Delusion Road (27 page)

“Billie Holiday, right?” asked Keegan as the first words of “It’s a Sin to Tell a Lie” seeped from the speakers.

She glanced at him, astonished he knew the singer. “You listen to jazz?”

“Yeah,” he said. “A lot.”

“How’d you get into it? Friends?”

“My mom.”

She waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, Willa asked, “She a musician?”

“No.”

Despite the brevity of his answer, Willa heard something in his voice. Anger at a mother who’d left a husband and two sons? Or irritation at Willa for having opened up an old wound? She couldn’t tell. “My dad,” she said, wanting to get past the moment, “got me hooked on it. He’s been collecting jazz recordings forever. There isn’t much he doesn’t have.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Willa saw him nod. “My mom was the same way. Louis Armstrong, Dizzy Gillespie, Count Basie, Artie Shaw, all the greats.” His voice sounded more normal now, although she couldn’t help wondering if this was something he was working at. “Okay if I turn it up?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He reached for the volume control and Lady Day’s voice filled the vehicle warning listeners to be sure when they say “I love you,” the sax in the background underscoring that message. They listened in a comfortable silence as the road unfurled beneath the SUV’s tires, and when the iPod shuffled up the slower tempo of
Charlie Parker’s “Summertime,” Willa could feel Keegan’s eyes on her. “What?” she asked.

“Nothing. I just—” He paused. “I didn’t expect to meet someone in Brookdale who likes jazz as much as I do.”

“Yeah, all the really cool people live in Vancouver.”

He grinned, and she was glad to have the awkwardness behind them.

The music continued as they drove through farmland, most of the fields already harvested, but from time to time they passed a crop being cultivated: a combine eating its way through cow corn; a mechanical harvester pulling potatoes from the rich, dark soil; people standing on ladders under apple trees that marched in long, even rows into the distance. Willa watched as Keegan surveyed it all with interest. “Are they as big here as in the Okanagan?”

Keegan looked at her blankly.

“The orchards,” she explained. “In the Okanagan Valley.”

“Um, yeah,” he said, turning again to his window. “So,” he said, as if speaking to the glass, “I’ve never met a Willa before.”

She wondered momentarily at the sudden change in topic. “I was named after my grandmother, Willamena Jaffrey.” He turned to her and she could see a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” she said, “good thing my parents shortened it.”

“I like Willa,” he said. “I’ve only heard it once before. There’s a writer named—”

“Willa Cather,” she finished. “Yeah, I found her when I googled my name. You want to hear something weird?”

“Always.”

“She was buried in New Hampshire in a place called Jaffrey. Quite the coincidence, huh?”

He turned to the window again. “My mom used to say there’s no such thing, that coincidence is just life happening. She said people like to see connections even when there aren’t any.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Do you believe in horoscopes?” he asked.

“Why?”

“That’d be the
ultimate
coincidence, wouldn’t it? People all having similar personalities and experiences just because they happened to be born around the same time of year? Give me a break.”

“I’m guessing that’s not the page in the newspaper you turn to first, huh?”

“You read newspapers?” he asked. “The actual paper kind?”

She nodded. “It’s something my grandfather got me into. When I was little, I’d sit on his lap and hold the paper and he’d read parts of it to me. The personals section was my favourite. We’d make up stories together about what led people to write their ads. I still do it sometimes.” She grinned self-consciously. “Okay, you’re looking at the only person under seventy who reads those things every day.”

Keegan’s face creased in a broad smile. “Salsa lessons with Armand. Reasonable rates.”

Willa’s jaw dropped. “That was in this morning’s paper!
You
read the personals?”

“They told us we sh—” He stopped, the expression on his face suddenly unreadable.

“They?”

Keegan was clearly uneasy, and she had no idea why. “Those ads,” he continued after a moment. “They kind of give you a sense of what the people in a particular area are like.”

Willa wasn’t sure he’d answered her question.

“So what’s up with Armand?” he asked abruptly.

“Not his real name, of course,” she said. “I figure male prostitute catering to people who like Brazilian boy-toys.”

“I guess they’re gonna be disappointed when they meet Mike with his tan-from-a-can.”

Willa’s laughter joined his, drowning out the soulful sounds of Miles Davis’s trumpet.

“It isn’t far now,” said Willa, the SUV’s transmission downshifting in response to the incline.

“Didn’t you say that half an hour ago?”

She glanced at the clock on the instrument panel, surprised to see it was nine thirty already. Their hour together had flown by. “Yeah, but this time I mean it,” she said. She reached out and turned off the music so she could concentrate on the road, which hairpinned back and forth toward the North Mountain’s summit. There was a moment when Willa heard a sudden intake of breath beside her. “I used to close my eyes when we reached this part,” she said, referring to the sheer drop at the edge of the last curve.

“I hope not while you were driving,” he murmured, and she liked that he felt comfortable enough to tease her.

In a moment, the vehicle crested the mountain and began
a much more gradual descent toward the bay stretching panoramically before them. In cooler, drier weather, Willa knew they would’ve been able to see the dark line of New Brunswick forty kilometres away, but today that far shore had disappeared into a blue haze, giving the bay the appearance of an endless sea.

At the foot of the mountain a few minutes later, the pavement curved right to follow the shoreline, and Willa braked to slow the vehicle.

“Great name,” said Keegan, pointing to a highway sign for Delusion Road, to the left.

Willa grinned. “They built it during World War Two,” she explained. “Somebody discovered a copper deposit here, and an American company put up the money for the road so they could get to the ore. Turned out there wasn’t much there, though, and the whole project fizzled.” She signalled left and swung the SUV down the gravel lane, dust billowing behind them as they bounced through one pothole after another.

“Why do I feel like I’m in a scene from
Deliverance
?” he asked.

She laughed, recognizing the reference to the cult classic about a group of businessmen on a Georgia canoe trip terrorized by inbred hillbillies. Her dad loved weird movies, and they’d watched it together last year. Disturbing stuff. “Relax,” she said, “nobody’s gonna make you squeal like a pig.”

“People actually
live
way out here?”

“One or two,” she said, nodding at an old farmhouse with a barn sagging behind it, both in need of paint and visible for only a moment before trees blocked their view. “But most of the places on this road are cottages.” Another driveway appeared on the
right, curving down toward the water, but thick foliage prevented them from seeing what lay at the end of it. In a moment, the road began to narrow even more, trees crowding closer on both sides.

“How’d your parents even
find
a place out here?”

“They started looking for shorefront property after they were married, and a realtor found it for them. There was nothing on it but woods and they got a huge chunk of land really cheap. They used to come camping here sometimes and, after my brother was born, they hired a contractor to build them a cottage.”

“Long way from Brookdale. Do you get out here much?”

“We used to spend most weekends and every summer here when my brother and I were small, but since my dad expanded the dealership a few years ago, he’s lucky to grab a week at the end of August. What he likes most about it is that no one bothers him here.”

“No shit.”

“I don’t just mean because of the distance. Look at your phone.”

He pulled out his cell and glanced at the display. “No service?”

She nodded. “No Internet, either.”

Keegan shook his head. “I thought places without cell service were urban myths.”

She grinned again. “Welcome to Delusion Road.”

She continued driving and, a couple minutes later, slowed beside a large boulder at the side of the road with “Jaffrey” chiselled into it. Turning right into a narrow opening in the wall of vegetation, Willa braked for the incline, easing the vehicle down a long sloping driveway, branches brushing the doors. In a moment, the trees pulled away and they rolled into a wide clearing.

“I thought you said they built a
cottage
,” said Keegan, looking at the large Cape Cod–style structure perched on the edge of a bluff overlooking the bay.

She put the SUV in park and shut off the ignition as Keegan opened his door. “Hey,” he said as they got out, “it’s a lot cooler here.”

Willa had watched the temperature on the instrument panel fall gradually as they got closer to the bay. At six degrees below the valley’s reading, the air here was far more comfortable.

Keegan stepped up onto a wide deck that extended out over the bluff on steel beams, giving the impression it floated in midair. Willa followed him. “I thought the water would be closer,” he said, nodding toward the bare rocks below them.

“The tide’s out. In a few hours, all those rocks will be under water.”

He turned toward the distant waves, and his face registered disbelief. “Yeah, right,” he said. “Is this where I start squealing like a pig?”

She chuckled, then remembered an analogy she’d learned in a junior high geography class. “Think of a drinking glass and a wide pie plate. If you poured the same amount of water into both, it would rise higher in the glass, right?”

He nodded.

“In most parts of the world, the water level doesn’t change as much between high and low tide because it’s spread across the whole ocean. It’s like pouring water into the pie plate. Now think of the Bay of Fundy being like the glass. A hundred billion tonnes of seawater flow into it, so it piles up higher, rising and falling more than twelve metres. Twice every day.” She recalled a fact
she’d read somewhere. “More water flows into and out of this bay than the combined water in all the rivers in the whole world.”

He whistled, obviously impressed.

Willa was on a roll. “And did you know that the bay was one of only two places in North America shortlisted for the New Seven Wonders?”

“The new what?”

“The new seven natural wonders of the world. An organization in Switzerland came up with the idea, and the Bay of Fundy was one of the finalists.”

“What was the other wonder in North America?”

“The Grand Canyon. But it didn’t make the cut, either.”

“Hard to believe,” he said. “How’d the winners get chosen?”

“Global vote. Anybody with an email address could log on to the site and choose their seven. The ones with the most votes won.”

Keegan scanned the area around them. “I’m surprised the site didn’t crash when everyone from Delusion Road logged on.”

“Funny,” she said, feigning offence. “Keep dissing Delusion Road and I won’t show you the surprise.”

“If it’s a guy with no teeth and a banjo, I’m outta here.”

Willa’s burst of laughter caught her unawares. Holding on to the railing as it washed over her, she was suddenly conscious that she’d laughed more that morning than she had in a very long time.

“W
hat’d you
pack
in this thing?” Keegan asked, the straps of the large insulated knapsack digging into his shoulders as he followed Willa on the path that wound through the trees. “You expecting company? Is that the surprise?”

“I have a brother, okay? I know how much guys eat.” She pointed ahead of them. “It gets a little tricky here. Watch yourself.”

She was right. The path took a sudden turn, and rainwater or snowmelt had followed its sloping trajectory, washing away much of the soil and exposing rocks perfect for catching a toe or twisting an ankle. He watched as she moved confidently forward, and he found himself planting his feet in the same places she did. In fact, he was so focused on where he was stepping that he didn’t realize the trees were thinning until they were gone.

“What d’you think?”

He looked up, astonished by what he saw. A beach, but like no other he’d ever seen. Even in pictures. “Your dad owns all this?”

“Just down to the waterline.” She pointed to where the trees and vegetation ended. “He owns the land around it, but there’s a right-of-way at the far end that gives access to anybody who wants to use it. Years ago when the fishery was a big deal and
more people lived around here, I guess this place used to rock on weekends. People our age would carry blankets and food down here, have bonfires, play music, stuff like that. I don’t think too many come here now, though.”

Keegan couldn’t imagine a place this amazing not getting more use. To their left, nearly vertical cliffs of solid rock roughly paralleled the shoreline and stretched as far as he could see, forming a natural boundary between the trees growing atop them and the water on his right. Between the cliffs and the water lay an unbroken expanse of blue and grey dunes that, instead of sand, were actually great swaths of smooth, round stones, most of them fist-sized or smaller.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” asked Willa.

“Where do they come from?”

“The cliffs are constantly eroding,” Willa said, “and the rock shatters when it falls. Over the years, the fragments get rolled around by the waves, especially during winter storms, and that movement wears down the ragged edges until they end up smooth and round.”

“You’re right,” he said. “They’re beautiful.”

“Hard to walk on, though,” she warned, leaving the path and stepping onto the beach.