TWELVE

Sylvie was parking the car, her face in profile showing their mother’s defiant chin. Fine dark hair brushing her shoulders. She looked up, seeing him. Brown eyes with their mother’s clarity that saw straight through to his heart. He slipped inside the car, leaving the door ajar for air. Tried to look at her but couldn’t.

She laid her hand atop the back of his and it felt warm. She gripped his fingers and he gripped back, letting her lead him as she’d done those times when they were youngsters and he trod too close to the water’s edge and the overhangs and the falls that churned too madly.

“I’ve missed you, Ky.”

He winced.

She put her arm around his neck and rested her cool forehead against his hot cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Sis. I’ve not been thinking straight.”

“You loved him. It was coming from a good place.”

“You loved him, too.”

“My thinking was no different. We were all screwed up.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No. No, I wish I were. I liked being blamed. It was my punishment. When I wasn’t looking for punishment, I was blaming, too. I blamed Trapp.”

He pulled back, looking at her. “Was it his fault?”

She shook her head. “No. It was not.”

“They says he fucked up.”

“He was good at his job. Things just happen, Ky.”

“You tried to tell me before, and I wouldn’t listen. Can you tell me now?”

Sylvie sat back. She closed her eyes, pressing her palm against her forehead, still seeing it, still feeling it, and he was incensed at his selfishness.

“I’m stuck, Sis. It’s with me all the time. I’ve sealed him off somewhere. It’s like he’s fighting to get out and I’m fucked with it, I’m so fucked with it.”

“Hey, I know it. I know it, okay?”

“Something always feels foul about the whole thing—you coming home without Ben, him coming three months later with Trapp and the bad feeling around them. And Trapp sneaking around. I just never had the courage to hear about it. Can you talk about it?”

She nodded. “It’s when you’re alone with it, in your head. That’s when I get in trouble.”

She wrung her hands and he took one, circling her thin wrist, massaging it with the pad of his thumb.

“It might hurt you,” she said quietly. “Some little detail, something new you haven’t figured—like pulling the scab of an old cut. It starts hurting all over agin.”

He shrugged. “Hurts all the time anyway. Trapp had something to do with it, didn’t he?”

She took his hand in hers, held it like a puppy in her lap, stroking it. “Remember how Chris used to go off in his mind all the time, like he was sleeping? Remember once he was eating a crust of bread and he went off, the crust across his mouth like a soggy moustache?”

“His little trances, Mother called them.”

“That’s where he was when it happened. Gone off somewhere. His magical place, I’ve always thought it, where his drawings came from. Those crazy magical drawings. The limb of a tree morphing into a bird’s claw. Three moons into cabbages on an old woman’s hand. Everything spooling from the one thing into everything else. Nothing’s separate. And that’s where we went wrong.”

Her eyes shadowed in the dimming light. “After the accident, we felt him severed from us. It’s not so. He’s still spooling somewhere. But we’re not. We’re the ones caught in death. All tangled up in our grief. Not fair to him that we should be all entangled like this. It’s not fair.”

He nodded and she stroked his hand some more. “That’s where he was when the well hole blew. In that place. That magic place. He was already gone.”

“What happened?”

“Ohhh, everything, Kylie.” She dropped her head back against the headrest, her words scarcely audible. “I don’t really understand it. The pipes in the well hole were blown back up through. There were about twenty of them—I’m not sure—all vertical into the ground, one linked to the other. The top pipe had a chain linking it to the rig. Something like that. When the pipes were blown back out of the hole, skywards, the chain snapped. Snake-whipped around his chest. And he never felt nothing. It was so fast he never felt a thing. He was still in that place. It’s how he would’ve drawn it, that bigger thing enclosing him. And that’s all there is, my love. That’s all he knew.”

He closed his eyes. Felt her words eddying around him. Felt them flowing through his heart, pooling there. He opened his eyes onto hers, saw the sadness beneath their calm.

“And you saw it.”

“He was lying there when I found him.”

“You were the first one to see him.”

“I lay beside him.”

“You watched the light leave his eyes.”

“It felt so soft.”

He laid his head on her shoulder. “How did you survive it, Sis?”

“I’m still learning to do that, to look through a moment. Everything was leading up to that accident: Dad’s heart attack, my being out West, Chris on that rig when the chain snapped. You can’t pick it apart, Ky. Before Chris was even born, things were shaping themselves towards that moment—the fishery going down, Dad meeting our mother. Who can change any of that? Same with Trapp. He was good at his job, the one thing he was proud of. Then, something happened. He froze. Who knows why? Everything leading to that one moment. Just like the pipes coming up from under that ground. A hundred things coming together and Trapp couldn’t hold it back. Couldn’t hold back those things that froze him. Too many things coming together every moment and we can’t hold it back. You see it, Ky? It’s never the one thing. We’re never the one responsible. And yet we all are. If there’s forgiving to be done, it’s ourselves we need to be forgiving, for being a part of it all. Clear enough, right?” She shrugged. “Chris knew it. A part of him knew it. It came through his drawings—everything flowing from one thing to the other. His gift to us.” She smiled, her words so filled with promise, his heart surging unexpectedly.

“I need to be there, Sis. Where you are with it.”

“Let it find you, then. Just…let it in. Mother always said we’re sainted like Job when we can stand the pain and thrive in the end.”

Mother. He turned from her. How the Jesus was he going to tell her about that.

“You must miss him terribly, Ky.”

“No more than you.”

“I’ve tortured myself. Thinking about you, back when it first happened, walking home by yourself in the dark.

“Bears, Sis. I’m scared of bears, not the gawd-damn dark. Listen, we have to talk about something.”

“It was his fault, barring you in that haunted house.”

“What house?”

She grinned. “An old house we liked to think was haunted. He barred you in there—only for a minute. Half a minute—he was just being mischievous. You screeched your head off and near had a fit.”

“Sonofabitch. How come that was never talked about?”

“Thought it was. Only time I ever seen Mom mad at him.”

“Must be why he let me keep the lights on all those years. Sis, we really need to talk.”

“Thought we were. Hey!” Her attention shifted, something in the rearview catching her eye. She twisted sideways, looking through the back windshield. “That was Trapp. I just seen Trapp back there. He was on the highway by the restaurant when I drove out. Most likely he’s heard Ben’s home.”

Kyle looked back, searching the road and up by the woods. “Don’t see no one. Why the fuck is he always sneaking around?”

“He never did like attention. He’s gotten worse, especially around me. Most likely he seen me and turned back.”

“Why? What the hell is his problem?”

“Oh, Ky, we think we got problems.” She sat back, keeping an eye on the rearview. “If there’s one of us with the clearest claim for guilt about Chris’s accident, it’s him. He was the one at the controls. He blames himself. He liked Chris. Aside from Ben, Chris was the only other person I’ve known him to like. He’s been taking it pretty hard.”

“Yeah, well, guess we know what that’s like.”

“Yeah. Shame and guilt. Two ugly sisters. And shame’s the worst—it don’t hear no logic, always too busy damning itself. I’ll go tell Ben.” She reached for her door handle, then looked at him. “You going to be all right, Ky?”

He nodded. “Let’s go in.”

“Oh, by the way, who’s that Kate woman? She was in Mother’s room.”

“When, today?”

“This morning. And Bonnie Gillard—what’s that all about?”

“What were they talking about?”

“I don’t know, I came into the room and they were hovering over Mom like flighty hens.”

“You heard nothing? What about Mother?”

“What about her?”

“What was she saying—or doing?”

“Mothering them is what it felt like.”

“You heard nothing they said?”

“Nothing, I told you. Clammed up soon as I come into the room. And she—Kate—near ran me off the road just now, driving out Hampden Road. Who is she?”

“Just a friend. Listen, Sis, I got to run home and wash up. Clothes sticking to me with cement.”

“But, Kyle…”

“No buts, I’ll be back. Tell Ben to order me one.” He got out of the car, heading for Manny’s truck. “Go on, I’ll be back in a minute.” When he looked back she was still sitting there, staring after him. “Better get inside,” he said, gesturing to the bar. “Good-looking women hanging off Ben in there.” He laughed at her scowl and drove off, his face shedding itself of laughter as she faded from his rearview.

—

He drove down the rough, narrow road from the club and swung up Bottom Hill. Coming down the other side, he hit the brakes. Trapp stood by the bushes near the shortcut. Jesus, he was skinny. Pale, scruffy face. He swung around like a cat, hightailing out of sight through the brush. Kyle pulled over, shut off the engine, and leaped out of the truck. He came to the mouth of the path and stopped, listening. Wind showering through the trees. Faint drone of the sea riding against the rock face. He started down the path, one quiet step after another, looking from left to right. “Hey?” he called out. “Hey, man, what’s up?”

The grating call of a crow. He went farther down the path, heard the creaking limb of the old sawmill and was soon upon it.

“Hey!” he called out again. “What’s up, Trapp, man? Wanna go for a beer?”

Kyle crept past a sunken mound of petrifying sawdust and neared the charred remains of the platform. There was a gap between the foundation and the ground beneath where the creaking limb swayed. As if an animal might be burrowing there. A couple of dead branches lay to the side of the opening. No animal would do that. He went over and bent down, peering inside. A shaft of light from a back entrance tunnelled through, showing a few bits of rags—and a coat. He saw a sleeping bag in there, too. A plastic bag sat to the side of the opening and he pulled it out. A chunk of mouldy cheese, dated from a month ago. Emptied juice packs. Two not opened. A couple of emptied sardine cans. He hunched down, thinking back to that morning when he’d felt something—someone!—skulking behind him in the dark. Trapp. Gawd-damn!

He peered into the burrow again and then stood, looking around. Wind stirred through the black spruce, carrying the nip of a coming evening chill. Lean, bare branches of aspen scratched the air. Sawdust still frozen into mounds and with hearts of ice. Some shelter from the wind perhaps, but little warmth. The limb creaked above, giving him the heebie-jeebies, and he cursed and climbed atop the platform and jumped up, grasping hold of the swinging, fire-blackened joist. It clung on and he wrenched harder till he felt it give and then stood aside as the fucking thing wrenched from its socket and fell at his feet. He brushed the dirt off his hands with satisfaction, wondering why the hell he hadn’t laid that thing to rest the first time it spooked him.

He went to the edge of the platform, searching through the woods, listening. Facing east and just beyond a thin ridge of trees was the dropoff over the cliff face below, the inlet that had cradled Clar Gillard’s body. He could hear the tide, full in and scraping sluggishly against the cliff. He cupped his hands to his mouth.

“Just wanted to have a beer, is all!” he yelled. He walked back up the path to the truck. He cruised the rest of the way down Bottom Hill and cut onto the gravel flat. Kate’s car was parked by her door. Clar’s dog trotted from behind the cabin, barking in warning, neck fur bristling.

“Hang ’er tough, buddy,” he snapped. Didn’t like that fucking dog. “Kate!” he hollered. “You home, Kate?”

Her door was ajar. He hopped onto the step and tapped lightly. It drifted open and he stood back. “Kate?”

He poked his head inside. Her guitar stood on a mat, leaning against a wooden rocker. Bread sliced on the table, a jar of mayo and a chunk of cheese. He looked towards the coffee pot on the stove and saw that it was full, a mug beside it with a hungry mouth. A door led to a bedroom.

“Kate?”

He turned back, looking about the gravel flat and to the wooded west-side hills shadowing black on a flat sea beneath a pearly sky. The river rumbled beyond the old ruins, songbirds twittering through the nearby alders. He looked to the coffee pot again, took a quick step across the room and touched it. Still warm. The dog’s muffled growls grew into excited yips. Kyle went outside, rounded the cabin. The dog’s rump was in the air, his head down, front paws digging furiously through the burdock and sow thistle that choked the base of the cabin. He’d been digging for some time, had an opening big enough for his snout to reach inside. He drew back as Kyle approached, black eyes burning with urgency, tongue lolling. He held his head high, barked, and then resumed his frantic clawing at the ground. Kyle turned to leave but stopped as the dog wheeled towards him with an excited whine, eyes fevered, and dove its snout back inside the hole. He emerged with a piece of dirtied cloth between his teeth, dropped it to the ground and then circled it, whining and howling. Kyle looked closer. His scarf. It was his scarf. His cashmere scarf that he’d lent his mother the morning she went to Corner Brook with Bonnie Gillard. He bent to pick it up and the dog yapped at him.

“Batter to hell,” he muttered and snatched the scarf from the ground. He held it before him; it was shrunken and clumped together in parts. Blood. Dried black blood. Jesus. Oh, Jesus. He dropped to his knees, the scarf laid across his hands like a bloodied infant. He closed his eyes and saw it folded soft around his mother’s nape that morning. He had impulsively kissed her there once when he was a boy, surprising her as she knelt in the doorway, tying his laces before shooing him outside for school. He’d been surprised himself by the strength of her scent suffusing his face. Oh, Mother, Mother, the world had felt so big outside and she so strong, kneeling there in that doorway. How safely he had grown in the pools of light filtering through her, the terror of dreams banished by warm milk at her morning table. He held the scarf aloft like a penitence and he an unworthy penitent. I should’ve fought harder, made them cuff me.

The dog circled him, tail between its legs. It was scared and he was scared, too. He started rocking with the scarf in his hands, picturing her coming out of their house through the effusion of yellow from the overhead light, the scarf shawled around her shoulders against the minted cool of that fog-shrouded night. He saw Bonnie running towards her from the bottom end of the wharf and the fog thickened in his brain and he saw no more and understood nothing of how her scarf became bloodied when it was Clar who was killed. He heard only her voice, whispering to Bonnie, It’s all right, you never have to be afraid again…

The dog pricked its ears towards the river and a flock of gulls rose, squawking, their wings lit by slanting rays of the evening sun breaking through cloud. A grey head topped a rise on the far side of the river. Kate. Kyle rose. She didn’t see him, and the river was probably too loud to hear the yapping dog. He ran to his uncle Manny’s truck and stuffed the scarf underneath the seat. He closed the truck door and stood with his back to it. Kate’s head was down as she picked her path across the thinning part of the river, now strewn with boulders. He opened the truck door and took the scarf back out to make sure it was what he’d seen and the sight of the blood made him crazy and he circled the truck holding it, seeing again his mother coming through the house door with the scarf around her neck and Bonnie running towards her from the bottom of the wharf and Clar—where was Clar? And where had she found his knife? He couldn’t remember it being in the house, it was always in the shed, and why was the scarf bloodied when it was Clar who’d been stabbed.

He opened the truck door and shoved the scarf back beneath the seat and then closed the door and saw Kate balancing herself with her arms as she teetered across the narrow, rotting footbridge. He cut across the flat and walked alongside the muddied ridge by the river, waiting by the concrete ruins as Kate stepped off the footbridge and clambered up a small incline of banked beach rocks. She looked surprised to see him standing there and looked anxiously past him towards her cabin.

“Thought I heard a dog barking.”

“Clar’s dog. That fucking thing got a name? You left your door open.”

“He never needed calling, was Clar’s shadow. I’ve been feeding him. I better get back there, close the door.”

“I already closed it.” He stood before her and she stood back, appearing calm and yet unable to keep from darting glances towards her cabin.

“Some things I need to ask you, Kate.”

She nodded, glanced towards the cabin again. “Can we talk another day, Kyle? Tomorrow?”

He touched his pocket where the bloodied scarf still burned like a phantom limb and shook his head. She lowered her eyes from his and with great effort sat on the ridge of beach rocks. Her hair was loose, feathery about her shoulders. She gathered it in a handful and tucked it beneath her jacket collar like a scarf against the cold and her mouth drooped with sadness as she stared into the fattened river.

He sat beside her. “What do you know about my mother?”

“That I wish she was mine.”

“I thought you loved your mother.”

“Love has many shapes, Kyle. Some of them can get pretty warped.” She rubbed her throat as though her words pained her.

“Starting to feel like a stranger, Kate.”

“That worked for a while, not knowing anyone. Gives a person time to hunt one’s self down.”

“You running?”

She shook her head. “I tried to once. The past shadows us like those birds up there. Cheats our every triumph, and I expect I’m starting to sound tiring here.”

“More like Kate writing a song.”

She gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Turning days into words. You said that once, and I like that. Guess some days can never be sung.”

He jiggled his foot impatiently and she reached out her hand as though reaching for more time.

“It’s not a terribly interesting story, or original. My father used to be decent till the moonshine rotted his brain. Started knocking us around like yard ornaments. I cut out.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Yeah. Except I left Verny behind.” She paused. “Vernon. I was fourteen when I had him. His father wasn’t much older than me, and he never knew. I was hidden inside the house for most of it. Hidden beneath heavy coats when I went out. He was born early March; my mother took him for hers. Some of our own knew it, but it was never talked about.” She looked at him with a twisted smile and he made a move to silence her, to ask only after his mother, but she raised a hand, silencing him.

“Verny was six when I left. He knew me as his sister. And he cried when I was saying goodbye. I always stood between him and my father. I promised I’d come back for him, but I didn’t. I married a nice man, and I stopped wanting to go back home. And that is my cross.”

“Your husband, where is he now?”

“He was older, much older. He died.”

“Sorry, Kate. Guess we all have our cross. Where is he now, your son?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, we’re all sorry. And I expect you want to know why I’m sneaking into your mother’s room at the hospital.” She was still gazing into the river, elbows resting on her knees. She was crying when she looked back at him. She took off her glasses, wiping her eyes, and then stood, relieved by the sound of a car coming down the road. “It’s your father.”

“Can we keep talking, here? What’s up with you and my mother?”

“Somebody behind him, they’re stopping.” She said impatiently, “I need to see what’s going on. Who’s that behind him?”

He twisted sideways, looking towards the road. His father was pulling over, Manny following. “It’s Uncle Manny,” he said. “Driving Aunt Melita’s car.” Manny was getting out of the car and heading towards his truck parked by Kate’s. The truck with his mother’s bloodied scarf tucked beneath the seat. He was on his feet and running. The dog was squatting on his haunches by the truck door when he got there, ears back, tail down, growling at Manny.

“Watch him. Watch him, Uncle Manny!” Kyle stood breathless beside his uncle. Sylvanus was tooting his horn from across the road, rolling down his window.

“Whose dog? He your dog?” asked Manny.

“Naw, Clar’s dog. Get! Get outta here,” he shouted at the dog. “Get! Been hanging around ever since the other night. We all been all feeding him.” The dog lowered its head and tail and then trotted after Kate, who’d come up behind Kyle and was now walking purposefully towards Sylvanus.

“Who’s that?” asked Manny. “She that strange woman everyone’s talking about?”

“Suppose, b’y.” Kyle opened the truck door and leaned inside, grabbing the scarf from beneath the seat and shoving it into his coat pocket. “Jaysus, lookie here.” He pulled back with a silly grin at his uncle and held up the keys. “Left them in the ignition. Thought I had them under the seat.”

“All good, my son. Go on, now. See your mother. She’s in the truck, sharp as a tack. Bonnie Gillard’s in there with her. She got all your mother’s drugs and a nurse trained her about the other stuff. Go on, now, you got nothing to worry about.”

Kyle clapped his uncle’s shoulder and was broadsided by his Aunt Melita coming towards him and stumbling beneath a bundle of coats and grocery bags in her arms.

“Swear be Jesus he lives by hisself,” she said, and thumped her bundle against Manny’s chest. “Here, take something, quick, before I drops it.”

“Look at her, look at her stuff. Five minutes in the store and she empties their shelves. Why don’t you leave it in the car?”

“Because I’m not going straight home, you are. And half of this goes in the fridge. Take it.” She dumped the load in Manny’s arms, dimpled face ticking with annoyance, and then turned to Kyle. “Come here, my love.” She patted his cheeks with soft hands. “Don’t you worry about your mother now. She’s going to be fine. I knows because I’ve bargained me soul with the devil over this one.”

“Thanks, Aunt Melita.” He saw Kate talking intently with his father and looking past him towards his mother. “I better get going.”

“You go on then. And I’ll be back up tomorrow and make a batch of sweet bread. Hold on.” She grasped his coat sleeve. “You make sure she don’t get out of bed. Bonnie got her drugs and other things sorted out and so there’s nothing for you worry about. Except feed her and keep her off her feet. You hear that?”

“I hears you, Aunt Melita. Thanks.” He pecked her cheek and went over to Kate, who was now backing away from his father’s truck.

“The police,” she said, seeing him, “the police are coming,” and she brushed past him, her hands to her mouth.

“What’s with her?” he asked his father. “What’s going on?”

“Get in the truck. Nothing you can do. Get in the back, we gets your mother home. Hurry up.”

The police. He rammed his hand into the pocket with the bloodied scarf. He heard his mother’s voice, talking to him from the cab. She sounded faint, weak.

“You stupid?” yelled his father. “Get in the gawd-damned truck, we gets your mother home.”

He heard another vehicle coming down Bottom Hill. The police. The police were coming. He tightened his grip on the scarf with fright and leaped into the back of the truck. The dog trotted alongside as they drove, outstripping the truck as they pulled up to the wharf. Kyle jumped out of the back, his foot twisting beneath him. He cursed and limped on towards the shed in pain.

The truck door opened behind him, his mother’s voice calling for him. He lurched into the dimly lit shed. Firewood stacked two tiers thick lined the walls. A chopping block sat in the centre, the axe resting against it. The car was motoring closer. His father belted out his name and he bent near the low end of a wood tier and crumpled the scarf beneath a junk of wood and went for the door. Then he looped back inside the shed. The police. The fucking police. First place they’d search would be the shed. He grabbed the scarf again, balled it in his hand, and bolted outside to the back of the shed. He looked up the wooded hillside and started towards a grouping of rocks beneath a rotting black spruce. The dog appeared sniffing and whining beside him and he spat in rage. The dog, the gawd-damned dog would dig it out.

“Kyle!”

He turned back to the shed, dove inside. The car had driven past and was parking on the other side of his father’s truck. He heard the doors opening and nearly cried with relief upon hearing Sylvie singing out to their mother. And Ben, shouting something about suitcases. Sylvanus shouted back, his voice drawing near the shed. He stood there now, darkening the doorway. Kyle tucked the scarf beneath his coat and backed away.

“Kyle!” Sylvanus’s face was dark with worry, a strange light in his eyes. “What’re you doing?”

Kyle backed up against the wall.

“She didn’t do it, Ky.”

He nodded.

“What’s going on? You hearing me? Your mother didn’t do it.”

He held out the bloodied scarf, unable to speak.

“What’s that—my scarf? What’re you doing?”

“She—” He ran a dry tongue over parched lips. “It’s…it’s mine. She was wearing it. It’s got his blood on it. Clar’s blood.” His father snatched the scarf and looked more closely, seeing the blood. He threw it to the floor and landed his hands heavily on Kyle’s shoulders.

“She didn’t do it. Your mother didn’t do it. It was Trapp.”

Trapp.

“You hearing me? Trapp done it. I drove out fast as I could to tell you. Trapp done it.”

Kyle shook his head. She did it. She did.

“What’s you gone deaf? She didn’t do it, b’y. Jesus, would I be telling you this if it wasn’t true? She’ll tell you all about it. I don’t know about the scarf, and it don’t matter. You hearing me, now?”

Kyle’s hands were held out as though they still held the scarf. His father smacked them away.

“What’s you gone foolish? Ky? Kyle! You hearing me?”

He leaned his head onto his father’s shoulders and started to cry. He felt his father’s arms tighten around him, heard his voice hushed like a prayer. “Sin. Sin. I led you to think it—gawd-damn sin.”

Kyle pulled back, wiping at his face.

“You fine, now?”

Kyle kept wiping his face.

“Clar was after Bonnie. He was going to drown her. He had hold of her—had her bent over the wharf and your mother come out and caught him.”

Kyle rubbed at his temples, trying to see it. His father hunched down on the chopping block, shaking his head in the way of the old-timers when a thought is too hard.

“You taking it in, Kylie?”

“It was my scarf. I gave it to her that morning she left for the hospital. She was cold—”

“Kylie, Kylie, it don’t matter. He was going for Bonnie, is all. He needed an excuse. He seen the scarf on me—or thought he did, or some gawd-damn thing, and took it from her car. Blamed her for cheating and said he was showing it to your mother.”

“What the fuck did he do that for?”

“To get Bonnie here. That’s all he wanted. He knew she’d come to stop him saying things about me and your mother, dirty fucker. When I picked Bonnie up earlier that evening, that’s where she was going, to his place. Stop him from coming here, but he was already gone when she got there.”

“That’s what she told you?”

“Just now at the hospital. I done what you was going to do—forced it from her and your mother, both.”

“How come they kept it secret, then? Jesus Christ.”

“That’s another story. Your mother can tell you that one.”

“What happened with Bonnie, then—after you dropped her off?”

“When she seen Clar was gone, she come here. That’s what he wanted her to do, come here. Get her down by the water. Nobody around. He wanted to drown her.”

“On our wharf. How’d he know we wouldn’t be here?”

“I don’t know, b’y. He took a chance. He would’ve liked it, drowning her on our wharf. He was sick like that. That’s what Bonnie said. And she did come. She got here and the lights in the house were out and she was leaving again when she heard him coming along the beach. She hid right here, in the shed, thinking he’d go home if there was no lights on in the house. She stepped on the knife, she said. Figured it was God-given and took it. He sung out to your mother and that was it. Bonnie went after him. With the knife.”

“She was going to kill him.”

“I think she would’ve. She had that look when she told me about it. Guess only she knows that. Perhaps she don’t know herself what she would’ve done. Didn’t matter. Clar was too fast for her. He shook the knife from her hand and he dragged her to the lower end of the wharf. He had the scarf around her neck, that’s how he dragged her. Near choked her. She couldn’t sing out, she was clawing at the scarf, and he was dragging her, she couldn’t get on her feet. He had her over the wharf when your mother come out. She heard the dog barking; it woke her up. And that’s when Trapp showed.”

“Trapp. Where the fuck did he come from?”

“He was up at the fire. With Kate. He seen Bonnie coming down the road and followed her. Luck. That’s all it was. Perhaps a bit more than luck—he got his stuff going on, too. When your mother turned on the light over the door, first thing Trapp seen was the knife. He seen what Clar was doing and ran for the knife. Clar come after him, then.”

“Jesus.” Kyle sat down by the wood tier, wrapped his arms around his knees, his legs shaking.

“Fierce,” said his father. “Something fierce.”

“Finish it.”

“No more to it. They fought and—who knows. Trapp says he didn’t mean to—didn’t know he got him till Clar let out that screech. That’s when he fell overboard. That’s when I got there, just as he was falling. I never seen Trapp. Only Clar falling. And Bonnie running. And then your mother.”

“What about the scarf? How did the blood get on it?”

“Don’t know. Might be Clar’s. He had it in his hands. Bonnie said he hauled it from around her throat and went for Trapp. Perhaps he was going to choke him.”

“Jesus, old man.”

“Might be Trapp’s—he got his own hand cut somehow. Stabbed it himself, he thinks. Wicked stuff. Wicked.” Sylvanus hove out a pent-up breath. He dropped his head, rubbing the back of his neck with weariness.

“Take ’er easy, old man. Good thing you never got there, could’ve been a whole lot worse. No sense in blaming yourself for any of that.”

Sylvanus gave him a sharp look. “Don’t you worry now, cocky. I’m done with that, too. Taking on stuff. Like your mother says now, we’re foolish mortals thinking we got all the power over everything. That young fellow out there, he got to figure that one out too. That’s what your mother was doing by not telling—giving him time to figure it out. She owed him that, she said. She might be dead herself and Bonnie with her if he hadn’t happened along.”

“Trapp. He never happened along. He’s been lurking about.”

“That’s it now, he got his stuff going on, like I said. You go on in the house, let your mother tell you that one.”

“Where is he right now?”

“He’s on the run. Go on in, your mother tells you.”

“Tells me what? Go on and finish it, old man. This has been dragged out enough.”

“Another minute won’t hurt. Your mother knows the rest of it better than me.” Sylvanus got up and bent by the wood tier, picking up a few sticks of wood. He looked down at Kyle. “You all right, Kylie?”

“Yeah, sure.” He pulled himself to his feet and walked the length of the shed, hands clasped behind his head, staring at the rafters. “Fucking mess.”

“Soon be over, now. I called the police before I left Corner Brook. We been through hell with this, but no more.” Sylvanus stood up, clutching his armload of wood. “Go in, talk to your mother.”

“Wait. He…Trapp was down by the bar a while ago.”

“I told the police he was in Corner Brook. According to Kate.”

“Kate? What the fuck do she got to do with this?”

“Your mother. Go see your mother.”

Sylvanus vanished out through the door. Kyle bent down, legs still quivering, and picked up a few junks. Outside the shed he watched the darkening clouds descend like a pot cover over the western skyline. A flicker of yellow star lit Kate’s cabin window. He went inside his house. It was lit up like Christmas—hallway lights on, living room lights, kitchen, bedrooms. His mother’s voice was coming from the bedroom, intermingling with Sylvie’s and his father’s. Woodstove cracking like corn popping and sending warmth straight through the rafters. Full. His life felt full again.

Ben came from Addie’s room, eyes stoked with sadness. He sat at the kitchen table, looking out the window at the darkling sea the way Sylvanus did when he was feeling something too deep to figure. Sylvie came in behind him. She looked from Kyle to Ben, dazed and unsure of which one to go to.

“My lord, Ky. You kept all this to yourself, then.” She went to him, put her reedy arms around his waist and held on. Too thin, he thought. She’s too thin. She’s been through it. She pulled away and went and stood behind Ben, leaning herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her cheek against the curls of his bent head. “He’s always done the best he could for Trapp,” she said to Kyle. “You know it, don’t you, Ben? You’ve always done the best for him. Despite all what happened.”

Ben nuzzled his cheek against her hand.

“What all happened?” asked Kyle.

Ben wiped at his eyes, shook his head. “All history, now, b’y. For some of us, anyway. Trapp took a rap for me back in Alberta, few years ago. Drug deal went wrong. My drugs, my fault. He took the rap and done hard time. He was always a bit off, but that took a toll.” He looked at Kyle with a sad smile. “Not one for Mother’s ears.”

“Thought we knew everything around here.”

“There’s the joke. He got worse after the accident. Few breakdowns. Sounds like he’s having another one now. Fun stuff, hey? Christ. Calmer on the diamond fields of Sierra Leone.”

“Trapp always made things harder,” said Sylvie. She looked towards her father who was entering the room. “She all right, Dad?”

“Cup of tea, dolly. I’ll make a pot.” He looked at Kyle, raising his brows in a surly manner. “What’s you keeping her waiting for? She wants to see you.”

Kyle hauled off his coat, tossed it over the back of a chair, and went into his mother’s room. She was lying back on a mound of pillows. Her face was peaked, her eyes feverish. More with excitement, thought Kyle, as she reached for him. Bonnie was hunched over the night table on the far side of the bed, a dozen pill bottles stretched in front of her, writing down information from their labels into a notebook.

He bent, kissed his mother’s cheek.

“Time you shaved,” she said, patting his stubbled chin, and then whispered, her words tight with remorse, “What I just put ye all through. I should’ve told your father.”

“Should’ve told somebody. Christ, Mother.” He gave a relieved laugh and sat in the chair pulled up by her bed. “Why didn’t you? What’s with the secrets?”

He looked at Bonnie accusingly and was instantly apologetic, feeling his past judgment of her.

But her eyes held no resentment. “Wouldn’t be my doing,” she replied firmly.

“She went along because I asked her,” said Addie. “She’s put up with something too, everybody thinking she did it. Her family phoning her, the police. I put all of you through it, didn’t I?” Her face twisted with sudden pain.

“It’s soon time to take your pills,” said Bonnie. “Once the pain starts, it’s no good.” She turned to Kyle. “We have to keep timing her pills so’s to head off the pain, else she’ll be back in the hospital.”

“She’s being a tough nurse,” said Addie through a weak smile. “You tell him, my dear. I saves my breath.”

Bonnie looked at Kyle. “She didn’t tell because she wanted to give Trapp time. He turned himself in to the hospital after—after he done it. The hospital knows him. He’s been there a few times. He gets down. Breakdowns, you know. He told them he was going to kill himself, that’s why they took him right away.”

“Did they know what he done?”

“No. He never told them that.”

“He’s afraid,” said Addie faintly. “He was in jail once and he’s afraid of going back. He’s not thinking straight right now. He’s run off. Kylie, something you need to know. About your friend, Kate.”

“What’s she to do with all of this?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Bit of a shock for you. She’s his mother. Trapp’s mother.”

“What? Jesus, what’re you saying?”

“That’s why we never told the police,” said Bonnie. “Kate asked us not to. She wanted Trapp to get a handle on things. To turn himself in.”

Kyle sat staring at them both in disbelief. “That’s not possible. She’s too young…” I was fourteen when I had him…

“Jesus Christ.” He got up, coiled around his chair, sat back down, fixing his eyes on his mother with astonishment. “You—we—none of us fucking knows who she is—Christ!” He sat back, shaking his head. The psych ward, Kate slumped against the wall: she’d been visiting Trapp. “Why did she keep it a fucking secret? And you, the both of you”—he looked at Bonnie—“involving yourself with her…in something like this? Oh, man!”

“He’s estranged himself from her,” said Addie. “She come here because he was always coming here. To see us. He feels he owes us for Chrissy. He just don’t know what he owes us.”

“But it was self-defence! He’d get off! What’s with all the fucking around? Did he think they’d never catch him?”

“Ky, he’s a sick boy. I was giving his mother a chance to bring him in.”

“His mother! Jesus Christ. She been lying to us for months. Fucking lying! Jesus!”

“It’s a hard one,” said Bonnie.

“Hard. They’ve been putting us through hell.”

“Because you didn’t tell me what you and your father were thinking.”

“Because you didn’t tell us what you were doing!”

Addie sank back on her pillow. “I was asked not to,” she said tiredly. “I didn’t know it was going to turn into all this.”

“He’s all paranoid,” said Bonnie. “Thinks everybody is after him. Kate asked for time to find him. She’s afraid he’ll hurt himself if the police find him first.”

“Small thing to give, isn’t it, a bit of time?” said Addie. “After what we’ve lost?”

He stood again, pacing the room with a growing agitation, then looked back at his mother. “When did Kate come to you?”

“That night. She had followed him.”

“She was here, too? Jesus, half the fucking town was here?”

“Stop your swearing!”

He stopped pacing, surprised by the strength in his mother’s voice. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and sat, fidgeting with his fingers. Bonnie laid a calming hand on Addie’s and looked at Kyle.

“Kate didn’t see anything,” she said. “Trapp fled just as she was getting here. We told her and she ran off, back to her cabin. She was hoping he’d go back there. She was taking it hard and she, well, she just wanted time.” Bonnie shrugged. “Your mother said yes.”

“And you, too.”

“She said she’d explain later. She was pretty much begging us for time. And we gave it to her.”

“She was so upset, Ky,” said Addie. “If it were you, I would’ve asked for the same.”

“She knows it’s wrong not to turn him in,” said Bonnie. “He wasn’t so bad at first. She thought she could get around him. Get him to turn himself in. But he’s after getting sicker. Your father phoned the police after your mother told him.”

“I got to go,” he said, and started from the room.

“Wait, Kyle.”

“Fuck, no. Don’t tell me no more.”

“He needs our help,” said Addie, her voice fading. He turned back, alarmed as she winced, pushing herself up on her pillows.

“Hold on now, my love.” Bonnie was instantly leaning over her, her arm beneath her pillow, raising it a little. “How’s that now? I’m getting your pills ready, we’ll take them now.”

“A minute, just a minute. Kyle, she’s a good soul…”

“Mother, just—Jesus, just take your pills. And stop off worrying. You’ll see to her?” he said to Bonnie and backed out of the room.

His father was pouring tea at the kitchen sink, Sylvia sitting at the table, talking in low tones to Ben.

“What the fuck,” Kyle burst out. “Kate’s his mother? Did you know that, Ben?”

Ben shook his head. “Not till your mother just said. He kept that one secret.”

“That’s it now,” said Sylvanus. “Here, where you going?” Kyle was hauling on his coat and heading for the door. “Wait up there, brother.”

“Waiting no longer, sir.” He reached for the doorknob, pausing as rapid footsteps sounded from the outside.

“Don’t open it, check first,” said Sylvie, getting to her feet. Kyle was already turning the doorknob. He pulled the door open and Kate rushed inside, her wind-blown hair harnessed by her toque, her face flushed, her eyes more feverish than his mother’s.

“He’s going to hurt himself,” she whispered, hands to her mouth in fear. “He’s run off, he’s going to hurt himself. I tried to follow him but he took to the woods.”

Ben shoved back his chair. “Bottom Hill—or in the road?”

“Bottom Hill. He just showed up. I told him the police knew and he panicked and ran off again. He’s scared.”

“I knows where he is,” said Kyle. “He’s up at the old sawmill. I seen he was camping there.”

“You,” said Kate, going to Ben. “You’re Ben? He always talks about you. He loves you. You’re the only one he might listen to. He’s…he’s really paranoid, he’s sick. I don’t want him dragged away like an animal by the police. And he’ll do something, I know he will. I’ve seen him like this before.”

“We’ll find him,” said Sylvanus.

“No, no, just Ben should go.”

“He won’t know I’m there. Kyle, you wait here. Sylvie, close your mother’s door, she don’t need be hearing this.”

“Suppose he’s violent?” said Sylvie. “I’ve seen his temper, and if he’s not in his right mind—”

“We owe him,” said Kate sharply. “He took Clar down. He wasn’t scared that night. He’s scared now. And he needs our help.” She looked at them all, her eyes skimmed with fear.

“We’ll find him,” said Ben. He strode out the door, Kate following him.

“Kyle, watch the house,” said Sylvanus, following outside behind Kate and Ben. Kyle looked at Sylvie. “I’ll just be outside,” he said.

“No, you can’t go too. Someone should be here, in case he comes back.”

“I’ll just be outside. Go sit with Mom.” He flicked on the outside light in the rapidly falling darkness. His father and Ben were rustling through the bushes and vanishing up the path. Kate stood beside the gump, staring after them.

“I apologize for the secrecy,” she said without turning. “I apologize deeply.”

“You could’ve told me.”

“No. I couldn’t. Besides, who would’ve sold their cabin to a Trapp? You already burned us out of town, once.”

“That the only reason you made yourself up?”

“I promised Vernon.” She turned to him, an edge to her voice. “You know what it feels like to grieve a brother, Ky. Well, I’m grieving a son. Weigh that in your heart when you’re judging mine. I’m all he’s got. He’s lost his sense of reality. That makes him the living dead and he’s only got me to fight for him. And he don’t know that because he’s angry with me. Real angry, and he won’t let me help.”

“How come nobody recognized you?”

“I told you, I cut out—long before my family relocated to Jackson’s Arm. And you might say I’ve aged somewhat. You want my sad song, Kyle? I’ve only ever sung it to myself.”

He didn’t want to hear. His anger was comforting. He wanted to walk away from her, just as he’d done to Sylvie all those times she needed to talk, and his mother.

“I understand if you don’t.”

He shrugged. “Pass the time, I suppose.”

“Be mad, Ky. Don’t matter, I did it for him. It’s been three years now since I told him. My mother died a few months after your brother. I went home for her funeral. I seen what he was doing to himself about the accident. His guilt eating him alive. He’s not loved many people, but he liked your brother. I breastfed him, Ky. In dark corners so’s no one would see. Some part of him remembers those moments, his milky mouth suckling. We loved each other. And then I abandoned him. To my abusive father. I’ve had to live with that. Least I know where my pain comes from. He wasn’t allowed that knowing. And so I told him. I thought—well, I thought he’d be open. That it…might bring him comfort. Or something like that. Sure as hell pegged that one wrong. He was disgusted. It felt incestuous to him. I thought he’d be relieved that his father wasn’t his own, he hated him so much. Guess he’s like Clar’s dog, licking the cruel master’s hand. Always sniffing for something that’s not there.”

“The only hand he had, I suppose.”

She turned from him.

“Sorry. Look, you don’t have to tell me this stuff.”

“That’s what I’ve never liked about you, Ky. You never look under rocks, scared something might bite you.”

“I know where my pain comes from, Kate. It’s not always a thinking thing.”

“No. No, it isn’t. But thinking is what brought me here. Knowing he needed to be around your family. Figuring if I put myself closer to you, he might come to me.”

“Is that the only reason you struck up a friendship? Always felt you wanted something.”

“Hey, it was you that kept coming to me. He did, too. Eventually. This is where I needed to be. Perhaps I might’ve told you if you’d asked. Not sure about that. Vernon made me promise not to tell who I was. That’s his thing. Least I could give him—his privacy while he worked things out. Look, I didn’t think it would take so long. He’s a bit like you, there—don’t like looking too deep. I mean that kindly, Ky. I found my son through you. And Clar Gillard.”

He huffed with insolence. “Just how the Jesus do you mean that?”

“Your loneliness. Thinking your pain is something only you can see. I realized Vernon could see mine, too. I think that’s what kept bringing him to me, here in my little cabin. He saw my loneliness. Felt it. Felt it like he felt his own. We were starting to make ground when, well, Clar Gillard happened.”

“And just how does Clar fit in with your lovely little reunion?”

“He was a baby once. Where did his betrayal begin? What awful loneliness is that, killing the ones you love? They’re the disheartened. And the abandoned. In the end, their loneliness is the only thing they’re loyal to. Think of it, Ky. If we can’t figure Clar Gillard, how does that look upon us? We’re as blind he is.” She looked over the darkening sea and towards the moon rising yellow over the hills. Then she looked back at him, wiped at her glasses, pushed them up on her nose as though to see him better. That old expectant look was back in her eyes. She didn’t look like a stranger with that expression, she looked like Kate, searching for something.

“Another song coming, I suppose. The lonely life of the penitent?”

“Why not? Somebody should sing for the lonely. Else theirs would be an unmarked road, and how fair is that? I’ve never lied to you, Ky. Not in my heart. I hope you come to learn that.” She stood before him, unapologetic in her manner, and for the second time that evening he felt the pang of his judgment.

A sound came to them from over by the cliff—a growl, followed by a sharp yap.

“I’d know that yap anywhere,” said Kyle. “You hold on here,” he said to Kate. “I’ll go see.” He let himself over the side of the wharf, boots scrunching through wet pebbles as he made his way across the beach towards the black mass of rock jutting into the sea. The tide was almost in; he’d have to scale around the cliff. He heard Kate’s boots scrunching through the beach rocks behind him.

“The tide’s in, you can’t get around,” he called back. He broke off, hearing the dog bark again. He grasped the rock wall, wet with groundwater leaking down its face from the sods crowning it above. He pulled himself along, the cliff cold, gritty to his hands. His foot slipped on cloven rock and he cursed as water soaked cold through both boots.

The house door opened, and Sylvie called his name. “Where are you? The police called. Ky? Are you there?”

He looked back. Saw her peering around the side of the house, a sweater hugging her shoulders.

“They said they’re coming here. Ky?”

He wanted to shush her, to yell out and reassure her, but he was scared he’d frighten off Trapp, should he hear him. Kate was silent behind him. He looked down. The water was black, smelling of rotting kelp. Another sharp bark and he pressed harder against the rock, inching himself along. He tipped the corner of the cliff wall and stilled. A bit of moonlight filtered through scattering clouds and he saw the dog crouched just ahead of him, where he’d been the morning he stood guard over Clar’s body. He was staring up at the back of the inlet, his fur glistening wet and quivering. The dog sensed his coming and was quiet now, except for a soft mewling in his throat. Kyle looked up. Straight up the rock face. He couldn’t see anything, just black. He tried to get a footing on higher rock, kept slipping back. Up to his ankles in water cold as fuck. He looked up the cliff face again. The old sawmill was just above and he strained to hear Ben’s or his father’s voice. The whoop-whoop of a gull winging past. The clang of a buoy off from Hampden Wharf. A crab scuffling over rocks. Something else—a soft sound—from up above. Something shifting, scratching against the rock. The dog mewled and he hushed it. A flat voice, shivery with cold, perhaps fear, drifted down from the rock face.

“He won’t hurt you.”

His eyes bugged out of his head, trying to see. “Yeah,” he said. “I know. He’s just scared.”

Silence.

“You have a dog?” asked Kyle.

A flat Ha ha. “Naw. No dog for Trappy.”

“You can have this one. He got no home. Driving us nuts,” he added as nothing more came from above. “You want him?”

A shaving of moonlight on the rock wall. Trapp was crouched on a small ledge about forty, fifty feet straight up, roughly six feet down from the top. Bony legs drawn up, bony arms hunched like a stork readying to take flight. Slightest hint of a breeze and he’d blow over.

“Be doing us a favour if you took him. Can’t get rid of him.”

Silence.

“What are you doing up there?”

“Ha ha. What’re you doing down there?”

“Not much. Well. Looking for you, actually.”

“Lots of people looking for Trappy.”

“Sounds like it was an awful night.”

“He wasn’t scared.”

“Who, Clar?”

“He never jumped. Everybody else jumped.”

“Jumped where?”

“Before she blew— We heard the rumbling. Everybody jumped.”

Kyle faltered.

“He never jumped.”

“Yeah.”

“Bad. That was bad.”

“Yeah.”

“Trappy don’t like that one.”

“Sylvie…she said it was awful loud. When it blew.”

Silence.

“All them pipes blowing outta the ground.”

Silence.

“Guess everybody was scared.”

“Trappy still hears them.”

“Sis. She says things happen, hey? That’s what she says.”

“Yeah.”

“True, that. You should come down. Go for a beer?” He was starting to shiver, as much from Trapp’s words as from the iced seawater numbing his feet. He lifted one of his boots, scaling the cliff for a higher footing, but it slid back into the water.

“Who’s there?”

“Just me. Slipped.” He clung to the cliff, hearing movement from above and not daring to inch farther. A minuscule draft of wind might topple that scrawny-shouldered hulk readying for flight. Then he thought of something.

“Hey, my knife. Did you drop it from up there or something?”

“Ha, ha.”

“You dropped it? Were you hiding it up there?”

“Till I dropped it, ha ha.”

“Why didn’t you put it in the shed or someplace?”

“Too many coppers.”

“It was self-defence, man. My father—he’s already told the police. They knows it was self-defence. Come down, hey? We can talk about it if you want.”

“He wasn’t scared.”

He forced his tongue to move. “Hey, b’y. Me, I’m scared all the fucking time.”

“Feels bad about it.”

“Yeah.”

“Real bad.”

“We moves on, hey?”

“Yeah. Trappy’s moving on.” He rose, hunched shoulders lifting into wings.

“Wait. Hey. Just…just a minute. I think I hears Ben. He come here, looking for you. You know that? Ben’s here looking for you. He’s—he’s eager to see you, man. Came all the way from Corner Brook. Let’s go find him, what do you say? Look, what do you say? We go find Ben, uh?” He stumbled for words, his fingers feeling like ice sticks clinging to the rock. He started quivering, water icing his legs. “You want to come down? Getting cold here. Like to go for a beer?”

A whisper from behind. Kate. “I’m going up there. Tell Ben where he is.”

“Who’s that?” Trapp’s voice was tinged with alarm.

“The dog, man. Was talking to the dog. He’s c-cold. Starting to shiver myself. Ha ha.” He paused, a small wavelet brushing up past his shins. Be another ten minutes before the inlet filled with water and it still wouldn’t cushion a jump. “I talked to the p-police. The sergeant, he’s a f-fat old fellow, MacDuff. Wants a meal of squid. Thought we’d all go jigging next month, hey? Bring him a couple dozen. Me and Ben. You want to come? Take some squid to the old fellow?”

Nothing from above. Kyle strained to hold on. If he fell, he’d be stiffer than Clar within three minutes in that ice bucket. “What’re you at, man? Let’s g-go. Find Ben.”

“Who’s there?”

“Just me. The dog.”

“Up there. There’s somebody up there. Who’s up there?”

“That’s probably Ben.”

“Ben?”

“Yeah. He’s looking for you. I told you. Wants to have a beer.”

“Shhh.”

“It’s just Ben,” whispered Kyle.

Ben’s voice, soft and easy and a bit jokey, floated down from above. “What the fuck you doing down there? Look at him, a fucking bird. What’re you after smoking now?”

“Ha ha. Benji boy.”

“Get up here, you silly fuck.”

“Ha ha.”

“What’s so ha ha funny? Get the Jesus up here.”

A mewl. Like that of the dog. He was crying.

“Move over, bud. I’m coming down.”

“Not going to jail, Benji.”

“Jail. They’re planning parties for you, you silly nit. Aww, Christ, hold on, I can’t get down there. You gotta come up, buddy.”

“Ha ha.”

“Come on, b’y.”

“He was hurting her.”

“You stopped it. Self-defence. No jail, I promise you this time. No jail.”

“Not going back, Benji.”

“That’s what I just said, you silly fucker. What part you not getting? We just sign some papers, self-defence. You want me to yodel it to you?”

“Ha ha.”

“Come on, man. Come on up, it’s cold. Let’s go get a beer. Come on, let’s go get a beer.”

“Katie? Is Katie there? I heard Katie.”

“She’s here. You want her?”

“Verny? It’s…it’s me.”

“I’m scared, Katie.”

“I’m not. I’m not scared. I’m staying with you this time. And the dog. We’ll take him too, if you want. We can keep him at the cabin till we fix things.”

“There you go, bud,” said Ben. “You got yourself a dog. Come on, now. See my hand? Take it, buddy.”

“Ha ha, Benji boy.”

“Stop calling me fucking Benji, you sounds like Mother.”

“Came out to see you, Benji.”

“Well get up here, then. Let’s go get a beer.”

“Not going back, Benji.”

“No, boy, I told you. You’re not going to jail. We got it all covered, she’s good, man. Come on up, now. Take my hand.”

Kyle was staring hard. He could see Trapp’s dark, hunched figure. He saw him move a bit to the right, away from Ben.

“Come on, buddy. Take my hand. Been too long, I miss you, buddy.”

Soft mewls. He was crying again.

“Nothing’s going to happen. You done a good thing, man, you did a good thing.”

“Ben?”

“I’m right here, bud. See my hand? Take my hand.”

“Not going to jail, Benji boy.”

“Take my fucking hand, Trapp!”

“Not going.”

“Vernon!” It was Sylvanus. His voice deep, strong. “Come on up now, my son. Been enough suffering. Come on up. It’s all over now.”

Kyle scarcely breathed, watching Trapp’s shoulders rise, lean forward. He wanted to yell out, couldn’t, held on to his father’s voice unfurling like a strong rope down the cliff. “Come on, my son. You hearing me, Vernon? I’m making my way down. My young fellow up there, he don’t want this. No rest for him till we’re all resting here. No more suffering. I’ll not take no more suffering over this. You see my hand? Take my hand, now.”

The clouds scuttered; a blue light gleamed off black rock. Trapp stood with his head drawn back into his shoulders, his arms stretching out. Something moved to his left. He let out a sharp cry, a hand appearing out of the dark, reaching for him, reaching. “Take my hand, son. I can’t stretch any farther. Take my hand. Take my hand, now. He wants you to take my hand.” A cry from Trapp. A hurting cry and another, cut short. And he hung there, like a bird frozen in flight. The hand stretched farther, then farther, and Kyle sucked in his breath with fear that his father would tumble down the rock face. His fingers touched Trapp’s, and then locked themselves around his wrist. “You’re cold, my son. Let’s go, now. We’ve got a fire going. Come on, now.”

The breath left Kyle. He watched as Trapp’s thin body, like a stickman shadow up there on the cliff, reached with his other hand onto his father’s. He climbed slowly, his legs cramped no doubt, as were Kyle’s, and frozen. Trapp’s legs vanished out of sight, Sylvanus’s voice fading, Ben’s taking over.

“Christ almighty, skin and bones. What’re you eating, putty from the windows? Not skinny, is he—see the sin on his soul. Look, you’re shivering, you’re freezing, here b’y. Take my coat, take my coat, put it on.” Ben’s words faded, Kate’s sounded over them, none of them audible, fading with the wind.

Kyle shivered uncontrollably. He turned, starting back around the cliff. His fingers too stiff to curl around the rock ledges. His feet frozen pods that kept tripping over cloven rock and sinking into the water. The dog had slipped into the ocean and was swimming alongside. They both reached around the other side of the cliff and Kyle saw the brown rental driving off from the wharf. He walked across the beach and climbed onto the wharf, his legs stiffer than two flagpoles. Sylvanus was standing near the house, watching the car vanishing up ahead.

“Where they taking him?” asked Kyle.

His father started. “Just about to come for you. To the hospital. They’ll phone the police from there.”

“No need,” said Kyle. A police cruiser was coming down the road. He stood there with his father, waiting till it hauled up alongside and MacDuff painfully climbed out of the car, wiping his nose with a towel-sized handkerchief. Canning remained behind the wheel.

“Time I gave this up,” said MacDuff, pocketing his handkerchief and tipping his hat to Kyle and Sylvanus. “We talked to your daughter,” he said to Sylvanus. “She said Vernon Trapp was here.”

“He was,” said Sylvanus. “But he’s gone now. He’s at the hospital in Corner Brook. He’s a sick boy, but…got a feeling he’ll be all right.”

“How did he get to the hospital?”

“His mother took him.”

“Mother?”

“Kate Mackenzie,” said Kyle. “He’s in good form. He’ll be cooperating from now on.”

MacDuff looked at Kyle. He looked at Sylvanus. He looked at the dog, sitting by the door as though guarding it. “Nice work,” he said, looking back at father and son again. “How long have they been gone?”

Sylvanus looked up at the stars. Kyle shook his head.

“Hard to say,” said Sylvanus. “They’ll phone you from the hospital. Sure thing.”

MacDuff returned to the car, leaning in through the window and saying something to Canning, who immediately started talking into his radio phone.

“Found you some dried squid,” said Kyle as MacDuff made his way back. “When things clear up, me and Verny will drop them off.”

“Verny?”

“Alias Vernon Trapp.”

“He’s going to get off, right?” asked Sylvanus. “It was self-defence, that’s pretty clear.”

“I can’t answer that, sir. I just sent a car to the hospital. There’ll be an assessment by his doctors. See whether he can stand trial.” MacDuff turned to Kyle. “Where did you find the knife?”

“Verny left it where he knew I’d find it.”

“Why did you cement it in?”

Kyle looked at his father, shrugged. “Never know the mind of a squid.”

“Hey?”

Sylvanus blew out a weighty breath. “Get to bed,” he snarked at Kyle. “Else you’ll be squirting like one. Will he need a lawyer?” he asked MacDuff.

“He killed a man, he’ll need a lawyer. We’ll let the courts decide if it was self-defence. We’ll be going now.” He turned back to his car, then paused. “How’s Mrs. Now?”

“She’d be offering you tea if she knew you were here.”

“Well, we won’t put her through that. Some other time, perhaps, sir.”

“Some other time, sir.”

MacDuff tipped his hat again.

“A second,” said Kyle. “The glove thing. Why were you wanting to know if we wore mitts that night? What the fuck was that all about?”

“Ah.” MacDuff went over to the front of the house and bent, peering closely at the clapboard. Then he moved to the door. “It’s gone now,” he said. “The rain took it. But there were blots of blood on the clapboard, and then on the framing, here by the doorknob. No prints. Like someone had fallen, caught themselves with a mitted or gloved hand. I figured it out eventually.” He looked at the dog, flopped down on all fours by the gump. “He must have had Mr. Gillard’s blood on his paws. He must have leaped at the house at some point during that night, got some blood on it. Only thing I can figure.”

Kyle looked at his hands, remembered the dream he’d had that night of the killing. About a dolphin and a dog barking, its nails scampering over his hand. Clar’s blood. He hadn’t drooled on his hand, it was Clar’s blood.

“Did you know who done it?” he asked MacDuff.

“I knew it was squirrelled somewhere amongst you. Truth always comes out—just got to probe a bit, be a little patient. Good evening, then.” He lowered himself slowly into his car, then looked up at Sylvanus. “I’m thinking of buying a cabin in on Faulkner’s Flat, not far from Rushy Pond. What’s the fishing like?”

“I knows a few spots.”

“Roger that.” MacDuff drew his legs in and hauled the door shut. Canning pulled the car around and Kyle stood there with his father, watching the cruiser drive off. Sylvie swung open the door.

“Somebody just called for you, Ky.” She peered after the police car. “Is everything fixed up?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Who called?”

“A girl. Jewels? Whoa.” Kyle was brushing past her. “She’s not there now, I told her to call back.”

“What the hell you tell her that for?”

“I could’ve said nothing, I suppose. Hung up on her.”

“When did she call?”

“About ten minutes ago. She’s at the bar.”

The bar. He was inside the house now, looking at the clock. Ten past eight. He went into the washroom and skimmed off his wet clothes and scalded himself beneath the shower. He wrapped a towel around himself and went to his room, water streaming down his face from his soggy head. Bonnie was in there, hauling the blankets off his bed.

“What the fuck?”

“You’re on the couch tonight,” she said, stripping off his sheets. “And the rest of the week, most likely.”

Jaysus. “Mind if I get some clothes?”

“As long as you changes in the washroom.”

Jaysus. He bent, fumbling through his bottom drawer.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hay’s for horses.” He stopped fumbling and looked at her. “Sorry.”

She nodded, studied the sheets in her hands. “Something I want to say. If you don’t mind.”

“Sure.”

“Why I kept going back. I know you wants to know that.”

“No. Hey, that’s fine.”

“I thought if I loved him enough, it might catch hold of him. That he’d grow a heart. That’s what I always thought.”

“Right. Fine, then.”

“Like the Tin Man. Remember him?” she said to his blank look. “From Oz.”

“Right. You still thinking that?”

She shrugged. “Don’t matter. Just thought I’d tell you.”

“Hey, why not? Lion Man here, he’s trying to grow himself some courage.”

She smiled, small even teeth, first time he’d seen them. Nice smile, softened her face. He stood there, looking at her smile. She took it as though he were waiting for more from her. “I got tired, always giving,” she said with a shrug. “Started giving to myself. That’s why he tried to kill me, your mother says. Aside from his dog, I was the only thing loyal to him. Guess even he needed somebody.” A shadow flickered across her face, the ghost of Clar Gillard. She chased it away with another smile that brightened her eyes and he saw her triumph. Whatever battles she’d fought with Clar Gillard, she’d defeated him before the knife found its mark.

He started feeling awkward standing there, his clothes bundled before him, and backed out the door. “Question,” he said, pausing. “Why’re you so taken with my mother?”

She was billowing a clean sheet over the mattress. “She don’t see me as Jack Verge’s daughter. Grab that end, will you?”

He stepped back to the bed, pulled the corner end of the sheet over the mattress, and backed out of the room for the second time. “Stay to the inside,” he said, pointing to the bed. “Killer spring on the outside, here.”

He went back to the washroom, dressed, and hurried down the hallway. Sylvie was talking with their mother in her room. He snuck past the door, not wanting any more delays, and booted it outside. Eight-thirty, eight-thirty, it was still early, she’d still be at the bar. He rounded the corner, wondering where his father was, and near tripped over him. Hove off by the side of the house, feet propped up on the gump, ruffling the ears of the dog splayed out beside him. His father was smiling. He was gazing up and smiling at the cloudy night. He looked like an old sailor who’d weathered a great storm and was now safely anchored to a pier of his own making.

“Turn on the light or something, old man. Near bloody tripped over you.”

“Think now, I’m scared of the dark like you?”

“I could’ve been a bear for all you know.”

“That’s just it now, you’re supposed to smell the bear before he smells you.”

“That’s just it now, and suppose your nose is plugged. You have a cheery evening now.”

“Where you going?”

“Fishing.”

—

He started up through the shortcut, pushing aside limbs and branches. Trail needed trimming. He took up whistling as he passed the old sawmill. It was quiet. The wind showered through the trees and something creaked from behind him. Jaysus. A shiver rode down his spine. He flailed the rest of his way up the path and out onto Bottom Hill. Widen that fucking path, tomorrow. The wind had picked up, clearing a star-pricked sky. Hampden windows lit yellow through the dark. The moon’s broadening smile rose above the hills and glimmered amongst stars that were mostly dead and yet whose lights still shone through the eternal sky. He showed his fist to the proud evening star. “I’m taking her fishing,” he yelled. “Screw you, buddy, barring me in the haunted house!” And then he near tripped, face aghast—it winked at him. Swear to Jesus, the star winked at him…