Elizabeth and After (32 page)

“There I am with it.” Richardson pointed to a picture of himself standing beside the fallen moose. He was holding his rifle by the barrel, its butt on the ground, and in his fringed leather jacket and wide hat he seemed to think he was some kind of old-time buffalo-hunting pioneer instead of a smalltown businessman who’d hired a booze-soaked farmer to lead him through some second growth to an animal all past and no future. “And there’s the butcher at work.” A picture of William McKelvey kneeling beside the moose with his knife buried in its guts, grinning to the camera with that after-killing look he often used to get, his mouth stretched wide
and his eyes calm, as though for a few pacifying moments the life he’d just taken filled some gap in his own.

“Looks just like you,” Moira said. “I didn’t know he used to look like
that.”

“Thanks.”

“Just his eyes.”

Since dinner Carl had been drinking bourbon, trying to go slow but pushed along by Luke, who kept refilling the heavy cut-glass tumbler that fit so comfortably in the palm of his hand. Luke began to recount hunting trips with William McKelvey, different times Carl’s father had driven game towards him, the stag he’d missed because he’d fallen asleep waiting and woke up only when it crashed by, sporting a rack of antlers that would fill the back of a truck.

Suddenly Luke stopped. Carl was beginning to have the feeling he’d promised himself to avoid for ever, the thick dulled feeling he got when he’d had too much to drink. Luke Richardson was peering in at him, as though he knew how uncomfortable Carl was. Carl’s wound was pulsing.

“Hell of a thing at the store,” Luke said, his voice sympathetic, the same voice he’d had that first day when he came into the restaurant where Carl was eating his eggs.

Now Carl remembered Chrissy telling him Luke was seeing Doreen Whittier on the side. “He takes her to the Fireside Motel in Kingston every Thursday for lunch. They get a room in a corner at the back, overlooking the squash court. Ellie
Dean told me; her cousin works there. Sometimes they go to the lounge after to drink cocktails. Ellie went to check up one time and Luke spotted her at the door, made her come in and have a drink with him and Doreen. Said they’d just been doing the banking. Ellie made up some story about how she always stopped there to give herself a treat on the way home from the shopping centre.”

Carl pushed his hair back. He wanted to be sober, to be sharp, to see into the centre of Luke’s game.

“I was glad you could come tonight,” Luke said. “You know, your father meant a lot to me. I always felt bad that things went down for him. And by the time it came to me I should be doing something for him it was too late, he wouldn’t accept anything from anyone.”

His own man
, his father always said about people he respected. Not Luke Richardson. He was just another of the geeks he took hunting. “What were they like?” Carl had once asked about two men his father had taken on a canoe trip. “Like the rest of them. Blind, deaf and stupid.”

Luke continued, “I was fond of your mother, too. A fine woman.”

On the one hand Carl was sober again. Luke’s concern had taken care of that. On the other his thoughts were still somewhere else, in that familiar place his mind had gone in those alcohol-soaked months after his break-up with Chrissy. He remembered living in an underground universe, a blurred rubbery world where everyone had mysterious subterranean tunnels connecting their minds together, so that while on the surface everyone appeared to behave with so much calculation and propriety, underneath they were really just moles stumbling about, butting and clutching at one another. He wasn’t
that drunk now. Only drunk enough to remember. Only drunk enough to wonder what exactly was going on with Luke, who was now telling him about a time he’d met Carl’s mother in a Kingston men’s store, trying to choose a present for William McKelvey.

The idea of Luke Richardson and his mother doing something ten or twenty thousand years ago laid siege to his mind again. But whatever his mother had wanted, even blind and at the bottom of a dark tunnel, it couldn’t have been Luke Richardson, so he turned back to the conversation; Luke was saying how he’d told Elizabeth that what every man really wanted was a sweater so warm he could have coffee in the morning before making a fire.

“A sweater. I’ve got a dozen sweaters like that. Amy says I have so many luxuries I don’t even know how to appreciate them any more.” Between the leather sofas was a coffee table spread with hunting magazines along with a silver tray of liqueurs Luke had brought out. Amaryllia had taken possession of a snifter filled with a thick yellow fluid which she kept replenishing; yet with every sip her mouth pursed and she recoiled slightly, looking down at her glass as though it had just dealt her a nasty surprise. That would be, Carl couldn’t help thinking, how she looked when she kissed Luke.

“It must be fun to be so rich,” Moira said. “I wouldn’t mind being rich, so long as I didn’t have to work too hard.”

“You’ve got it, Moira. That’s the important thing. You can’t ruin your life over money. Your dad knows that.” Luke lifted his glass. “I have a little money, it’s true, but the thing that makes me different—you know what it is? Not hard work. This township is filled with people sweating their guts out and getting nowhere. They’d be better off sweating less and thinking
more. But they don’t. And I do. Because what I’ve got is
savvy
. You ever hear of that word? You must know that word, Moira, you went to France. It comes from the French
savez
. You knew that, right?”

“We just went there to sing,” Moira said. “I didn’t actually take language lessons.”

“Neither did I. But I got the savvy thing. Having savvy is knowing what’s going on, and what’s going on is what I like to know. What do you think about that, Carl?”

Luke’s big head had been pointed towards Moira for a long time. Carl had been admiring Moira, the way she seemed to be able to face it down without either striking out or retreating. Maybe it was the navy dress. If she’d arrived at the Balfer place wearing that navy dress, he wouldn’t have known what to think.

“Sounds good to me,” Carl said. Though it didn’t. Everyone knew Luke Richardson had money not because of some French word but because he was born with it, and that he’d used what he’d been born with to screw people out of whatever they had.

“What would you do if you were in my position and you had all my money?” Luke’s eyes were on him now. It reminded him of something McKelvey liked to say: “Every now and then you get a chance to shoot.”

“I’d do something about Fred,” Carl said.

Luke looked into his bourbon. “I guess you would.”

“He’s running against you for reeve, isn’t he?”

“That was his plan,” Luke said softly.

“Fred’s the problem.”

“Carl. I’ve heard that tone of voice from you and from your dad. You touch Fred and you’re in jail for ten years. Do you believe me?”

“
I
believe you,” Moira said.

“I know
you
believe me, honey. It’s your friend who has me worried.”

Carl pushed himself up from the sofa. In the corner was a big pile of
LUKE RICHARDSON FOR REEVE
signs, just like the ones already scattered through the township. “What did you mean when you said ‘that
was
his plan’? Is something supposed to happen to Fred?”

“That would be ugly,” Luke said. “You know, Carl, you can’t see this because of where you’re sitting, but Fred’s a pretty interesting human being. Probably a lot more complicated than you give him credit for. In fact, Fred’s the big winner. Though he doesn’t know it, Fred Verghoers is going to be the next reeve. I’ve decided to withdraw from the race. I’m going to go down to Kingston and call a press conference. Pulling out because of health reasons is what I’ll say. Amy will be right beside me, a tear in her eye. Then I’ll announce that Fred has my full support. Hand on my heart.”

Now Luke had his big smile. Somehow, without seeming to, he’d managed to gobble everything down.

“You see, Carl, it’s better not to fight. If I let Fred beat me, then it’s not going to look so good on me, is it? And if I beat Fred, which I could and I would, well, everyone’s going to think it’s the senator’s nephew whipping the young lad and trying to grab everything for himself, and no one likes that. What’s more I’m going to have Fred against me—and you know better than me how unpleasant that is. So I’m going to use my savvy. I’m going to step aside to let Fred win. And Fred’s going to be my man.”

“How’s that? He might have beaten you anyway.”

Luke wagged his finger. “Nope. He wouldn’t have. Because, like I said, Fred has his complications though he likes to keep
them to himself. But I’ve got something on Fred. Something no one knows. And when I say I’m going down to Kingston to be on television, our little Freddy will be so scared of my going public he’ll be the one having the heart attack. That’s why, when I withdraw instead, Fred Verghoers is going to
love
me.”

There was something about Luke Richardson’s voice, its smooth deep purr. That’s how he’d be with Fred. He’d tell him he was letting him win, then Fred would owe him.

“You know what I’ve got on Fred?”

“You tell us.” Amy had woken up.

“Something very interesting. Very unusual. Something our Fred has been trying very hard to keep secret. Something that must never leave this room.”

“Spill it,” Amy said. You wouldn’t believe the way she talked to Luke Richardson, Carl thought. She had a voice like an outboard motor. But Luke just smiled and put a big paw on her shoulder.

“Steady now, girl. Here it comes: Fred beats up on Chrissy. Sent her to the hospital over a month ago. Three broken ribs. Got copies of the X-rays in the office safe.”

Carl started up, as though he himself had just been hit. He saw Chrissy’s face at the dance, heard her saying “Not so good,” remembered the way she’d sometimes insisted Lizzie be back by dark. “Jesus,” Carl said.

“What I’ve got on him,” Luke said, “is that if he steps out of line I’ll let you at him. You can bury him alive. Let the birds eat out his eyes. Whatever you want. But not until I say so. Because like I told you before, you touch Fred without my permission, you’re in jail for a long time. And Lizzie’s not going to like that, is she?”

“I’d better go,” Carl said. “If you haven’t fired me yet, I have the morning shift.”

Luke’s big hand came up. “You will get fired if you leave before we talk about deer-hunting season. I don’t suppose your father ever took you hunting?”

Carl could only half hear Luke. He was picturing Fred in his swivel chair, comfortably leaning back behind his desk, his voice full of contempt.
Fuck you, Carl, we’re even
.

“He must have taken you a few times.”

“A few times.”

“I’ll tell you one thing. He never came back empty-handed. He must have known where those deer hung out.”

“He never told us where he went.”

There was a brief silence and now Carl was remembering how when his father was away on hunting trips, he would often come home to an empty house, because during the hunting trips his mother would go directly to Kingston from the school to do her errands. He’d get off the school bus and the house would be waiting like some kind of abandoned museum. In the centre of the kitchen table would be a plate with cookies or a slice of cake covered in plastic wrap. He’d let the dog inside for company, feed it some refrigerator scraps while he made himself hot chocolate. When his mother returned she’d be laden down with bags and smelling of perfume and wine. Eventually Carl had wondered if she had some kind of special friend.

“I was thinking maybe you’d come hunting with me,” Luke Richardson said. “Your father must have taught you something.”

“I don’t even know when the deer season starts.”

“Not here. I’ve got a hunting camp in the north end of the county. We could go up for a couple of nights in the fall. Get away from things.”

I don’t want to get away, I’m still trying to get back
, Carl thought of saying. And why was Luke Richardson talking to
him this way? As if they were friends. As if they knew each other.

“So that’s great,” Luke said. “We’ll go after the first snow. Looking forward to it. Right?”

“Sure,” Carl said. “Not on a weekend, though. I have Lizzie then. And I should go for only a couple of days. Gotta pay the rent.”

“Don’t worry about that. You’re my guide, right? I’ll give you the regular rate. Like with your father. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“Just one more thing about Fred,” Luke said. “When we go hunting, we’re going to take him.” He smiled up at Carl. “Right after the election. It’ll be like a celebration. It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other a bit. The three of us. And don’t get any crazy ideas about having an accident. In fact, you’re going to be so nice to Fred he won’t have a single idea in his head except what a great pal you are now that he’s on his way to the big time. Because if you
do
something to him, well, he’s got to do something to you. Like before. And then you’ll have to get him back. The way you want to now. And so on until one of you gets killed. Which isn’t the way the Richardsons do things, Carl. It’s the way you do things. Or used to. That’s why your head’s stitched up and why both you and Fred will be worse off a week or a month from now—unless you learn to do it my way. So I’m going to try to teach you, Carl, because I’ve been watching you since you came back and despite the stupid things you’ve done, I really believe you’re ready to learn. Which means we’re still going to do things to Fred, Carl, oh yes, we’re going to get right into his mind and do things he doesn’t even know we’re doing. And pretty soon he’ll be doing just what we want him to be doing. Isn’t that right, Moira?”

“Just the way you do with me,” said Amy, and then she started to laugh but as she laughed her outboard-motor cough spluttered and threatened to choke her until Luke stood her up, held her against his shoulder like a baby, and gave her a whack on the back that was followed by a loud burp.