In Winter's Grip (10 page)

Jonas took my right arm. “All set?” he asked.

“As set as I'll ever be.”

I opened my eyes and stood. I could make it down the aisle behind the coffin. I would find it in me to make small talk with these people who had come to honour my father. I would try to read guilt in the eyes of the person who had swung the shovel and who had returned to destroy our home.

This time, I looked deeply into each set of eyes as we made our slow journey toward fresh air and freedom, once again in solemn procession behind the priest. Most nodded, and I smiled at them. Their eyes and mouths were a combination of sadness for my father and gladness that I had returned—the prodigal daughter, back from the wilderness. Faint sunlight brightened the primary reds and blues of the stained glass windows, five on each side of the church. The air was heavy with women's perfumes and the cloying scent of lilies in vases at the extremities of the chapel. It felt like an eternity before I was almost at the end of the red-carpeted pathway. I could see the foyer where we would put on our coats and go outside into the silver-blue winter day to follow my father's body to the graveyard.

I was steps from the doorway when I saw him. It was that sudden and that unexpected—Billy Okwari sitting in the last pew, the only person sitting amongst a sea of standing legs, his liquid black eyes watching me—the same eyes that haunted my dreams. His hair still black, but longer and tied back, dressed in a well-worn grey leather jacket. He was stockier than I remembered, but familiar still in the way his shoulders curved forward ever so slightly and the tapered line of his jaw. He'd been all of eighteen the last time we'd been together—a child now grown into middle age. Our eyes held. His gaze burned into me, like he was trying to read who I'd become. An electric current travelled up my spine. I let out a gasp, and Jonas slipped an arm around my waist.

“We're nearly there,” he said, unaware that my distress was not from the strain of our father's funeral.

I tried to push past his arm, but Jonas held me fast and suddenly, we were in the foyer and people were swarming about us, shaking our hands and murmuring words of sympathy. I finally broke away, frantically searching those remaining. There was no sign of Billy in the crowded room. I turned and stumbled back into the chapel. My eyes scanned the empty pews. Billy Okwari was gone. Grief overwhelmed me. I stood bereft next to the confessionals, trying to still my breathing into a regular pattern.

Claire came up behind me. “Is everything okay? You bolted away from us like you'd been spooked.”

“No, it's nothing like that,” I said and half-turned to face her, not wanting her to see what was surely written in my eyes. “But I have to go to the washroom before we leave.”

“We'll see you in the car then.” Claire pivoted on the soles of her black boots and called to Gunnar as I made a beeline for the ladies at the end of the hallway.

I only just made it into the first empty stall and locked the door as my tears began to flow.

I recovered enough to get through the next few hours. Dad wouldn't be buried until the ground thawed in early spring, but we saw him safely to the crypt. Afterwards, we drove back to the house, where Claire had arranged for a caterer to deliver sandwiches and squares for those who stopped by. For some reason, she'd insisted on serving sweet, sparkling wine, something I hadn't drunk since ninth grade beach parties. Jonas and I took one look at the green bottles Claire had arranged in ice on the kitchen table, then at each other. I motioned with my head towards my room at the back of the house, and we left the kitchen separately as soon as there was a break in the conversation. Jonas met me in my bedroom a few minutes later with two wineglasses he'd smuggled out of the kitchen. He'd loosened his tie and his shirt was wrinkled under his open suit jacket. I opened the bottle of Scotch that I'd kept in a bag next to my bed and poured us each a healthy measure. I put the cap back on the bottle and tucked it between the bed and the night table.

“How're you holding up, Jonas? Can you wait until tomorrow to see the doctor? Claire's insistence on a wake is making it difficult to slip away.”

“Sure. This medicine will keep me going.” He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long swallow.

I raised mine towards Jonas. “A toast to our father and all he accomplished.”

“You mean he accomplished something besides looking out for number one?”

“It's a long shot, I know, but people in town seem to have adored him. That must count for something. You know, Jonas, sometimes I think I dreamed all the bad stuff. You know, like we just misunderstood him, and the times he was nice to us were the real Dad...that maybe, we're the ones with the problem.” It was the first time I'd voiced the uncertainty that had grown stronger as I'd aged and distanced myself from that time. I'd judged my father through child's eyes. Could we have been wrong or exaggerated his faults? I knew he'd been flawed, but perhaps we'd been too harsh, building up hurts beyond what they were.

Jonas blinked rapidly and lowered himself onto my bed. He ran a trembling hand through his hair in the nervous gesture I knew too well. I immediately regretted upsetting him.

“Let's not think of it now,” I said quickly and sat down beside him, reaching up and resting my arm on his shoulders. “I love you, little brother,” I said. “We'll get through this. I won't leave until things are sorted out.” I could feel him shaking under my arm, and I hugged him tighter.

“I feel like I'm just hanging on, Maja. Sometimes, I wonder if it's worth it.”

My mother's gentle voice came back to me in sudden clarity.
Is it worth it, Maja? Sometimes, I'm just so tired.
Her hands fluttering like white birds. Her blue eyes wet with tears that had slid like pearls down her cheeks. I had known she was ill and I had left her.

“I'll see you through, Jonas. This time, I'm not going anywhere. You have to hang in for Claire and Gunnar...and me.”

Jonas turned his face toward mine until we were almost touching. His eyes were bruised by dark circles. He was having difficulty focusing, the irises of his eyes vibrating like tuning forks. These signs that a depression was imminent cut into my heart.

“You are wrong, you know, Maj,” he said. “None of it was a dream. The monster we saw was the real Dad. All the rest was just smoke and mirrors. The man everybody knew and loved was one big lie.”

TEN

A
fter the third trip to my room to refill my wineglass, I began to almost enjoy myself. The afternoon light had given way to the dusk of evening before I stopped greeting neighbours and reminiscing about my childhood. It was a reminder that not all memories were bad.

I found Sonja Mattsen sitting on the green couch in the living room and sat down beside her. She'd lived up the road and had been good friends with my mother. She was seventy now and had lived a harder life than most. Two of her children had died— Danny drowned playing in the lake at age five and Tommy was killed in the Gulf War. I wondered where she'd found the strength to carry on.

She patted my arm as she spoke. “You were the prettiest child, Maja Larson, with your long white hair and blue eyes the colour of cornflowers. I worried that the boys wouldn't leave you alone, you were that pretty. But you never seemed to have any interest. You were a smart one, that's for sure, and not a speck of vanity.”

I thought I'd outgrown blushing, but I could feel the heat rise up my cheeks. “I never thought of myself that way. When the boys came around, it was to tease me or to hang out with Jonas.”

Sonja's eyes were kind. “Your dear mother was so proud of you. She'd be bursting her seams to know you were a doctor up in Canada.” She leaned forward, opened her arms and drew me into a hug.

“Thanks, Sonja. It warms me to hear you say that.”

Would
my mother be proud of me? I imagined that if she hadn't died, she'd have visited me in Ottawa in my upper middle class home during the course of my marriage, if I'd cajoled her into the trip. I would have had to use my most persuasive arguments, because she'd hated travelling far from Duved Cove. She'd have politely toured my home and mouthed the appropriate words of approval. She'd even have gone so far as to tell me how lucky I was to have such a fine life, but inside I'd have known that she did not approve of my closetful of clothes and my expensive furnishings. What would have disappointed her most would have been that I was using my talent to make people look younger, but she would never have told me that. She'd just have come up with excuses for not returning to Ottawa, and I would have tried not to let on that I knew the real reason she would not visit again.

Sonja stood to leave. She hesitated before saying, “Do you know that Katherine Lingstrom has been staying with her mother since Christmas?”

I was surprised by her words. “I thought Katherine was married and living in Wisconsin?”

Sonja nodded. “She was, but something has gone very wrong with her marriage. She's had a breakdown of some sort and doesn't want to see anybody. Her mother was out getting groceries last week, and we had coffee. She's been very worried. I know that you and Katherine were best friends before you both moved away, so she thought you might want to know.”

“Thanks for telling me, Sonja. I will try to pay her a visit.” I ran a hand across my forehead. “I can't believe it. Katherine was always so happy when I knew her as a kid.” We hadn't been as close in our teenage years, but we'd spent our grade school years inseparable.

“People can change a lot, Maja. Life isn't always as kind as we'd like. Sometimes it damages people beyond repair.”

I spotted Becky and Kevin Wilders standing in the doorway. Becky seemed to light up the room in all of her peacock blue splendour. She'd reapplied her eye makeup and lipstick; the bright colours were garish against her pale skin. Kevin had his arm around her shoulder and seemed to be saying something unpleasant into her ear, judging by the unhappy expression on her face. Curious, I skirted around a group of people until I got to them.

“I'm glad you could make it,” I said, reaching out to shake Kevin's hand. He hadn't been able to remove traces of grease and car oil from the creases in his skin. “I thought the service went well.”

“It was lovely. Just lovely,” Becky said, stepping from the circle of Kevin's arm.

Kevin nodded. “I don't like funerals as a rule, but this one was okay. Something to drink, Beck?” he asked, taking a step into the room. He looked at her over my head.

“We have wine in the kitchen,” I said.

“Okay. A glass of red. Thanks, Kevin.” Becky took my arm and pulled me into the corner after he'd ambled away. “Have you told anybody about what we discussed?” She hissed the words into my ear.

“No, and nobody's said anything to me either.”

Her fingers on my arm relaxed. “I'm pretty sure he doesn't know about your dad and me. Without coming right out and asking him, I've been trying to find out, because if Jonas knew, anyone could have. Lucky for me, Kevin isn't all that bright when it comes to sex and relationships. He's always at work in that garage or thinking about being at work. Shit, I could so use a cigarette, but Kevin thinks I've quit.”

Was she honest with her husband about anything? “Do you know anything about my father's partner at the border? Charlie something or other?”

Becky nodded. “Charlie Mallory. He lives in Grand Portage. I was introduced to him once when I met your dad after work. It was when they were getting off night shift. Did you know Charlie is legally deaf? He lost his hearing in his early twenties from having meningitis, of all things. He picked up lip reading really quickly, so he was able to get a government job. The government can't discriminate, you know. Employment equity and all that.”

“Must be tough being a border guard and not being able to hear.”

“I think Charlie does the office work. Besides, it's not that busy a crossing at night.”

I saw Kevin standing on the other side of the room with two glasses of wine. He was looking around for us. “Why were you picking up my father after his shift?” I asked. “It's almost an hour from Duved Cove.”

Becky's face flashed crimson. “We were going to a motel, actually,” she said. “I'd tell Kevin I was going to the casino with some girlfriends from work and then. . .” She held up a hand and waved. “Oh, here's Kevin.” The fingers of her other hand bit into my arm. “Don't forget your promise not to say anything. I'll owe you big time.”

I didn't remember promising anything. I also wasn't convinced Kevin hadn't found out about her affair, because secrets that involved cheating were as hard to keep in a small town as marriage vows.

Chief Anders made his way through the remaining guests to give me his condolences. I'd wanted to talk to him and was glad for the opportunity. His rheumy grey eyes studied me, and he nodded. “I'm very sorry for your loss. Your dad and I remained friends even after he left the force.” He drank deeply from his wine glass. Then he tilted the glass and looked inside, grimacing.

“Thanks. He seemed to have a lot of friends. Sorry about the wine. Claire isn't much of a drinker, and she picked something she must have remembered from high school days.”

Chief Anders smiled. He was a trim man with wide shoulders. He'd been famous as a lightweight wrestler in his younger days. “Not that there was any underage drinking when you were a teenager,” he said.

“No, no. That would have been against the law.” I rolled my eyes and smiled.

“Well, your crowd never got into much trouble, so no charges pending.” He paused and looked around. “You're right. Your father did know a lot of people.”

“Well, one of those people killed him,” I said. “Have you any leads yet?”