| |
Geri
––––––––
My dad is waiting just inside the door, holding the compost bucket by the handle, his focus on the television. “Thanks, sweetie,” he says as I step out of his boots.
“I can take that for you, Mr. McKenna,” Sean offers.
“I think we’ve known each other long enough for you to call me Ed.” Dad steps into his boots. “And I appreciate the offer, Sean, but I gotta turn the compost heap. Needs to be done every day now that spring’s here.”
The smell of coffee is luring me to the kitchen, but a red banner running across the television screen, announcing Breaking News, waylays me. “What’s going on?”
“They found one of those missing girls,” Dad says before he heads out the door.
Sean stands next to me just as Mom comes out of the kitchen. “Something happen?” she asks.
Together, we watch a video replay of a search and rescue team illuminated by the spotlight of a helicopter overhead. A litter attached to a cable is being hoisted into the helicopter. As the dramatic rescue plays out, the voice of an anchorwoman reports, “Bethany Moulton, one of the two women missing in Algonquin Park, was found around three o’clock this morning by a search and rescue team from CFB Trenton. Rescuers say they discovered the twenty-year-old in a remote area of the park, unconscious. SAR techs administered first aid at the scene and then airlifted her to Pembroke Regional Hospital. Doctors say she is suffering from mild hypothermia and a head contusion and is expected to make a full recovery.
“However, Moulton is shocking the world with a tale that her friend, Lisa Hornsby, was taken by a Sasquatch. You heard me right, folks. She claims that Bigfoot terrorized and chased them through the woods, and she didn’t even realize she and Hornsby had become separated until she heard Hornsby screaming in the distance. Moulton tried to look for her friend but soon became lost and disoriented. After several hours of trying to find her way back to civilization, she finally succumbed to exhaustion.”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” my mother says. “Every year, someone sees a big ape in the woods.”
I glance away from the television to respond to my mom but catch sight of Sean scrutinizing the screen of his cell phone, his eyebrows furrowed together.
“She’s obviously in shock,” my mom continues. “There’s no such thing as Bigfoot.”
The sound of Mark thumping up the stairs from his room in the basement diverts our attention. He’s wearing nothing but his Toronto Maple Leafs t-shirt and plaid boxers. His hair is sticking out in every direction, and his face is darkened by stubble.
I point to my brother’s big feet. “I don’t know about that, Mom.”
“Hey, here comes the groom,” Sean says. “Someone throw him a bouquet.”
“It’s a great day for a wedding, my man.” Mark comes up and slaps Sean on the back. “You should try it sometime.” He sniffs the air. “Do I smell muffins?”
“Oh, I forgot about the muffins,” Mom says, running into the kitchen.
The back door opens, and Dad comes in, followed by Emma, her husband, Collin, and little Evan. The quiet morning I woke up to erupts into a meet and greet, the air crackling with excitement about the wedding. Mom tries to herd everyone toward the table so she can do what she loves to do most—feed us. The men don’t need much encouragement to sit down, but I help Mom serve while Emma sets out the coffee and juice. Evan stays underfoot and sticks with the women in a scene right out of the 1950s. I don't bother trying to buck tradition for feminine righteousness this time, though. I’ve missed being here. I miss home.
As I put the muffins into a basket, I notice Evan eyeing Sean from a safe distance, most likely weighing the stranger-danger risk. Smirking, I don’t say anything when my nephew follows me to the table, matching his steps with mine so he can hide behind my legs as he keeps a wary eye on Sean. I lean between Sean and Mark to set the basket of muffins on the table, and when I vacate the space, Evan steps in and offers Sean a dinky car.
“Hey, thanks, Evan. I love cars.” Sean holds the car in his hand. “Why is it wet?”
Mark snorts. “Where were you hiding that, little dude?”
Evan pulls another one out of his diaper.
“I thought so,” Mark says.
“Oh,” Sean says.
“Welcome back to the McKennas’,” I say brightly. “You remember where the powder room is, right?”
I hear the faint buzzing of Sean’s phone, which is stashed in his back pocket, just before he says, “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
But he doesn’t come right back. I cook an entire pan of scrambled eggs, and only when I’m serving them does he finally reappear, jacket on and shouldering his backpack.
“You’re leaving?” I blurt out, surprised.
He clenches his jaw. “I’m really sorry, but there’s a pressing issue with one of the projects I’m working on.”
No! The denial is so loud in my head that I have to look around to see if I yelled it out loud. No one is staring at me though, so I go ahead and assume I didn’t lose my cool.
Mark gets up from the table. “Dude, it can’t be more pressing than the wedding of the century.”
“It’s only a few hours from now,” I say, disappointment evident in my tone. I didn’t realize how much I was looking forward to having him around, especially now that I know he’s not going with Michelle.
Sean’s smile is tight. “I did make that argument, but...” His voice trails off. He steps forward, and he and Mark embrace in a quick back-pounding man hug. “I wish you all the best, man. Give the bride a kiss for me.”
“Don’t drop off the face of the earth this time. Stay in touch, man,” Mark says.
“I will. Promise.”
Sean continues on with his goodbyes, shaking my dad’s hand, hugging my mom and thanking her for everything, ruffling Evan’s hair, giving Emma a peck on the cheek, and shaking Collin’s hand.
I’m still leaning against the counter, the coffee machine beside me loudly coughing out the last drops of steaming liquid, when he gets to me. I’m not sure if I should extend my hand for a shake or get ready for the perfunctory peck on the cheek. I’m just trying to maintain a blasé air.
“It was really great to see you again, Geri.” His vivid blue eyes look right into mine, a sad kind of look on his face. He leans in for the peck on the cheek, only I think his lips press a little harder and linger a little longer on my skin for it to be considered just a peck.
Then I remember I’m still wearing his sweatshirt. “Give me a minute to change, and I’ll give this back.”
“Keep it,” he says then lowers his voice so only I can hear. “It looks better on you.”
He turns and gives a final wave to the room. “Good luck, brother,” he says to Mark before heading out the front door.
When I finally collect my thoughts and get on with serving the coffee, I catch Emma looking at me with a sly smile on her face.
“What?” I ask.
“Tut-tut. It looks like earthquakes.”
Weddings.
They’re a great time for families to get together and celebrate; they’re also a great time for families to get together and bicker. I love my mom, but when she’s bothered by something, it grows and grows and grows until it blooms into a full-blown crisis. In this case, she’s been mulling over the fact that Shauna didn’t ask Emma or me—“Mark’s sisters, for Godsakes”—to be a part of her wedding entourage. And now that the wedding day has arrived, the issue has come to a head.
Emma and I are both doing our best to reassure Mom that it’s okay, we don’t mind, and it’s nothing to wreck the day over. I tell her that I’m totally fine with Michelle being asked to be the maid of honor while I sit on the sidelines at my brother’s wedding. But after saying it out loud, my mom’s point of view becomes a little clearer, and I’m feeling snubbed.
Then the wedding procession begins and we get a load of the frothy yellow organza frocks the bride picked out for her maids. I’m suddenly feeling pretty lucky, as though I just dodged a bullet. Even the gorgeous Michelle can’t pull that little number off. Emma and I do a fist pump. Life is good again.
Mark and Shauna, resplendent in their wedding clothes, stand in front of the pastor and say their vows. I know I should be listening, but other things keep crowding into my thoughts. The woman found in Algonquin Park today is nagging at me, because where is her friend? And were they actually terrorized by something in the woods? Or is it a cover story for whatever else they might have been up to? Most of all, I’m wondering exactly what kind of emergency calls a structural engineer who specializes in alloys away from a wedding, because right now I’m feeling his absence.
Stop thinking about him, I tell myself firmly. Even if he were interested in me, which he definitely is not, a fling with Sean Eastman is a bad idea. Given his history with my family, he’s the-boy-next-door relationship material. And despite what my hormones keep demanding of me, I’m not interested in taking time away from my career to devote to having a man in my life.
The ceremony only lasts forty minutes, and before I know it, we’re all filing out of the church, hugging our way through the reception line. It’s only four o’clock. Wedding photos are next up, dinner is at five thirty, and the bride and groom plan on leaving by eight thirty so they can change and drive to the airport in time to make their flight to Venice for their honeymoon. Mark was never one to sit still or waste time. He likes to be on the move.
The bridal party and families go back into the church for photographs, away from the lenses of the half dozen or so paparazzi who have shown up to get a shot of the newly married NHLer. As Emma and I lounge in a pew, waiting our turn for the family pic, I feel my phone vibrate in my little purse. It’s the fifth message to come in since the wedding started, and I’m pretty sure they’re all from Derek, probably looking for me to organize something, draft an email for his signature or get him a cup of virtual coffee since I’m not there to buy him an actual one.
As discreetly as possible, I check my messages.
“Are you seriously working during our brother’s wedding?” Emma whispers to me.
I haven’t actually taken my phone out of my purse. I’m just keeping it inside where no one will see it, hoping they’ll think I’m looking for my lipstick or something.
“Nope,” I lie. With two clicks of my thumb, I close messages and switch to the Internet, which brings up the last news channel I was watching. I pull my phone out of my purse and show her. “Just checking the news.”
“Oh,” she says, interested. “Any update on the missing woman in Algonquin?”
“That’s what I was trying to find out.” I refresh my page for the latest stories and immediately spy a provocative headline connected with Lisa Hornsby, the missing woman. “Are you kidding me?”
I take out my earbuds, giving one earpiece to Emma and keeping one for myself, and play the video. A young reporter, male and probably about my age, is with a group of men dressed in camo.
“I’m at the Peace Bridge border crossing with a group of American hunters who are crying foul after their firearms were seized at the Canadian border. The hunters say they followed protocol by declaring their weapons and providing legal documentation, but Canadian border control agents say their reason for coming to Canada to hunt is not valid. And this is where the story takes a unique turn. These aren’t just any hunters. They’re Sasquatch hunters.”
The camera pans to one of the hunters, an older gentleman with short gray hair and deeply etched furrows across his brow. The name Kenneth Broughton is typeset at the bottom of the screen. He speaks with a mild southern drawl.
“When we heard about the girl up in that park, what is it—Algonkin?—being chased and terrorized by Bigfoot, we knew right away we needed to come up and help y’all. Sasquatch are becoming a real problem in the South. There’s even been a recent incident in Alabama of a Bigfoot trying to take a young girl right out of her home. So we’re real interested in the girl who went missin’ in Algonkin.”
The camera pans back to the young reporter.
“The Canadian border patrol is declining comment, other than to say the hunters are free to enter Canada, but their firearms won’t be coming with them. I’m Anand Dhalwa for Buffalo’s Live at Five News.”
A stab of jealousy hits me. “Anand looks to be about my age and he’s reporting on a story that’s getting international coverage,” I whisper to Emma. “How did he luck into that?”
Emma shrugs, pulls the earbud out. “Right time, right place I guess.”
Her answer gives me pause because I’m in the right place at the right time. Algonquin Park is less than a two-hour drive from here, and Bethany Moulton is only twenty minutes away at Pembroke Regional. I could get the scoop on this. It could be the golden opportunity I’ve been looking for to finally put my reporting skills to use and audition as an investigative reporter for Global.
I look at Emma. “Guess who’s going to Algonkin?” I point to myself in case she doesn’t know.