Elena shrugged.
Elena missed the warm weather. Shortly after the explosion, she’d gotten into the habit of wheeling back and forth along their lane, stopping outside their house to imagine Dad was in the living room looking out at her as though he’d been in there all along, hiding from them, and every time they left he’d pop out of the walls with a can in his hand and lie back on the couch.
It was too cold for that now. Her bike had been stored in the shed. There was a thin dusting of snow on the ground, but sometimes she still wanted to be outside because the coldness helped to push out bad thoughts, so she walked up and down their lane in her thick winter jacket, hat and gloves, and she imagined he was walking ahead of her. She could see his big silhouette in his black jacket, hat and blue jeans moving almost out of sight. However fast she walked, he was always too far ahead to catch.
She turned back towards their house to see a real person approaching. It was Rob walking home from somewhere, scowling at the pavement with his backpack swinging from one shoulder. He spotted Elena and gestured for her to come with him. Whatever he was up to would be more exciting than what she was doing. It might even involve looking for Dad.
They walked up the hill to where the houses ended and gave way to the tall grass and ranch land where Elena had got lost the night of the explosion. When they were younger they used to come up here to play. Dad got them a kite once, and they tried to run through the knotty roots of the sagebrush with it, waving it this way and that to catch the wind. Elena fell and grazed her knees and chin, and that was the end of that.
Rob pulled an oily rag from one of his baggy pockets.
“Where did you get that?”
“Frank’s.”
He took out a lighter and lit the rag. It burst into flames that reached up to grab his jacket. He dropped it quickly onto the dirt where it flickered and grasped at the long grass and died in the little scrap of snow. He stomped on it, just to be safe, and they stared at the blackened rag.
Rob lit a cigarette. Elena didn’t know he smoked. She tried to look at him casually, like it was no big deal.
“You’re not having one,” he said.
Elena shrugged. “I don’t like smoking anyway. Give me the lighter.”
He threw it to her. She lit the ends of the sagebrush and quickly blew them out before they caught properly. She loved being close to that sage smell, but the burning made her think of Brandon collapsing in their doorway and everything going dark.
“What else burns quickly?” she asked Rob.
“Your hair. Don’t lean over it like that. Give it back.”
Elena threw the lighter back, too short, deliberately, so he had to dig around in the sagebrush and wet snow.
Rob said they were going to get revenge on Frank. “For what?” she asked. But Rob had already moved on to the next phase of his plan. Frank had an ancient record player and a few dusty albums he liked to play, but they skipped and crackled and drove Rob crazy. Rob pulled a few of them out of his backpack and dropped them onto the dirt.
Elena stared at the first album cover; the sun shone bright pinks and oranges above a man with many arms, with people fanned out behind him. The Jimi Hendrix Experience was written on the sun. Rob slipped the record from its sleeve and threw the cover on the ground. “That one’s yours,” he said, pointing at another album. On the cover was a frizzy-haired woman with round sunglasses sitting on a motorbike.
“The rules are, you have to stand here and see if you can throw the record over the fence. Whoever throws it the furthest wins.”
“Won’t Frank be angry?”
“He’ll never know it was us.”
“What did he do?” she asked again.
“He tried to dance with Mamma,” Rob said. “I saw them.”
“What did Mamma do?”
“She told him she didn’t like dancing. But he shouldn’t have asked her in the first place.”
Elena didn’t think it was the worst thing in the world, considering everything else that had happened, but it was more important to be on Rob’s side, and anyway, she had to agree with him on one thing. There was no way Frank could ever replace Dad, and she didn’t like the idea of him even trying to, if that’s what he was doing.
They both knew she had no hope of beating her brother at this game, but she threw Janis as far as she could and she landed in the sagebrush not even close to the fence. “Good try,” Rob said kindly, before swinging his arm back and hurling Jimi into the air. He went really high and sailed right through the barbed wire on the way down. It was a great throw—Elena jumped excitedly and clapped her hands. She was happier about Rob’s genuine smile than his throw. He pulled out two more records and Elena got the next one a bit further than her first attempt, but Rob really nailed it this time. It went so far over the fence they probably would never find it.
Rob piled up the empty sleeves on a patch of dirt and snow and set them alight. The yellow flame melted the bright colours into a pile of wrinkled, black paper shavings. Eventually the flame ran out of things to eat and it shrank until Rob stamped it out.
Elena didn’t have much to do now that she didn’t have any friends to hang out with, so she visited the museum most Saturdays and Mary filled her head full of stories about “the olden days.” Mary gave her some window cleaner and cloths, and she squirted blue liquid onto smudgy fingerprints and gently rubbed the glass clean. In one display case were Native artefacts: old arrowheads, moccasins with delicate beadwork, a thick beaded belt and a painted drum. On the wall beside them was a blown up black-and white-photograph, and the message beneath identified it as the Stapleton Reserve in 1910. Men—Elena guessed granddads, sons and grandsons—stood outside a wooden hut. To somebody really old, she thought, these photos were like the ones of Mamma’s family standing together outside their home. Maybe someone still knew who those people were.
“Are those people related to Brandon?”
Mary was digging a packet of cookies from her desk. She came over and handed one to Elena. Gone in two bites.
“Brandon who?”
“I don’t know his last name. He lives on the reserve.”
“They might be.”
Elena pointed at the photograph. “That old man is his great-great-grandpa.” And then she moved on to a couple of arrowheads. “And his great-great-great-great-great-grandpa made those.”
“The maker of those arrowheads and the people in that photo probably weren’t related.”
Elena was annoyed. She liked her theory. “How do you know?” she asked Mary.
“Historical evidence,” Mary answered. “There’s a ridge just out of town with a meadow on it. You can see depressions in the ground where pit houses sat a long time ago.”
“So Brandon’s great-great grandpa lived in that meadow?”
“I don’t know where Brandon’s great-great grandpa lived, but those arrowheads came from that meadow and the people in the photograph didn’t. When the gold miners arrived, the people that were here, the ones who built the pit houses, had most of their land taken away from them. They were forced to move to a very small area that became the Stapleton Reserve. Because they lost their fishing and hunting territory, they began to starve. Then a terrible smallpox epidemic wiped them out. They all died. For a few years, nobody lived on the Stapleton Reserve.”
Elena wondered how many people had died, and who was last to go, who was there at the very end to see everything and everyone disappear. It made the sawmill explosion sound like a minor incident, like comparing a heart attack to a nosebleed.
“Some years later, a group of people from a neighbouring nation took up residence on the Stapleton Reserve. We know, approximately, when the new group arrived. The men in the photo were most likely part of the later group and were not related directly to the creators of the arrowheads.”
Elena looked up at a picture of the family, people that only lived on here, in the village museum.
“There must be a lot of ghosts o
n the reserve,” Elena said.
“You don’t need to go chasing any of them.”
Elena agreed. This town has been cursed for a long time. Everything that existed now had a before, and sometimes before was so different it was barely recognizable anymore.
She looked over at Mary. “Maybe whatever happened with my dad didn’t start with the explosion. Maybe it had a before. Something happened that led to something else that led to the explosion that led to my dad going missing.”
Mary nodded. “Makes sense.”
“What do you think happened before the explosion happened?”
“I think somebody built on land they should have left well alone.”
Mamma stood on the grass by the riverbank, without moving, for a long time. A thick frost and a heavy mist hovered over the water. Mamma must have been cold, especially standing still for so long. Elena peered through the kitchen window and willed her back inside. It scared her when Mamma behaved differently. It meant Mamma was worrying again.
On good days, Mamma told them it would all be okay. The cops would locate Dad and help him, or he would find his own way home. He would be alright on his own for a while, Mamma said. He was a survivor. He knew what to do in any situation. Elena agreed with her completely, except when Mamma behaved strangely. In those times Elena knew Mamma didn’t really believe it herself.
“Why did he do it?”
A younger kid in a hockey jersey approached her as she zigzagged aimlessly around the playground. His friends were lingering nearby, waiting to hear the daughter of a murderer’s answer. “He didn’t,” she replied, before drifting away.
The kids at school remained fascinated by the story of the explosion and her dad’s supposed connection. They treated her like they didn’t know her, in that cautious way that wasn’t mean but wasn’t friendly. She was learning how to be an outsider and it was getting easier. She kept her head down and tried to put her mind to mysteries that didn’t matter, like whose initials were scratched into a heart on the school gatepost, or how Mamma put on her mascara without poking her eyeballs, or why Frank made jokes that Mamma refused to laugh at when he obviously wanted her to like him.
For the last hour of every day, Elena waited for the school bell to sound. She would be ready, one hand clasping her bag strap so she could fling it over her shoulder the second they were allowed to leave. She liked to be first out the door to avoid questions and the sideward glances.
The buzzing sounded freedom. Elena made her move but Miss Meyer put her hand on Elena’s bag. “Take a seat, Elena.” She wasn’t usually so abrupt. She usually said things like: “Why don’t we have a quick little chat?” As if it were optional.
The other kids stared at her as they pushed their way out of the classroom. Miss Meyer closed the door. Elena listened to the clock ticking above the blackboard. Her teacher brought a chair over to her desk.
“You haven’t seemed like yourself recently, Elena. Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
Elena shook her head. Miss Meyer studied her face and Elena realized she was going to have to say something if she wanted to leave the classroom.
“I’m worried about what happened to my dad.”
“Of course, you are. That’s natural.”
“The police say they’re looking for him, but they haven’t found him yet and I want to help look but Mamma says there’s nothing we can do.”
Miss Meyer hummed gently. Elena waited for a little pearl of wisdom about leaves floating down a river, or winter always leading to spring, or perhaps the fabled sagebrush and its taproot, but her teacher seemed to have run out of advice.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this, Elena, so this is just between you and me, but I’m leaving at the end of the year. I’ve decided to find somewhere that’s a better fit for me. There might come a time when you have to do that, with your family. Try to prepare yourself for that.”
“But you said things would get better here!”
“Well, none of us really know ...”
Elena wasn’t listening to any more of this. There wasn’t anything else to say. She got up and walked out of the classroom. She thought Miss Meyer might try to stop her but she let her go. Elena was grateful.
Outside, she heard the honk of a car horn. Across the street sat the old station wagon, blue-grey with wooden sides, Audrey’s face peering out of the window.
“Get in,” Audrey barked.
“Why?”
“Jesus Christ, I’m not going to kidnap you. Just get in, will ya?”
Elena glanced around. Mamma had confirmed Audrey’s identity but had also made it very clear that she was off limits. No one else was going to help Elena. Maybe Audrey would understand.
Elena yanked open the heavy rear door and climbed in. “Slam it or it won’t close properly,” Audrey said. Audrey looked at her in the rear view as she put on her seatbelt. “Why are ya sittin’ back there anyway? I’m not your frickin’ chauffeur. Sit up front.”
Mamma said she was still too small for the front seat. Rob teased her about it. He offered to get her a booster seat for his car when he got one. He said he’d be driving before she’d be big enough to sit up front.
Elena hesitated. She glanced around the quiet street and climbed into the front, landing in a heap.
“So where’s a good place to eat around here?”
Elena shrugged.
“Where do they sell candy or cookies or whatever you like?”
“Ken’s Café. It’s on Main Street.”
“Seatbelt on. No arguments.”
Audrey put her foot down and drove like there was no one else on the road. She didn’t bother with turning signals, nor did she stop for pedestrians, not even the old ones. Audrey went where Audrey wanted to go. Elena was amazed they didn’t hit anything. They got honked at a couple of times, and Elena shrank down in her seat so no one would recognize her. At least it was only a short distance between the school and the café.
Audrey told Elena to run in and get something while she parked. Audrey didn’t offer to pay, so Elena broke the last five-dollar bill of her pocket money. Pocket money had been officially suspended, Mamma said, until things got back to normal. A few hours at the Inn didn’t pay what Dad made at the mill. She forgot to ask Audrey what she wanted, so she ordered a chocolate chip muffin and a double chocolate cookie. Ken didn’t even try chatting with her. Mamma wasn’t around so he didn’t have to pretend to care.
Audrey wasn’t outside the café. Elena found her at the entrance to the park. Audrey took a cookie without even looking first. She did say “thanks” and Elena thought maybe she could get used to her grandma. Maybe she wasn’t all that bad.
They ate their treats as they walked because it was too cold to sit. There wasn’t much snow but the cold day had hardened the grass. Elena left a trail of crumbs and Audrey did most of the talking.
“Before all this happened, before the cops got ahold of me about Curtis, I didn’t even know you existed. I knew about your brother a’course. Your mom was pregnant at their wedding. I figured that’s why she stayed with Curtis.”
Elena didn’t like a lot of the things that came out of Audrey’s mouth. The more Elena thought about it, the more she thought Dad was probably right about his relatives. Still, family was important and this might be Elena’s only chance to connect.
“Do you like school?” Audrey asked her.
“It’s okay.”
“Who’s your best friend?”
Elena was too embarrassed to say she didn’t have one anymore. “Mary.”
“Is she in your class?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“What about your mom?”
The question confused Elena.
“Does she have someone else? You know, a piece on the side?”
Elena shook her head.
“What about this Frank guy I’ve been hearin’ about?”
Audrey had obvio
usly been doing her research, which wasn’t difficult in Stapleton. The whole town had been gossiping about Mamma and Frank since Mamma started working at the Inn.
“I asked you a question.”
Elena didn’t appreciate Audrey’s pushiness, particularly because she didn’t like the way this conversation was going. “Why don’t you ask Frank what it’s all about?” she said.
“Maybe I will. But right now I’m askin’ you.”
“There’s nothing going on.”
Audrey relented. “Alright, fine. Whaddya wanna know about me?”
Elena studied her grandma; deep lines around her eyes and a thin mouth. All this time wondering about who her relatives were and now she couldn’t think of a single thing she wanted to know about Audrey. She didn’t want to be rude though. She had to ask something.
“What’s Grandpa like?”
“Jim? I asked what ya wanna know about me.”
Elena thought about it. “What kind of things do you like?”
“I like the quiet. Early mornings up on the farm. Sayin’ good mornin’ to the dogs and the cats and the chickens and the goats.”
Quiet moved in between them, neither of them really knowing what to say next, and the silence quickly became uncomfortable.
“What does Jim like to do?”
“Jim likes to come and go whenever he feels like it. But he’s gettin’ on these days. He doesn’t go off so much now there’s no kids in the house to look after. He just sits on his ass in front of the TV mostly.”
Elena tried to imagine her dad as a kid and wondered what it was like for him growing up with Audrey and Jim. Some of the news reports said Dad had a “troubled upbringing.” Did that make the other things they said about him true as well? No. Mamma said journalists exaggerated everything to sell more newspapers.
Audrey stared at her. “You’re always listening, aren’t ya? I bet you know things other people don’t even realize you know.” Elena was pleased by Audrey’s words but wasn’t sure how to respond. Audrey didn’t leave her much time. “D’you think you and me can be friends?”
“Yeah,” Elena told her, hesitantly.
Unravelling Page 17
