by Rae Knightly
“Who are all these people?” Ben asked incredulously.
Laura said, “I think half of Chilliwack is here! Grampa was some Chilliwack hero, by the looks of it.”
They stifled laughter at the thought. It felt good to release their emotions like this, even though it seemed highly inappropriate to be laughing at a funeral reception. Somehow, though, Laura knew her father would have approved.
Once the ringing in their ears had eased, Laura looked at her son worriedly. “How are you holding up?”
Her son shrugged, but answered bravely, “I’m ok.”
Laura hesitated for a moment. “I spoke to Mrs. Gallagher. She and her husband run an accounting business downtown. Anyway, she’s heading for Vancouver later to visit her daughter.” She paused, before adding. “She has offered to take you with her. I think you should go.”
“What? No way! Why? What about you?” Ben protested.
“I need to stay here to take care of things. I got a call from the notary in Chilliwack. He wants me to come in tomorrow for Grampa’s will. I think you, on the other hand, might be better off at home. You’ve had nightmares ever since we got here. You were right; this place isn’t doing you any good,” she admitted. “Anyway, tomorrow is a school day. It might take your mind off things.”
Ben groaned.
“Think about it, Ben. I’m going to be dealing with funeral companies, notaries, and bankers. You’d find yourself on your own while I dealt with this administrative mess. I’d feel better if you were back home with some routine. It might help with the nightmares.”
She saw Ben open his mouth, then close it again in resignation. He nodded reluctantly.
“I’ll only be a couple of days at the most,” she said apologetically.
“It’s ok, Mom,” Ben said gruffly.
Laura’s heart bulged. She hugged him and said. “I’m sorry you and Grampa didn’t get a chance to talk.”
She heard him swallow a sob as he hid his face in her sweater. She thought he was going to tell her something, but instead he said, “Can I ask you something?”
Laura frowned, stroking the side fringe out of his eyes. “Of course, honey. Anything!”
Ben spoke slowly. “Why do I have Grampa’s last name? I mean, Dad’s name was Robert Manfield, wasn’t it? So why am I called Benjamin Archer? Shouldn’t I be called Benjamin Manfield, like him?”
Laura rubbed his shoulders, thinking about her answer. “Well, your Dad was gone so soon. You were just a baby. I knew you wouldn’t remember him at all, whereas Grampa took such good care of you…I don’t know. I guess it made sense to call you Benjamin Archer.” She paused before asking worriedly, “Does that bother you?”
Ben shook his head. “No, not really. I was curious, that’s all.” She frowned at him, unconvinced. He added quickly, “It’s ok, really! I prefer the name Archer; it reminds me of Grampa.”
She hugged him again, so he could not see her biting her lip as she rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. She said gently, “You’d better pack your bags.” They glanced at each other. Then she asked, “Are you ready?”
He nodded.
She sighed before opening the door. Immediately a wave of human heat and chatter enveloped them as they headed back into the crowd.
***
Swiftly Ben made his way from the kitchen to the stairs, ignoring someone who tapped him on the shoulder. He sprinted up the steps, headed for his bedroom, then froze at the doorway. A man with short, black hair streaked with grey and wearing a tidy business suit stood near the shelves at the other end of the room, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and Grampa’s white telescope in the other. When he realized Ben had arrived, he broke into a toothy grin. “Ah! Here’s the boy I was looking for! You must be Benjamin Archer!”
Ben didn’t reply.
“She's a beauty, isn’t she?” the man continued, admiring the telescope, while almost splashing coffee on it. “Here, hold this for a minute, would you?” he said, handing the cup to Ben, who had to grab it with both hands as hot liquid dripped onto his arm. Fortunately, the man returned the telescope to its place, still speaking. “Your grandfather and I shared the same passion for the stars. They tell me you do, too." He turned to face Ben. With a smile he put out his hand, presenting himself, “James Hao.”
Ben felt the man’s eyes bore into him as he shook it limply, the cup dangerously wavering in his other hand. Hao ignored the cup, saying thoughtfully, “Hm, I’m surprised your grandfather never mentioned me. We go way back, him and me.”
Ben scowled. “Were you looking for something?”
Hao’s face lit up. “Ah, yes, actually. I spilled coffee on my tie. I was looking for the washroom when I walked by and spotted this beauty.” He pointed to the telescope.
“The bathroom is on the other side,” Ben said blandly.
Hao straightened. “Indeed!” But instead of leaving, he strolled to the window. “Quite amazing, isn’t it, to think meteors crashed into these very fields? I’m sure only a handful of people in the whole world could claim the same. Your grandfather shunned the limelight, yet in a way, he became quite famous in spite of himself. He’ll be making the headlines this weekend, too, though obviously for a very unfortunate reason…” Hao walked back over to Ben. “Why, you must have been on vacation when The Cosmic Fall occurred! Wouldn’t you have loved to be here and witness something like that?” He gazed down at Ben, showing his neat row of teeth.
Ben stared back at him, then returned the cup. Hao carefully took it, holding it at the edges, as if Ben had dirtied it. “Well, you and I must have a chat soon...about the stars,” Hao said as he moved towards the door. “See you later, then,” he added as he left with a satisfied air.
Yeah, you wish!
Ben shut his bedroom door. He could still hear the man whistling down the corridor.
***
On the opposite side, Inspector James Hao locked himself in the bathroom. He stood before the mirror, whistling softly as he emptied the remaining coffee into the sink. He took a plastic bag from an inside pocket, and carefully placed the cup within it. He washed his hands and took his time to plaster down his hair. Still whistling, he tucked the cup in his inside pocket before stepping out. It bulged weirdly, so he glided down the stairs and left the house, walking with large strides to his car. He briefly noted that, although the rain had stopped, it had become very cold. Once inside the vehicle, he placed the cup in the passenger seat before driving away, tires screeching.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Crystals
Laura was relieved to notice that people were slowly leaving. She busied herself in the kitchen to avoid having to talk to more acquaintances and noticed the garbage bag was overflowing. She carried it to the kitchen door leading to the backyard. The old door squeaked as she pushed it open, and the cold air took her by surprise. She went back inside to grab her mother’s large, knitted shawl that always hung on a couch in the living room. She didn’t remember it being this cold during the funeral. Although it was early October, it was still too early for such a temperature drop.
She left the garbage at the bottom of the four steps outside the kitchen, then was heading back inside when she spotted a tall man in jeans and brown jacket standing with his back to her at the end of the yard, gazing out over the fields. She recognized Jack Anderson with his weird fur hat immediately.
She pulled the shawl closely around her shoulders, took a step forward, stopping as something crunched under her feet. She glanced down and was amazed to find the grass covered in delicate frost crystals. She bent to pick up a fragile, star-shaped crystal that fit in the palm of her hand before joining Jack.
“I hadn’t seen one of these in years. It’s so beautiful!” she began, before noticing the breathtaking scenery of golden cornfields tumbling down the hillside into the valley below. In the distance, the autumn sun peeked under menacing dark clouds, just above the mountain range. The effect was a mesmerizing, brightly golden sunset in a cold and dark
world - a strange sign of summer still clinging in the face of the ever-looming winter.
“My father would have loved this,” she said softly.
“I know,” Jack replied after a while.
She looked up at him curiously. “You miss him, too, don’t you?”
After a short silence, he replied, “Yes.”
She studied his handsome features and high cheekbones. She noticed the small strand of white hair under his fur hat. He stared down at her with deep, honey-brown eyes that reflected pain and exhaustion. “I lost someone, too,” he began. “My daughter…” he trailed away as he gazed out at the fields again. “She would have loved this, too.”
A dozen raindrops fell on them, accompanied by a handful of very light snowflakes. Laura found herself crying silently, freely and without shame, giving in to her grief almost with relief. She cried for her father and for all the hurtful things they had said to each other. But most of all she cried for the things left unsaid between them. Yet somehow she knew everything was going to be all right, that he forgave her. Just as she forgave him now.
Standing very close to the fur hat man somehow made the cold air more bearable. Their misty breath mingled together between the snowflakes as they remembered their loved ones. She found herself resisting the urge to take his hand, as natural as it might have seemed in their shared grief, for somehow she knew that if she did so the magic moment between them would evaporate. He had, after all, backed away from her when she had tried to greet him in the graveyard.
Once the sun had sunk behind the mountains, the cornfields became dark, leaving the way for the cold to penetrate through her shawl. Laura gazed into the distance as if hoping to hold back the last ray of sunlight. “I’m glad you came...” she began, turning to Jack, only to find him gone!
She stared in bewilderment at the space where, a moment ago, this mysterious man had been talking to her about his daughter.
“Jack?” she shouted, a chill rippling down her back as the wind picked up and large raindrops spattered on the ground.
But Jack Anderson had gone.
***
It didn’t take Inspector James Hao long to get to the rendezvous point at a crossroad that led to Chilliwack. The white, unmarked van was parked under some trees by the side of a lonely road.
Hao knocked on the van door to be let in by one of his men. He placed the cup in the agent’s hands, ordering, “Get the fingerprints on this cup analyzed pronto and have them compared to the ones we found on the broken glass we recovered from the crash site.”
The agent nodded.
Connelly and a second agent were in deep discussion, poring over the computer screens, only pausing when Hao came up behind them.
“What is it?” Hao asked.
The second agent looked up at him. “We may be onto something. Watch this.”
He pulled up a photograph of the funeral from that morning. It depicted a general picture of the graveyard, with autumn trees and lush grass, while in the distance a group of mourners were gathered around Ryan Archer’s grave. Some people were strolling away, while others were lining up to pay their respects to Laura Archer. At this distance, people’s faces appeared small and blurry. Zooming in was the only way to get a better idea of people’s identities.
“Agent Connelly noticed this in the corner,” the agent explained as he zoomed into the left side of the picture, away from the crowd, slowly bringing Hao’s attention to a dog standing by a tree. The agent zoomed out again so that a boy appeared next to the dog.
“That’s Archer’s grandson,” Hao stated.
The agent nodded. “Yes, but look at this.”
He moved the angle of the picture slightly so that Hao could make out the face of a man with a fur hat between the branches of surrounding shrubs. He could tell the boy was talking to this man.
“Who’s that?” Hao asked swiftly.
Connelly spoke. “We’ve managed to put a name to most of the people who attended the funeral, mostly regular Chilliwack folks. Not this guy, though.”
Hao said impatiently, “Are you telling me we don’t have him in the system?”
The second agent said, “We’re still searching.”
“I want to know who that is! Find me a name!” Hao ordered. “We’ll go back to the motel and work on this all night if we have to!” He pointed to Connelly. “And you! You’re keeping watch. Report to me immediately if the Archer woman or her son leave the house!”
Connelly settled in the Nissan as the other men took off in the van. He sat back, crossed his arms and kept his eyes on the road before him. The rain thinned, making it easier for him to make out the people who passed in their cars. On a typical day there would have been very little traffic coming to and from the country road where Grampa’s house stood, as there were very few neighbours, but on this late afternoon, the last of the reception visitors headed back to Chilliwack. Connelly watched as a man, covered in a large plastic bag and wearing a beanie hat, cycled by, glancing at him briefly. Connelly glared at him, unmoving, until he was far gone. Because of this, he almost missed the red Dodge Grand Caravan that slowed down as it reached the stop sign of the crossroad.
Connelly could barely make out the woman driver and, next to her, a boy. A small dog’s face stared out at him from the rear window. Connelly straightened, suddenly fully alert. It was the same dog as in the graveyard picture. He switched on the engine and followed the Dodge as it turned onto the highway heading to Vancouver, without informing his superior.
***
Laura Archer woke up to a grey morning, feeling refreshed and rested. She realized she hadn’t had a regular night’s sleep in a long time and the funeral had left her completely drained.
She showered, then put on some black slacks, a white top, a large, grey sweater with a V-neck, black ballerina flats and a pendant she had inherited from her mother. She brushed her shoulder-length hair, pinning it back into a ponytail, then headed downstairs, half expecting to hear her father’s loud roar of laughter as she entered the kitchen. Ben’s mother swallowed hard when only silence greeted her. Still, it felt good to be in her childhood home with its full windows and wooden beams in the white ceiling. While she brewed some coffee, she walked around the living room slowly, stroking the furniture with the tips of her fingers, gazing at old photographs. She was struck by how quiet it was. Once upon a time, she would have rejected the lack of sound, she would have yearned for the bustling of the city, yet now found the calm strangely relaxing.
Laura headed back to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of the black brew. While sipping on the hot liquid, she leant against the wall, then stared out the window towards the empty yard. She caught herself thinking of Jack Anderson again, wondering where–and how–he could have disappeared to so suddenly. Shaking her head to get him out of her mind, Laura washed the cup before leaving it to dry, then checked her handbag to make sure she had her wallet, identity cards, keys, some makeup and, most importantly, her asthma inhaler. After putting on her coat and a light shawl, she locked the door, then headed out into the chilly morning.
Laura parked on Knight Road in downtown Chilliwack by 9:25 a.m., crossing the road to search for the notary’s office. It was further up than she expected. She picked up the pace when a homeless man with his face hiding behind a thick scarf while sitting on a black garbage bag made her slow down. He jingled coins in a plastic cup at her. Automatically, she reached into her purse, and dropped some coins into the cup as she walked by–as her father had taught her to do since childhood.
As the homeless man with the beany hat saluted her with his hand covered in fingerless gloves, she heard him say, “You’re like your daddy, you are.”
She turned in surprise, then stopped as she recognized Wayne the Bagman–the homeless man who had spoken to her the day before at the funeral reception. “Hi,” she said awkwardly, walking away more slowly.
He looked at her intently. “Where’s that boy of yours? You shouldn’t leave him alo
ne, you know?”
Laura frowned at him. “What do you mean?” she asked nervously.
“It’s not safe,” Wayne shouted as she distanced herself from him. “You need to take him away. Far away!”
Laura glared but decided to ignore him. She had reached the notary’s office and pushed the commercial glass doors inward.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you!” Wayne shouted after her.
Laura frowned at him angrily, stepping inside.
She chose the stairs over the elevator to go up to the first floor, where she entered the reception office that had a sign on the front: CHARLES BOYLE, NOTARY PUBLIC. A couple was already there, reading magazines while they waited. Laura walked up to the assistant sitting at her desk, typing on her computer.
The thirty-something woman with short, brown hair smiled at Laura.
“Good morning,” Laura said, smiling back. “I have an appointment with Mr. Boyle at 9:30. My name is Laura Archer.”
Immediately the woman’s smile evaporated, her face visibly turning to panic. She stuttered, “Oh…you’re not supposed to be here…”
Laura stared at her in bewilderment. “Excuse me?” She recognized the woman’s voice. “You called me a couple of days ago, after my father passed away, asking me to come in today!”
The assistant, who had been calmly working a minute ago, now seemed totally at a loss as to what to do. “I…er…you must have misunderstood. The notary is not in today,” she stammered.
Laura stood with her mouth open in disbelief. She pointed to the couple sitting in the waiting room. “What about them? Who are they waiting for?” The couple stared back at them curiously.
The assistant’s eyes widened as she searched for an answer, but then muffled laughter came from the notary’s office.
“Who’s in there?” Laura asked angrily.
