Unravelling

by Josephine Boxwell

  When the church got so crammed that people were clogging up the aisle and there was still a queue trailing out of the door, somebody important decided they needed to find a bigger space. The swollen congregation emptied into the neighbouring park. Out there, a light breeze touched their faces and gently nudged clouds across the sky. It dispersed the sounds of movement and chatter and sadness so that the gathering seemed more peaceful. Elena spotted Logan with his mother and tried to rush over to him, but Mamma held her arm. “Not now,” she said softly.

  Men talked. Religious men, chiefs, a politician, the brother of one of the deceased. A silver-haired man from the mill company told them all he wasn’t going to rest until the disaster was fully investigated. Elena saw his car heading out of town minutes after his speech.

  The mayor and the local councillors were all there. A blonde-haired woman locked eyes on Elena. She wore a sharp black suit and was Stapleton’s only female councillor but Elena didn’t know her name. She came into the café sometimes and ordered a coffee with something sweet, which Ken served with a miniature fork. Everyone else just used their fingers. The councillor kept staring at her, not in a particularly friendly or even pitying way. Elena felt awkward so she slipped around the other side of Mamma.

  Brandon was standing nearby, one hand wrapped in a bandage that disappeared up his long-sleeved shirt. He was calm now, not like the night he’d knocked on their door, smothered by ash and shock. He was holding a young woman’s hand. Elena thought about asking Mamma if she was his girlfriend but Mamma probably didn’t know or care and she’d just get shushed again.

  Brandon looked directly into Elena’s inquiring eyes. He’d caught her staring at him and she smiled awkwardly and looked away. When she glanced back the grief on his face made her look away for good.

  Elena didn’t know who Peter Bernier was, not when Mamma had softly mentioned his death earlier in the week, and not when the mayor read out the names of the dead men. She didn’t make the connection between Peter Bernier and Pete, Logan’s dad, until the mayor talked about Peter Bernier, loving father and loyal friend and she saw Logan’s mom flee the crowd on unsteady legs.

  Elena couldn’t remember a time when Logan was a Bernier. He was a Kerr now, like his stepdad. Logan leaned into Mr. Kerr’s arm. His step-brother Taylor stood on the other side of him. Logan spotted Elena and he stared right through her. No one held her back this time or told her not to go to him, she didn’t move. She couldn’t.

  The first day of the school year was delayed until after the memorial service. Mamma snapped a couple of barrettes onto Elena’s hair and kissed her forehead. When she stepped out of the door, Mamma grabbed hold of her hand as if she wasn’t going to let go.

  Elena’s class had a new teacher, Miss Meyer, who wore long cardigans and skirts that fluttered around her ankles. Her frizzy curls bounced when she moved and she spoke softly about finding peace and love even during times of crisis. She was very young and she wasn’t from the area, and if the explosion had never happened, that would have been enough to make her the talk of the café.

  “We don’t always get a chance to say goodbye,” Miss Meyer murmured when Elena asked where Logan was. He wasn’t in her class and she couldn’t find him in the playground at break time. Elena was sure her new teacher had misunderstood. Logan had been her friend since kindergarten. He’d be back as soon as he was feeling better.

  “Curtis? Are you home?”

  Mamma called for him every time they returned to the empty house. Elena wanted her to stop. She made it sound like he’d just nipped out to get something, as if they’d see his shaved head pop around the kitchen doorway and he’d say: “I’m back now! I’m fine.” As if his absence didn’t hurt. The only reply was from the humming refrigerator.

  Mamma used to be the first one up in the morning but now she often stayed in bed until almost midday. Rob said she wasn’t sleeping at night so they should be quiet in the mornings.

  Mamma used to make them a special breakfast on Saturdays. French toast or eggs and bacon. Rob scowled as he scraped the burnt bits off his toast. Then he slathered blueberry jam onto the salvaged remnants. Elena tiptoed around him and made her own breakfast, smearing her bread with peanut butter and honey. He snapped at her for using his knife. She sat opposite him and quietly ate her toast while he stared at his.

  “Why won’t he just come home?” Rob said.

  “Maybe he can’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Elena didn’t have an answer but knew he’d come home if he could. Something was stopping him. Or maybe someone. A dangerous someone. Or someone that Frank knew. Or Frank himself.

  CHAPTER 10

  2 0 1 8

  THE AIR HAS a bite to it and the sky is darkening for a storm. Vivian wraps her cardigan tightly around her chest as she deadheads clusters of marigolds, pansies and geraniums. They might get a few more flowers if the frost holds off.

  Dean sits on the garden bench. He did offer to help. Todd jokingly suggested he could mow the lawn. “Are you able to get assistance around the house?” Dean asked. Todd shuffled inside to make tea. He doesn’t like being made to feel old, either.

  “Frank didn’t want a funeral. He asked for his ashes to be scattered at a viewpoint in the mountains,” Dean tells Vivian. She examines the limp brown petals in her gloved hand. “He also wanted everyone to come to the Inn and have a good time but not call it a celebration of life, because that makes it sound like a funeral.”

  She sighs as she looks up at the clouds. Even in death, Frank has failed to keep things simple. Gathering above her are the black beginnings of another almighty downpour, another highway slide, another mess to clean up.

  “It’s on Friday. Will you come?”

  “No. Frank never liked funerals.”

  “But it’s not ...”

  “His lawyer no doubt told him if he didn’t provide any instructions, people would organize a funeral. He’d have been perfectly happy simply blowing away on the breeze.”

  “You knew him better than I did but it’s important to say goodbye to old friends. And it’s an opportunity for me to introduce myself to the community and let them know what’s happening with the Inn.”

  “What is happening with the Inn?”

  “Nothing. For now. But they should know it has changed hands. I’m waiting to hear more about the business development you mentioned.”

  Vivian points her pruning shears at him. “You will be the first to know. It is worth the wait, I promise.”

  She leaves the shears on the wrought iron table and sits beside Dean. He leans away from her, very slightly.

  “I wanted your advice on another matter.”

  The first drops of rain fall and Dean looks anxiously at the sky. He’s in short sleeves, hairs raised on his exposed forearms.

  “I didn’t make the connection before, that Frank’s manager, Giulia Reid, is Curtis Reid’s wife. One of the regulars mentioned it to me and then I remembered his name from all the media coverage of the mill explosion.”

  Vivian bristles at the sound of their names. Her home is her sanctuary. Todd should have told Dean she was busy when he showed up on their doorstep.

  “Why did Frank hire her? You’d think she’d drive business away after what her husband did.”

  “Beauty blinds a lot of men.”

  Dean frowns. “Were Frank and Giulia ... a thing?”

  Vivian shrugs. “Technically she’s still married.”

  “Is she bad for business?”

  “I have no idea, Dean. I haven’t seen Frank’s books.”

  The drops fall more heavily. Dean stands and hovers beside the bench, waiting for an invitation to enter the house, but Vivian has no intention of continuing this particular stroll down Memory Lane.

  “So, will you come to Frank’s send off?” The raindrops collect on Dean’s shirt, forming dark patches.

  “I appreciate the invitation, but I don’t think it’s what Frank would’ve want
ed.”

  Vivian’s wool cardigan offers more protection than Dean’s shirt. It isn’t long before Dean makes his excuses and exits through the side gate.

  “What are you doing? Come inside!” Todd yells through the rain as he approaches her. “Where’s Dean? I made tea.”

  Cars are parked all along Main Street. Vivian hasn’t seen it so busy in years. She inspects them as she walks by: Kirk George’s F150, Pam’s red Corolla, dinged on the passenger door, Len Sampson’s classic blue Chevy pickup, Liz’s Rav4 with a sticker on the bumper. “If you can read this, you’re TOO CLOSE!”

  She looks up and finds herself under the shadow of the Inn’s veranda that stretches across the sidewalk.

  “Vivian, you came!”

  Dean strolls out of the main entrance, both doors wide open letting out the noise of the gathering inside. He’s wearing a black shirt and pants, black leather shoes. She remembers; Frank’s non-funeral.

  She pushes her palm forwards defensively before he can take her arm and lead her anywhere. “I’m not going in. I just wanted to ...”

  Dean rests his hand against one of the veranda’s thick supporting beams. “I understand. It’s hard, losing people.”

  He doesn’t understand at all. Silence lingers awkwardly between them, both looking for a way out. Beyond the open doorway, a loud voice rises above the rest and a peal of laughter follows.

  “I should get back inside. You’re more than welcome to join us if you change your mind. Thanks for coming.”

  He disappears into the dark building that holds the town’s secrets. She had been proud of the Inn once. However run down, it remained a central piece of Stapleton’s history. Now it makes her sick.

  She turns away from it and walks right into another piece of the past she would rather forget. Mary is blocking the sidewalk in her mobility scooter.

  “Surely you haven’t come to say farewell to Frank?” Vivian asks incredulously. Mary knows too much and hasn’t forgiven either of them.

  “I heard the Inn was under new ownership. I thought I would introduce myself.”

  Vivian steps delicately off the sidewalk and squeezes between two parked vehicles. Mary’s words follow her.

  “Did you know it’s the seventh month in the lunar calendar?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “In the seventh month, the dead come to visit the living.”

  “Fascinating,” Vivian mutters. She’s relieved when she hears the whizzing of Mary’s scooter, but it stops almost as soon as it has started.

  “It’s the end of your era, Vivian. Frank is gone. You’re not doing so great yourself from what I hear.”

  Vivian turns and glowers at Mary, then regrets giving her the attention when she sees the smirk on her face.

  “Out with the old. In with the new. Maybe it’s time you made peace with the past, while you still can.”

  Vivian ignores her, tightening her grip around the top of her cane. She resumes her slow march down the street. She looks back only once, when she hears Dean introducing himself and welcoming Mary inside.

  CHAPTER 11

  1 9 9 4

  “WHAT GRADE ARE you in, Elena?”

  “Five.”

  “Do you enjoy school?”

  Logan hadn’t come back. Miss Meyer was still offering them sympathy at every opportunity and Elena’s classmates couldn’t stop talking about the explosion, which made it really hard to stop thinking about Dad.

  She stared at the female officer’s shoes. Flat and black with laces. Very plain. Not the kind of shoes Mamma would ever wear.

  “What do you remember about the day of the explosion?”

  “It was hot.”

  The woman made a note. The officers wanted to speak to each of them individually. They sat down with Elena first. Mamma and Rob lingered nervously in the kitchen.

  The female officer was older than the man, but they both had the same way about them. They spoke as though they were reading from a script.

  “Is there anything else you can tell me about that day?”

  Elena shrugged. She wasn’t feeling very talkative. The questions kept coming whether she answered them or not.

  “Did you see anyone else at your house? Have you ever seen anyone threaten your dad? Or give him money? Or ask him to do something he seemed uncomfortable with? Who are his friends? Is he close friends with Brandon? Where does Brandon live?”

  “The reserve,” Elena answered, and the policewoman paused, just for a second, long enough for Elena to hope it would stop. It didn’t. “Did you see your dad drinking that day?”

  “He had coffee at breakfast,” Elena told her. “And he also had toast with peanut butter.” That was the only question she could answer comfortably.

  “Did he ever talk about leaving? How was he feeling? Was he angry? Was he sad?”

  Was he? Wasn’t he? Was Elena supposed to know? She prayed for some emergency that would whisk the police away. But God didn’t work like that. Elena wasn’t sure exactly how God worked. It was becoming less and less clear how He could help.

  The officers smiled in unison, as though they had timed it. It didn’t mean they were pleased with her—Elena knew they weren’t. All she’d really been able to tell them was about Dad’s breakfast, and the only thing she gathered from their questions was that Dad was in trouble in a way she still didn’t understand.

  “Did you find my dad’s truck?”

  “Yes we did,” the man said calmly. “How do you know about that?”

  “Me and my brother found it. What about the men by the cabin? Did you find them?”

  “Which men are you referring to?”

  “Ken called you to tell you we found the truck and we saw them. One of them dropped something in the creek and then Frank came by and picked them up in another truck and drove away.”

  The woman frowned this time and scrawled something on her notepad. “Who is Ken?” she asked.

  “He didn’t call you, did he?”

  The officers looked at each other but didn’t give her a proper answer. They said something about how he may have spoken to another officer and that they would look into it. It didn’t make any sense. The police shared their information; she’d seen it on Mamma’s cop shows. They had meetings in front of big boards patterned with photos and pieces of string. She didn’t have a chance to press them any further on it. Mamma came in and gently pushed her out by her shoulders. “Come on, Elena, it’s Rob’s turn now.”

  Elena was never left alone, not for a moment. When Mamma had things to do, somebody else was responsible for her. Ken was looking after her today, a Saturday, and she was restless. She watched him for a while and concluded that something still wasn’t right about him. The Ken she knew was particular about cleanliness, especially at the café, but his plaid shirt looked as though he’d picked it up off the floor this morning. His skin sagged underneath his eyes and he didn’t hum along when Alan Jackson came on the radio.

  “Did you really call the cops?” she finally asked him.

  “Pay attention or you’ll drop it.”

  Ken was referring to the pastry she’d pulled out from behind the glass with a pair of tongs. Mrs. Ellsworth had ordered it, one of the regulars. Ken showed Elena how to select the right-sized plate and then he entrusted her with the tongs. She thought about dropping it just to make him listen to her. She let the pastry hang over the floor long enough that Ken grabbed the tongs and shoved it onto the plate a little too violently. The icing went all wonky and Mrs. Ellsworth’s smile froze. She peered across the counter.

  “Don’t worry, dear. Those things can be tricky. I can’t use them at all now, what with my arthritis.”

  Mrs. Ellsworth was always nice but she also liked to remind everyone of her old-person ailments. She had a different one every time Elena saw her in the café. Ken finished pouring Mrs. Ellsworth’s tea and the two of them stood in silence as the old woman hobbled over to a two-seater. Elena turned back to Ken. She wasn’t
going to let it go that easily.

  “You never called the cops, did you?”

  “Of course, I did.”

  “When I asked them, they didn’t know what I was talking about.”

  Ken’s voice had begun to falter. She knew it was because she’d caught him. “There are a lot of cops working on the case. I must’ve spoken to somebody else.”

  “But the cops that came to talk to us knew everything about us except that, because you didn’t tell them!”

  “I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. I’ve got a café to run.”

  Ken made her a hot chocolate and told her to go enjoy it. She sat down but she didn’t enjoy it, and he didn’t look like he was enjoying himself much either. He was hunched up, frowning at the counter as he scrubbed it with a cloth. He caught her staring at him and that seemed to agitate him even more. She knew if he could send her home, he would, but he’d already told Mamma he would look after her for the whole morning.

  Sitting beside Elena were two really old guys that came to Stapleton to work in the coalmine that no longer existed. They were regulars at the café, and they often talked loudly about the old days so everyone could hear about how things were when they were young. Elena liked their stories, but no one else ever seemed very interested. Dad called them windbags.

  One of the old men straightened up and took an interest in a mill worker who came in with his family. The old guy’s throat rasped as he cleared it. “You lookin’ for work then?”

  “No. I got a job.”

  The mill worker turned to his wife, but the old man kept going.

  “You better start lookin’. Everyone’s gonna be leaving town trying to find those same jobs somewhere else. You gotta get ahead of the competition. How many guys worked at the mill? A few hundred?”

  The mill worker ignored him. Ken came over and took their order. The old men kept staring at the young family. Ken brought over coffees and glasses of coke.