I was staring at the lake from my usual lookout in the rocking chair beside the big picture window. The little planes were coming and going, trying not to make a noise. The condo dwellers were always listening, always poised to raise a stink if they should hear airplane sounds coming from an airport.
It was a windy day in late spring, but there were a few early sailboats out riding waves about a metre high. It was one of those days when Mom would squint into the wind and say we might as well go in. Always, when she saw whitecaps, We might as well go in. The poor critters will still be in the traps tomorrow.
I couldn’t remember the last time I was on a boat. Strange, I thought. I was really good at driving a boat. And good at getting around on board. Even in the shitty weather, I was like everybody else. As Mom would say, When the water’s rough, everyone is lame.
I was glad that Allan saw me drive the boat. I think he was impressed that I was good at something.
Mom would never tell me I was good, but I could tell she too admired the way I handled it. The way I read the wind and worked with the tide when we were in the harbour. The way I let the boat and Mother Nature have their way in the channel, and how I knew when to make the subtle mechanical adjustments that we all could live with, me and Mom and Nature and the boat.
The fishermen would all tell me: You can’t fight Mother Nature, boy. She’ll kill you if you try.
It struck me like a fist, sitting in that rocking chair.
I’m going home.
Annie rubbed my shoulders.
–How are you today, Byron?
–Good as gold, I said.
She laughed.
–You are indeed.
–Were you able to make head or tail out of that thing I gave you? That whatchamacallit?
–The whatchamacallit. Thumb drive.
–Yes.
–Yup. We made head or tail of it for sure.
–Now what?
–Now nothing.
She was studying me. She was uncertain, possibly for the first time in our lives. Uncertain what was in my mind. If anything.
–Good, I said. I’m glad things got sorted out.
–You don’t remember where you got that?
–Got what?
–The thumb drive.
I shrugged.
–It was in a pocket.
She came around and crouched in front of me, clasped my hand. She was really giving me the eye.
–No clue, eh? It just showed up in a pocket? Like the fairies put it there.
–Allan must have given it to me. It’s the only explanation. When or where is anybody’s guess. What did you do with it?
–I made a proposition to the Crown. It was like they were waiting for it. Go figure.
–Proposition to do what?
She just stared, a smile spreading.
–You’re crazy, Byron. Like I am.
–I wouldn’t know about that. Where did Peggy get to?
–She didn’t tell you? She’s moving back to her own place.
–Oh.
–Yes. We’ll miss her.
–What’s she going to do?
–I’m not sure. I’m not sure what any of us will do. What are you going to do, Byron?
She mussed my hair and laughed the way she hadn’t laughed in years.
–I’m going home, I said.
–Sure you are, she said.
She laughed again, lightly. Her sexy laugh. She walked away. I watched her, thinking of an expression Mom would use. She sauntered.
At security, the guy was holding up my backpack.
–Whose is this?
–It’s mine, I said.
–Do you mind opening it?
–No problem.
I unzipped it and held it open.
–What’s in the box?
–Human remains, I said.
–I thought so.
–Is that a problem?
–No. It’s just that it has to go through on a different tray. By itself.
–Sure.
I lifted Allan out of the backpack and handed him to the security officer, who was wearing elastic gloves. He walked away briefly, then returned with Allan sitting on a tray that looked just like all the other trays. I watched as Allan and his tray disappeared into the X-ray machine.
–What’s special about that tray?
–I have no idea, the guy said. It’s just the one we always use.
–You get a lot of dead people coming through?
–More than you think.
–So, it’s kind of like a little hearse, the special tray.
–You got it. This person someone close to you?
–Yes. Very.
Before I turned the phone off on the plane, I saw the text: Where are you Byron? We’re worried.
I texted back: I told you, heading home. Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch.
I spent two days in Halifax. I spent an hour, one afternoon, on the bridge. The Angus L., they call it. Interesting, I thought. My uncle, the bridge and I, all called Angus. It’s not such a bad name. I peered over the side. There was a tugboat passing underneath. There was a ferry, bucking whitecaps as it crossed the harbour. The bridge was rattling with passing cars, sounding almost flimsy.
The water, even from where I was standing, high above it, chilled me. My stomach shrivelled. I could feel pressure in my bowels. Acrophobia. I’ve heard it isn’t so much a fear of heights as it is an irrational fear of the urge to jump. Eternity, right there before my eyes. Answers to so many impossible questions. Tempting.
I had a sudden urge to piss. Strange how, every time I feel anxiety, that’s my natural reaction. I looked both ways. Nobody in sight. I unzipped and let it flow. I watched the wind unravel the unsteady stream, dispersing droplets in all directions.
I relaxed.
I tried to imagine my uncle standing here, but I couldn’t picture him. He couldn’t have been more dead.
How totally fucked up would you have to be to…
Man. That poor bastard.
We’re almost there, sonny. Darned zipper. Hang on. You can do it.
I zipped up and walked on.
I bought a truck while I was in Halifax. A Ford. F-150. I’m going to be a country boy again. I felt half the age I really am, just driving off the lot behind the wheel of that pickup truck that smelled just like the showroom where I found it.
I stopped in my driveway and I felt the crystals or whatever. Definitely something lurking in the land. Most likely in the rock below the thin topsoil that nourished so many generations for so many years, stingy and impoverished though it was.
When I got inside, I placed Allan on the guest room windowsill where he could see everything. I could almost hear his voice: Sure hasn’t changed much since I was here last. That would have been for Mom’s funeral.
And he did come all the way for my college graduation. May 1982, it was. He roared down the lane in a two-tone Mustang, black and yellow. Said he drove straight through from Toronto. Sixteen hours. Stopping only for a coffee and a stretch.
–You were flying, man.
–Found a shortcut through the Miramichi, straight to Moncton. Bypassed all the trucks between Edmundston and Fredericton. Saved two hours.
–I thought you were a fan of trucks.
–Not when I’m stuck behind one in a hot rod on a sunny day.
Though it was graduation day, Mom and I still had to haul the traps as usual. It was too nice a day not to go out. The night before, Allan and I had gone to town just to see the action. It was like Mardi Gras, streets teeming with students and their friends and families.
Allan knew we couldn’t stay out late. Mom and I were determined to be on the water by five. He was okay with that.
–I might go out with you, in the morning, he said.
–Neat. I’ll find you something warm to wear. Some of the old man’s coats and sweaters are still around. He was about your size.
–If I’m not up when you’re leaving, don’t bother waking me.
Before we’d turned in that night, I said,
–Just think, if you’d stayed on at the books, we’d both be celebrating now.
–But we are celebrating, he said.
–What are you celebrating, Allan?
–Same as you, Byron. Life. And the time we have and the freedom to make something out of it.
He wasn’t up when Mom and I went out the next morning.
The sun rose slowly. The sky turned magenta then pink, and the night retreated and the day took over all the land behind us, the sea around us. The other fishing boats materialized. Running lights, little dots of red or green, took on dark shapes and we were soon waving at people we knew bobbing in the near distance.
Halfway through the haul, Mom poured coffees from our Thermoses. I was on the wheel as usual.
–So. Today’s the big day, she said.
–Feels like any other day.
–He’d have enjoyed being here, your dad.
–I imagine.
–He had high hopes.
–We never talked much about school or anything.
–He did, though, just the same. He had high hopes.
Allan was at the stove when we came in, the house full of the smell of bacon and toast and coffee.
–I took the liberty, he said.
–God bless you, said Mom.
He poured hot coffee.
–I figured you’d be hungry. I wanted to go with you. But I just couldn’t get my aging body out of the sack.
He grinned and shrugged.
–It’s how I feel every morning, but there you go, said Mom.
–The will is strong, but the flesh is weak, he said.
–You can say that again, said Mom.
Later, when he was in the shower, she said, That’s a fine young man there, your friend.
Spring is usually just a concept here. We can have snowstorms in May. It’s a bonus for the fishermen if May is gentle, and this one was. The mornings were cold and damp, but the winds were light and by noon the air was warm enough to permit a pleasant walk with a Thermos full of coffee through the fields, toward the shore.
I wasn’t hearing much from the women in Toronto. They were creating a new accounting partnership, hunting for some office space. I got the sense that they were relieved to be on their own, free of Allan and our mysteries, free of spooky Russians and their intrigues. I assumed that Nick was back where he belonged. The Excited States, as I liked to think of it.
Then Annie called.
After some small talk, she said,
–Listen, Byron, one day soon I’d like to discuss a business proposition.
–Any time you’re ready, I said.
–I think you have the right idea. It’s time to go home. This place is unaffordable and almost unlivable.
–I hear you. How does Peggy feel about this?
–It’s always been her plan. To go home. Eventually.
–Yes. She mentioned something once. We were on the boat.
–A summer day.
–Yes. A perfect summer day. You mentioned business.
–Just a thought. Maybe the three of us, in a little practice. Simple stuff. Wills, deeds, uncomplicated taxes.
–You really think Peggy’s up for this?
–I’ll find out. But you think about it.
And I did, for days. I thought about it. And about how we remember and how, sometimes mercifully, we don’t remember.
How we forget. How we forgive.
I bumped into Shirley again, while on a grocery shopping trip in town. This time she seemed keen for tea and a little chat.
–Do you ever hear from Annie?
–Well, of course. We’re still married, you know.
–Well, thank God, she said. I didn’t like to ask.
–You can ask me anything, Shirley.
Her eyes grew misty. She grabbed her teacup, met my eyes over the top of it, then dropped her eyes and sipped.
–You know, when you were younger, you looked just like your uncle. He was very good-looking.
–I don’t remember anything about him, I said.
She put the cup down. I reached across and caught her hand.
She wouldn’t look at me. Then,
–He would never have harmed anybody. Certainly not you.
I just nodded.
–I think there was something in that old barn. Something evil. Something that got into everybody.
–Maybe.
–Your mom thought so. She said the devil lived out there. She even mentioned calling in the exorcist. The diocese had one then, you know.
–But Dad did the job himself. The exorcism. Burned the devil out.
–Maybe. But sometimes the devil isn’t so easy to get rid of.
She seemed to drift away for a minute. Then she said,
–I should have stopped poor Angus. Before he went to Halifax.
–You couldn’t have known the future.
–Yeah. But I did. I knew.
The waiter came with the coffee pot. We shook our heads simultaneously. He walked away. She breathed deeply and sighed and then smiled.
–He wanted to marry me, you know.
I just stared.
–He told me we’d get married when he came back from the city. He didn’t want me to be hurt by all the crazy talk. He said we should wait until everything blew over. But I knew it. I knew he wasn’t coming back.
–I’m sorry about all this, Shirley.
–And I just let him go.
She caught my hand.
–He was a little bit different, is all.
–Yes.
–Some things we just can’t do anything about.
We finished our coffees, said our goodbyes, and I watched her walk away. I know she was significantly younger than my mother, but somehow she seemed so much older.
I told the real estate guy that maybe it was time to list the farm. Leave all the devils in the past.
–I suppose you’ll be looking for something in town. I can watch for a nice single-family place on one of the older streets. Something quiet.
–As a complete hypothetical, what would be the chance of something a little bit more spacious than a single-family?
–How spacious are you thinking?
–Say, something that would accommodate three seniors with enough space to keep them out of each other’s hair. And maybe room to run a small business. And maybe, down the road, some live-in help.
–Small business, eh.
–Say a law office and a couple of accountants.
He laughed.
–You’d probably have to build something.
I laughed too.
–Keep your eyes open, I said.
The next time she called, Annie seemed distressed.
–Everything okay?
–I talked to Peggy. I don’t think she’s ready. I was surprised.
–Ready?
–To go back home.
She sighed.
–I thought it just made sense, moving back. But Peggy is in her own space these days. The shock of what she went through, it’s a big adjustment. So she just wants to put everything on hold for now.
–Of course.
–She’s going to need me for a while. You know Peggy.
–I do. I understand completely.
–But I’ll be there when you need me.
–I know you will, Annie. I know.
–You stay in touch, now.
–Goodbye, Peggy.
–Byron? Are you sure you’re okay?
–Why do you ask?
–You just called me Peggy.
–I didn’t.
–You did.
–Sorry.
–By the way, what are you going to do with Allan’s ashes?
–I’ll think of something.
–You’ll let us know.
–Yeah. I’ll let you know. Bye, Annie.
–Bye for now, Byron.