to Here

2013-07-29

Downtown Toronto: early evening.

Thunder, rolling in the distance, mixed with the sound of sirens thirty floors below, drowns out the screaming a little. Those screams have been getting closer and closer over the last thirty minutes and I know it’s only a matter of time before my screams join this choir of pain.

Standing at my office window and looking down on Bay Street, Canada’s financial center– rain pouring down the floor to ceiling glass gives me hope. But that hope is suddenly pulled away by a lighting flash that accentuates the smoke pouring up from below.

I can almost feel the heat of the fire now but that heat is nothing compared to the heat of anger that lives inside me and eats at every fibre of my being.

That anger has been growing, unabated, for over six month’s now– since the moment my suspicions were confirmed. That moment of truth changed everything and brought my life crashing down into the living hell it has become.

Life was good before that moment or, I should say, before I felt the change in Caroline and my suspicions began.

Why is it that the one being fooled is always the last to know?

Or, maybe somewhere deep inside I did know but didn’t want to believe, as the consequences of that truth were unimaginable to me.

From the first day we met, on the U of T campus, I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I was in my final year, heading towards my master degree in business, while Caroline and my brother, Mitchell, were in their first years and heading in the same direction as me. It’s ironic now to think that Mitchell is the one that introduced her to me– ironic but not funny; no, not funny at all.

It’s been thirteen years since that meeting; thirteen years since I got my degree and fulfilled my destiny of becoming the head of “Grant Holdings”– the company my great-grandfather, Shane Grant, started in the late 1800’s.

He started out as a fourteen year old fish-monger on the wharf in St. John’s Newfoundland. Over many years he grew from those small beginnings into a buyer and seller of just about anything that had to do with fishing or the sea. During his time, Newfoundland was a British colony; it would be four years after his death before our family became Canadian in 1949.

After Shane Grant’s death, in 1945, Grant Holdings was passed down to my grandfather, Clem Grant, who then grew it into the largest holding’s company in Newfoundland. He was said to be a man of incredible foresight as he diversified the company in ways nobody else was doing at that time. He started buying up any real-estate he could around the St. John’s harbour and used that land to build a fish plant and a dry dock.

Just about every fishing trawler that used that harbour also used his dry dock for repairs and he used that to his advantage.

These fishermen didn’t have a lot of money so he did the repairs for them on credit– that credit was usually repaid by the cut-rate prices he would pay for their catch. There were hundreds of fishermen operating out of that harbour so it wasn’t long before grandfather had to expand the dry dock and fish plant before he bought more land and several trucks and built a transport depot. That was our first step into a transportation business that would become one of the largest in the world.

When my grandfather passed away in 1975 my father, Robert Grant, took over and immediately did what he had been trying to get my grandfather to do for years– he opened an office in Toronto and expanded the transport division to include all of Canada and the United States.

There were many false starts and problems during the early years in Toronto but he had faith and stuck with it. Once a foothold was established in Canada he advanced on our friends to the south like an invading army and established transportation hubs in many key areas of the country.

On the day he passed the reigns to me he said, “Ok, son. It’s in your hands now; I’ve set the ground work, now it’s up to you to conquer the world.”

And that’s exactly what I did.

But now all of this, everything that my great-grandfather started, including me, was being burnt down by my cheating wife and her lover.

I know in my heart that it wasn’t her that started this fire but her lover, my brother, Mitchell.

My father basically cut Mitchell out of the family when he dropped out of university after his first year. My brother the no-talent idiot decided to throw his life away to become a rock star. For ten years he never got past playing in corner pubs to less than fifty people.

My father had put him on a monthly allowance, which was just enough for rent and necessities, but swore he would not inherit any part of the company until he could prove he deserved it.

Father died a year ago and when I called Mitchell to tell him, all he said was, “Good. It’s about time.”

Shocked, I yelled into the phone, “What the hell is wrong with you. Are you a fucking idiot?”

He laughed, “You know what, daddies boy, go fuck yourself,” before hanging up the phone.

I didn’t speak to him for six months, until the day that my private investigator laid the pictures of Caroline and Mitchell on my desk.

First I made a call to my head accountant and then called Mitchell. I told him about the pictures and then told him that he was cut off and would not be receiving another dime from the company as long as I had control.

He lost it and started screaming into the phone, calling me every obscene name he could think of before ending the call with a threat.

He said,“I will fucking end you. Do you understand me you piece of shit? I will burn that company down and you along with it.”

I can hear my cell phone, ringing non-stop, on the desk behind me but I don’t have the words to answer it just yet– I know it’s Caroline but I don’t know what to say to her. These could be my last moments on earth but I really don’t know what to say that could in any way change anything.

A loud bang, almost like an explosion, startles me from my thoughts just as the power shuts off and plunges the office into darkness. The flashing lights from the emergency vehicles below feel like camera flashes now as I grab my phone and metal briefcase before rushing to the boardroom.

I don’t know if they can make it to me in time, as thirty floors is a long way up, so I decide I need to try and make my way down to them. But I can’t leave without one thing, the only thing in this building I refuse to leave behind.

The photo is hanging on the east wall in the boardroom and, for as long as I can remember, has always been hung on an east wall. East holds a place of significance in our family because, as Newfoundlanders’ say, back east is where it all began.

I think about how far we have come since that photo was taken, as I remove it from the wall and put it in the briefcase, before making my way down the darkened hallway to the staircase.

The old, black and white, photo shows my great-grandfather, Shane Grant, standing in front of the first building he bought, Grant’s Wholesale, holding a little boy in his arms with my smiling great-grandmother, Clara, standing beside him.

****

1892-06-18

St.John’s harbour: early morning.

The overwhelming smell of fish and early morning fog filled him with anticipation as he ran as fast as he could, along the dock, trying to be the first to greet the incoming trawlers. He knew being first would mean getting the best fish, which would mean the best money by the end of the day.

He remembered his dad telling him, “Shane, you got to be first, boy. And make sure you picks the ones that still got some flip and flop to them. You sure don’t want no milky eyed ones, can’t sell them ones for beans.”

That was a year ago, before his dad pissed off up the coast somewhere and left him and his mom to fend for themselves– piece of shit that he was. How the fuck could a grown ass man leave his wife and fourteen year old boy alone like that. He decided, right there and then, that he would never be that man. He would do everything he could to take care of his mom.

Rounding the corner of Glenford’s supplies, at full tilt, he almost ran headlong into Billy Jones, which surprised the shit out of him. Billy reached for him but Shane did a quick double dodge before escaping and running down the dock, leaving the big dumb ape stumbling around like a drunken duck. Billy was seventeen and the local bully and liked nothing better than fucking with Shane and all the other kids that were smaller and younger than him. He was a foot taller and had about fifty pounds on Shane and was always looking for a reason to smack him around. But Shane knew that, at heart, Billy was a coward. He was nothing more than a weak kid in a man’s body and would never pick on someone his own age or size.

Shane couldn’t wait until he grew big enough to kick the shit out of the fucker.

As he got closer to the trawlers the fog started to lift and he could see Clem Noftall, on the dock, tying off his mooring lines. He liked Clem a lot and was happy to see him getting ready to unload his catch. Clem was a good man and treated Shane and his mother well, since his father had left. He always asked about Shane’s mom and made sure that they always had food on the table. He would spend hours teaching Shane everything he knew about the business of fishing. But what he liked the most about him was that he felt the same way about Shane’s father as Shane did. He thought he was a piece of shit.

Clem had a daughter, Clara, the same age as Shane and she was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. Sometimes she would be at the dock, helping her father, and he was hoping she would be there today. He would always feel disappointed when she wasn’t there as his day always went better after seeing her at the dock. He would feel happier and move through his day with a bounce in his step. He would sell more fish and make more money but best of all, his joyful mood would bring a smile back to his mother’s face. Shane missed that smile and was beyond happy whenever he could help his mom find it again.

He really liked Clara, but was as skittish as a rabbit and seemed to lose the ability to speak when she was near. It was almost like his tongue was tangled up in his boots or something.

The wooden dock was still fog wet and slippery as Shane arrived beside Mr. Noftall at full speed. He tried to stop but his shoes were worn out and felt more like skates as he slid past Clem, heading headlong into the harbour. He was just about to take a swim when Clem reached out, grabbing him from behind, and pulled him back.

Clem laughed as he rubbed Shane’s head, “For shit’s sake, Shane, slow down boy. You’re not gonna make much sales covered in fish guts and whatever else is floating in that slop this morning. You’ll be stinking to high heavens with that shit all over ya.”

Shane looked back the dock, towards Glenford's Supplies, before saying, “Sorry, Mr. Noftall. That dumb dickhead, Billy Jones, was on my tail and I didn’t feel like getting kicked in the nuts today.”

Clem was a big man, over six feet and over two hundred pounds of solid muscle, and most people didn’t fuck with him. The few that did ended up regretting it and gave him a wide berth ever after.

He stood to his full height and stared down the dock before speaking, “Don’t you worry about that idget, Shane, I’ll give him a talking too and maybe a little something to remember, the next time I see’s him.”

“Thanks’ Mr. Noftall.”

“For, Christ sake boy, how many times I got to tell ya, to call me Clem? Mr. Noftall is me pa. I’m not an old man yet.”

Shane finished tying off the boat as Clem went on board to get the four wheel cart, which he always let Shane use to sell his fish. While Clem was gone Shane looked around the dock hoping to see Clara but was disappointed as she didn’t seem to be there today.

He was thinking about Clara when Clem jumped back onto the dock with a new cart. He handed it to Shane and said, “Here this is for you. Don’t say anything or offer to pay for it or something. You’re a good kid and we all respects all you does for your mother.”

Shane didn’t know what to say. Nobody had ever done anything like this for him and he was deeply grateful. For the rest of his life, he would never forget this act of kindness.

They were picking out the best cod fish and loading them on the new cart when Clem stopped and, looking behind Shane, said, “Hi honey. Where’s yer mom at? I thought you’s were gonna see grandma this morning?”

Shane felt his pulse quicken as he heard Carla say, “We are dad, she stopped at Glenford’s to pick up some things. Good morn to ya Shane.”

He could feel his face turn red as he turned to see Clara walking towards them in a pretty white dress. The sun, slowly rising, was quickly lifting the morning fog, making her look like she was floating on air as she approached.

Struck almost dumb by her beauty, he struggled to untangle his tongue, long enough to say,

“Morning, Miss Clara.”

Clara giggled and Clem openly laughed as Shane felt the heat in his face rising to the point that he thought his hair might catch on fire.

He felt like an idiot and couldn’t understand why he always felt like this around her.

Clem broke the spell by saying, “you look really pretty this morning, Clara. Doesn’t she look pretty today, Shane?”

He felt like Clem had spoken his thoughts as he turned towards her and, without thinking, blurted out the first words that came to his mind, “Yes sir, she always looks pretty. She’s the most beautiful girl there is.”

He put his hand to his mouth in shock, not believing he said what he did, and was about to apologise when Clara looked into his eyes, her face turning bright red, and said,

“Oh my god, I know that’s not true but thank you Shane for saying that.”

Her mother arrived at that moment and Shane was thankful as he was pretty near to fainting by then.

They all talked for a few minutes before Mrs Noftall and Clara had to leave.

Mrs Noftall went to give her husband a hug and kiss and while she was gone Clara came to Shane and, with colour rising in her cheeks, said, “goodbye for now, Shane, but I hope I see you again tomorrow.”

Shane did see her the next day and the day after that, and the day after that, and pretty well every day for the rest of his life.

***