CHAPTER 9

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“WHY DO BUILDINGS burn down?”

St. Margaret’s was a white church, inside and out. White siding, white walls, white cushions on the hard pews. Even the roof was off-white. It had been around a long time, but in other incarnations. It had burnt down twice since the gold miners first built it.

“I told you to behave.” Mamma’s hissing aggravated Elena’s eardrum. “Nobody wants to hear about burning buildings right now.”

Today was a serious day, and Mamma’s face was solemn, her hair pinned neatly to the back of her head. She patted down the butterfly collar on Elena’s cotton dress and the three of them sat uneasily in their pew. Mamma made Rob wear a tie. He kept tugging at it. Elena wondered if it was horribly uncomfortable, like an itchy sweater. She nudged him, but he wouldn’t look at her. She knew he was thinking about Dad.

Elena sensed eyes settling on her. She turned around and stared back. They were pitying her because her dad was missing. They didn’t know him like she did, so they didn’t know he was fine. Her nights were restless as she fought off the horrors her mind conjured up, but during the day it was easier to convince herself they weren’t true.

The pews were hard even with the thin white cushions on top of them. Elena wriggled. Mamma reached out and held her hand firmly. Her hand was cold, so Elena wrapped both of her own around it to warm it up. Mamma almost smiled.

Elena hadn’t wanted to attend the memorial service. The explosion was everywhere. Every conversation, every news report was littered with reminders that Dad wasn’t there to hold her or explain things. That morning she’d complained of having a headache but Mamma ignored her whining.

No one knew yet exactly what had caused the explosion, or they weren’t telling. A group of older kids who were hanging out at the park said some people’s skin came off like layers of clothing, and one man lost his sight and another died when a wall crushed him. With each new rumour, she wondered if her dad was part of that. Had he felt it? Had he seen it? Two died; then four, then five, until Dad was the only one still missing. They’d found the remains of all the others in the mill. She’d heard the teenagers talking about one guy had to be identified by his teeth because his whole body had burnt up. Maybe Dad’s teeth were in there too and the firefighters hadn’t found them yet. Elena tried to push her mind away from the awful thoughts. Anyway, he must’ve got out. They’d found his truck.

Elena looked back at her brother. He was rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, casually, but his eyes were red. He had barely eaten or slept since the explosion. Elena never lost her appetite and wondered if that meant she was a bad person.

“Such a terrible tragedy,” an old lady murmured to them as she squeezed in at the end of their pew. Mamma um-hummed politely as she shuffled closer to Elena, who was jammed into Rob. Elena looked back at the stuffed pews and the line of people still trying to make their way in. The whole community was inside the church or waiting to enter. Their bodies dripped sweat and service cards fanned glistening skin and puffy eyes.

Gathering in the pews at the very front were the families of the men that had died. It was hard for Elena to understand the weight of their sadness. One woman was crying so hard she was hiccupping. The woman beside her took the baby out of her arms to help calm its wailing.

When the church got so crammed that people were clogging up the aisle and there was still a queue trailing out of the door, somebody important decided they needed to find a bigger space. The swollen congregation emptied into the neighbouring park. Out there, a light breeze touched their faces and gently nudged clouds across the sky. It dispersed the sounds of movement and chatter and sadness so that the gathering seemed more peaceful. Elena spotted Logan with his mother and tried to rush over to him, but Mamma held her arm. “Not now,” she said softly.

Men talked. Religious men, chiefs, a politician, the brother of one of the deceased. A silver-haired man from the mill company told them all he wasn’t going to rest until the disaster was fully investigated. Elena saw his car heading out of town minutes after his speech.

The mayor and the local councillors were all there. A blonde-haired woman locked eyes on Elena. She wore a sharp black suit and was Stapleton’s only female councillor but Elena didn’t know her name. She came into the café sometimes and ordered a coffee with something sweet, which Ken served with a miniature fork. Everyone else just used their fingers. The councillor kept staring at her, not in a particularly friendly or even pitying way. Elena felt awkward so she slipped around the other side of Mamma.

Brandon was standing nearby, one hand wrapped in a bandage that disappeared up his long-sleeved shirt. He was calm now, not like the night he’d knocked on their door, smothered by ash and shock. He was holding a young woman’s hand. Elena thought about asking Mamma if she was his girlfriend but Mamma probably didn’t know or care and she’d just get shushed again.

Brandon looked directly into Elena’s inquiring eyes. He’d caught her staring at him and she smiled awkwardly and looked away. When she glanced back the grief on his face made her look away for good.

Elena didn’t know who Peter Bernier was, not when Mamma had softly mentioned his death earlier in the week, and not when the mayor read out the names of the dead men. She didn’t make the connection between Peter Bernier and Pete, Logan’s dad, until the mayor talked about Peter Bernier, loving father and loyal friend and she saw Logan’s mom flee the crowd on unsteady legs.

Elena couldn’t remember a time when Logan was a Bernier. He was a Kerr now, like his stepdad. Logan leaned into Mr. Kerr’s arm. His step-brother Taylor stood on the other side of him. Logan spotted Elena and he stared right through her. No one held her back this time or told her not to go to him, she didn’t move. She couldn’t.

The first day of the school year was delayed until after the memorial service. Mamma snapped a couple of barrettes onto Elena’s hair and kissed her forehead. When she stepped out of the door, Mamma grabbed hold of her hand as if she wasn’t going to let go.

Elena’s class had a new teacher, Miss Meyer, who wore long cardigans and skirts that fluttered around her ankles. Her frizzy curls bounced when she moved and she spoke softly about finding peace and love even during times of crisis. She was very young and she wasn’t from the area, and if the explosion had never happened, that would have been enough to make her the talk of the café.

“We don’t always get a chance to say goodbye,” Miss Meyer murmured when Elena asked where Logan was. He wasn’t in her class and she couldn’t find him in the playground at break time. Elena was sure her new teacher had misunderstood. Logan had been her friend since kindergarten. He’d be back as soon as he was feeling better.

“Curtis? Are you home?”

Mamma called for him every time they returned to the empty house. Elena wanted her to stop. She made it sound like he’d just nipped out to get something, as if they’d see his shaved head pop around the kitchen doorway and he’d say: “I’m back now! I’m fine.” As if his absence didn’t hurt. The only reply was from the humming refrigerator.

Mamma used to be the first one up in the morning but now she often stayed in bed until almost midday. Rob said she wasn’t sleeping at night so they should be quiet in the mornings.

Mamma used to make them a special breakfast on Saturdays. French toast or eggs and bacon. Rob scowled as he scraped the burnt bits off his toast. Then he slathered blueberry jam onto the salvaged remnants. Elena tiptoed around him and made her own breakfast, smearing her bread with peanut butter and honey. He snapped at her for using his knife. She sat opposite him and quietly ate her toast while he stared at his.

“Why won’t he just come home?” Rob said.

“Maybe he can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Elena didn’t have an answer but knew he’d come home if he could. Something was stopping him. Or maybe someone. A dangerous someone. Or someone that Frank knew. Or Frank himself.