Joanne Michael - It Takes Two

Marc opened the workbook to the most recent assignment.

“You left half the answers blank,” he said gently.

Sylvie shrugged and kept her eyes on the drawing.

“Sylvie?”

She slowly set the pencil down and looked at him. “I was supposed to finish it tonight.”

“Finish?”

Sylvie nodded, looking down at her hands. “Madame Simard made us work in groups today. We were supposed to read the questions and answer them. But, I—I couldn’t and the other kids laughed and—”

Whatever else she was going to say was lost as Sylvie broke into tears. Quickly, Marc slid closer to her and put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders.

“Shhhh,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

Sylvie gave a mighty sniff and pulled away. “I hate it when the other kids laugh at me,” she said, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

“No one likes to be laughed at, ma fille.” Marc pulled his arm back. “What did Madame Simard say?”

“Nothing,” Sylvie said sullenly. “She didn’t hear them. She just told me to finish my book at home. But Dad,” she looked up at Marc, “I think she wants to talk to you.”

Marc nodded. “Uh-huh, she does. Your grandmother told me.”

“She thinks I’m stupid, doesn’t she?” Sylvie’s voice trembled a bit.

Marc felt his jaw tighten. “Did Madame Simard say that?”

Sylvie shrugged.

“Sylvie, did Madame Simard say you were stupid?”

“She thinks I need a special teacher and two girls in class said only stupid people go to the special teacher.” Sylvie gave a loud sniff. “I’m sorry I’m stupid, Dad.”

“Oh, Sylvie.” He hugged her to him and stroked her hair. “You’re not stupid. You just have your own way of learning things and you know what?”

“What?” Her voice was muffled against his chest.

“That makes you more interesting than any of the other girls in that school.”

She looked up at him. “Really?”

“Really,” Marc said. “Now, why don’t you go see if Gran wants to go have supper? I think I’m going to take my two favorite ladies out tonight. We’ll work on your homework before you go to bed. And, Sylvie,” he added before she could hop down and scamper off, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dad,” she said.

After Sylvie left, Marc again picked up the drawing. It really was remarkable how well she had captured the likeness of the little dog.

“DAD, LOOK.” Sylvie was tugging at Marc’s sleeve and pointing. He glanced over to see Abby shutting the gate behind her and walking toward them.

“Oh, hello,” she said.

“We’re going to get hamburgers,” Sylvie said. “Want to come?”

“Sylvie, I’m sure Miss Miller has other plans,” Marc said in a cautionary tone.

“Other plans?” Françoise repeated. “The poor thing just got here, she hasn’t had time to make any plans. I’ll bet you’re on your way to find a restaurant.”

“Actually, yes,” Abby said.

“Then why don’t you come with us?” Françoise suggested.

“No, I don’t want to impose,” Abby said. “If you’ll just point me in the direction of a place that’s open, that would be great.”

Françoise shook her head. “The only spot open right now is Pierrette’s and that’s where we’re going. Please join us, we’d welcome your company. Wouldn’t we, Marc?” She looked pointedly at her son.

“Sure, why not?” Marc said.

“All right,” Abby agreed, “but under one condition.”

“What’s that?” Françoise asked.

“That you all start calling me Abby.”

“Deal,” Sylvie said. “Can we go now? I’m starving!”

“Okay, ma fille,” Marc agreed. “Remember to hold your grandmother’s hand when we cross the road.”

Abby looked up and down the street and raised an eyebrow at Marc.

“I know, it looks deserted now,” he said to Abby as Sylvie and Françoise walked ahead of them. “But, once the tourist season cranks up, it’s going to be pretty busy. I want Sylvie to get in the habit now of never crossing unless there’s an adult with her.”

“Good idea.” Abby fell into step next to him. “Listen, I really hope I’m not imposing, crashing your dinner like this.”

Marc shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I have to say, you were the last person I expected to see today, much less at my landlady’s house.”

“Yeah, about that,” Marc stopped and put a hand on Abby’s arm, holding her in place. “I think I owe you an apology, I was kind of rude back there on the ferry this morning, rushing off like that.”

“Were you?” Abby asked mildly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Right,” Marc said. “I just wanted you to know it had nothing to do with you.”

“Well, isn’t that a relief.” Marc could hear the sarcasm in her voice. “It’s just, oh, never mind.” He started to walk down the street.

“No, wait,” Abby said. “I’m sorry, now I’m the one being rude. What were you going to say?”

“Well, when you told me you’re a scientist, it just kind of hit me the wrong way and I wanted to beat it out of there before I said something really stupid.”

Abby looked skeptical. “Because I’m a scientist? You’re kidding, right? What does my being a scientist have to do with anything?”

Marc sighed. “It’s complicated. I’m not sure I can explain it.”

“Give it a try,” Abby said. “Remember, I’m a scientist, I’m pretty clever.”

Her tone might be teasing, but Marc knew his words had rankled. “Okay, look out there and tell me what you see.”

“Out where?”

“There, in the bay.”

Abby was quiet a moment. “I see boats, some people kayaking, a couple of buoys—that’s about it.”

“And farther out? In the Saint Lawrence?”

“Not much. Maybe…” She squinted into the distance. “Is that a container ship way out there?”

Marc nodded, “Time was, you’d have looked out there and seen a dozen, maybe two dozen trawlers and fishing boats anchored in that bay. The rest of the fleet would be farther out, heading for home.”

He turned to look directly at her. “There were more than sixteen hundred licensed fishermen along the North Shore in the early nineteen-nineties—on the north shore alone. Must have been another four thousand going up to Gaspé and the Magdalen Islands. That meant almost three thousand boats going after snow crab, cod, eel, redfish, shrimp and lobster and almost five thousand processing jobs back on shore. Now look at it. It’s deserted out there.”

“What happened?” Abby asked.

“Scientists happened. Scientists and their studies and reports and quotas.” Marc fairly spat the last word out. “Used to be a man could make a good living, support his family from the water. Not anymore. Got to be the size of the permitted catches didn’t even pay the costs of going out. So, over the years, the fishing industry pretty much died.”

“You can’t seriously be blaming the researchers for that? They don’t set the policies or make the laws.”

“You’re right, they don’t,” Marc agreed. “But they sure as hell have a lot of influence over the people in Ottawa who do. All I know is, every time someone shows up to do another damned study, we see a whole new batch of regulations telling us what we can and can’t do.”

Abby tried to reason with him. “But those regulations are necessary to preserve the species,” she said. “Over-fishing, pollution, destruction of habitat—those are the real reasons drastic actions had to be taken.”

Marc could feel the familiar anger rising in him, but he knew he had to speak. “I understand about all that. In fact, if anyone took the time to ask them, they’d find out most fishermen do, too. They know more about these waters than any college kid ever will. What they don’t understand is why, when they’re not the ones to blame for the problems, they’re the ones paying for them.”