Peter stared out of the passenger window at the jammed traffic on the motorway. Miles of oversized cars were plodding down the highway like dinosaurs. Uncle Ken looked straight ahead at the queue in front of his SUV.
‘I shoulda gone to the funeral,’ he said. There was something tight in his voice, as if he were going to cry. ‘I regret that now. And I ain’t just saying that because you’re here.’
On the opposite carriageway, Peter watched as a black diplodocus nearly collided with a shiny blue stegosaurus.
‘She was my only sister.’
Uncle Ken wiped his nose with the palm of his hand sideways, to make it seem like the casual brushing away of some dust or a bug. ‘I shoulda gone.’
Peter’s bus to Yellow Lake would be leaving in a few minutes. Ken had bought the ticket online – his treat, he said, because he felt so bad about not driving Peter there himself. The trip would take all day. He’d need to ride to Duluth, then cut back to Hayward, and over to some other little towns that had ‘Lake’ in the name. Once he got to Welmer, he’d be able to get a lift out to the cabin. Duane at the grocery store owed Ken a favour. All Peter had to do was ask.
Ken turned off the cross-town freeway and drove down a quieter local road, lined with small wooden houses fronted with neatly-mown lawns and small flower beds.
‘Sure you can’t wait till next week? I got a couple days of leave owing. I could drive you up. Wouldn’t be any big deal.’
Peter looked at Ken and sighed.
‘By then I’ll be back in England.’ He was getting good at this, making up rubbish on the spur of the moment. ‘Start of the school term. New beginnings. All that.’
They got to the bus station, just as the Duluth bus pulled in.
Uncle Ken took a map out of the glove compartment and showed him the route, tracing the bus ride with his finger. Highway sixty-one, then down onto thirty-five, then county roads named with letters, not numbers.
‘A couple years ago they changed our road from D to DD,’ Ken said. ‘Your mom thought that was real funny. Like the road was getting a boob job or something.’
Ken’s voice got tight again. He sniffed a couple of times.
‘Now you got the keys, right?’ Ken wiped his nose, getting straight back to business.
‘I’ve got the keys.’
They got out of the car and Ken hoisted Peter’s holdall out of the boot
‘And you sure you don’t want to take my cell phone? Piss-poor reception up there, but still. . .’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘I know it’s a pretty tame place – you won’t have any trouble – but call me from the landline soon as you get to the cabin, OK?’
They joined the huddle of passengers waiting for the bus driver to finish his cigarette. Ken patted Peter’s shoulders, and then gave him another lung-clearing hug.
‘Your mom loved that cabin. It always was more hers than mine.’
The driver flicked his cigarette butt onto the tarmac and crushed it with his foot. He closed the door to the luggage hold, sold a ticket to a mother with two young children. Ken and Peter had time for a final hand-shake while the driver opened the door and started the engine.
‘Listen. I haven’t been to Yellow Lake for a while,’ Ken said. ‘Couple of years. I don’t really have the inclination to go any more. Duane checked up on it for me this summer, but, well, the cabin might be looking kinda run-down is all.’
The driver revved the engine and Peter stepped onto the bus.
‘Just to warn you,’ Uncle Ken said.