Shepherd's Watch

by Angie Counios

  I gather up some glasses and carry them to the kitchen.

  “Anthony,” Mom calls, “you’re off dishes duty. Take Ollie for a walk.”

  “What about Jodi and Bryan?”

  “You’ll be back before they leave.”

  Ollie is beside me in an instant. He’s brought over his leash, which he’s somehow pulled down from its hook. It appears that I have no choice.

  chapter 7

  Ollie drags me down the path to the lake. He loves the water and if I didn’t keep him on his leash, he’d be in up to his shoulders. Usually, I’d let him have his fun, but if I take him back with stinky, wet fur this late in the day, Mom will make me clean him up.

  “Sorry, buddy. You’ll have to leave those ducks for another time. I don’t want to spend half an hour drying you off.”

  The wind kicks up big waves and shakes the leaves in the trees, completely obliterating any chance of hearing whatever conversation might be going on in the cabin. I’m sure they’re talking about me—lately, everyone checks in with

  everyone else to see how I’m doing. I could be defensive about it, but I’m not—those five people up in that cabin care more about me than anyone I know and they’re simply trying to navigate the events of the last year the best they can. Unfortunately, none of them really knows how I’m doing because I never shared much with anyone. I pushed it deep inside.

  Except that strategy didn’t work entirely. Before Charlie and I stopped the psycho who killed Sheri, he murdered several other girls too, and Charlie and I witnessed some pretty horrific stuff. Memories of Sheri keep surfacing and I can’t ever quite get past the pain of them; it lingers like a hard knot in my chest, tighter some days than others, but always there. At some point after it all happened, I began waking in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat from bad dreams. Ollie must have known something was wrong because he started sleeping in my room with me, snoring away on his back, reassuring me the world was safe.

  People were talking and rumours circulated around the school. Occasionally, some drunk at a party would ask about what happened, but I’d just shake my head and change the subject or walk away. Others who knew a bit more about it thought maybe I was in the detective business and they’d come to me, hoping I’d find a lost iPhone or a missing bike. I’d shut them down too—or tell them off, depending on what I thought of them.

  To cope with all the memories, nightmares, questions, and the head games I played on myself, I stuck to a routine of exercise, school, and visiting with friends. I threw myself into basketball training, working harder and longer than the other guys on the team, until my brain and body were exhausted and I was unable to overthink anything. I stayed focused in class and got probably the best marks I’ve earned since Grade 6. On the weekends when I couldn’t train or do any more homework, I’d hang out with Mike or my other teammates and avoid being by myself. Instead of running away from my memories, I visited Sheri’s grave on the last Wednesday of every month.

  It all seems to have helped. I reversed the failing grades I’d had during the fall and even ended up on the honour roll. I found a real rhythm with the team and we started kicking ass in our games. Best of all, I’m stronger and more filled out than ever before because of all the extra training I’ve been doing.

  Ollie gives his leash a tug and it brings me out of my thoughts. He nips at the waves as they roll in and we walk slowly to the point where the fish rise and gobble up the water bugs skimming across the calm surface.

  After everything happened, they gave us civic medals of honour—well, only me, because Charlie never showed up—but the ceremony was quiet and small. The city kept most of it hushed and out of the papers, not wanting to celebrate vigilante justice. All the cops said was that we chased a guy down at the university who threatened a girl and he turned out to be more than we realized.

  But no matter how much Charlie and I had tried to help, we only made it more difficult for Detective Gekas, the officer in charge, to get the charges to stick. When I saw her at the ceremony, she didn’t come talk to me and I thought she was done with us for good, until she showed up on my doorstep one snowy Saturday morning to tell me the trial date was set—and for me to stay as far away from the proceedings as possible.

  And Charlie?

  He was the only one who really got what had happened last fall. If anyone was able to help me through all of it, I’d say it would be him.

  Except he’s disappeared.

  We hung out together for about a month after Sheri was found, but without a mystery to solve, something to bind us together, we really didn’t seem to have much in common. He seemed happiest on his own, moving between spaces and people, and we eventually drifted apart.

  I don’t blame him—it was as much my fault as his—but it was nice to have someone I didn’t have to explain everything to, someone who knew what I was feeling but could leave all the emotion and anguish of Sheri’s death unspoken. It was a comfort.

  A warm wind blows across the lake and Ollie comes over. I give him a good scratch behind the ears. The conversation back at the cabin must have moved on by now, so I stand and give him the signal and the two of us walk back.

  chapter 8

  Mom, Dad, and Heather are standing beside Jodi and Bryan’s car when Ollie and I come up the path.

  “Hey, slowpoke,” Jodi greets me, “time to say goodbye.”

  I let Ollie off the leash and he rushes over for his requisite belly rub.

  Jodi embraces Mom and Dad. “Thanks for everything.”

  Bryan shakes Dad’s hand and hugs Mom and Heather. “It was a good long weekend.”

  Jodi comes over and gives me a big squeeze. “Take care of yourself, little brother.”

  “I try.”

  “I know you do. Just be careful.”

  “I will.”

  “Because if you don’t,” Bryan chimes in, “Big Sis is coming after you.”

  I laugh. I go to shake his hand, but he pulls me in for a half-bro hug. He’s a cool enough guy—Jodi made a good choice.

  They hop in their car and back out of the cabin’s short drive leading to the cabin. We give a final wave as they pull away.

  Dad turns to me. “Ladder-ball?”

  “Okay, old man, but you’re about to be put in your place.”

  Mom turns to Heather. “Well, I’ve had enough testosterone for one day. How about we leave them to it and go down to the waterfront?”

  I smile as another peaceful evening sets in.

  chapter 9

  Sunday morning and I sleep almost until noon before a mosquito buzzing around my face wakes me. I shoo him away, but I’m unsuccessful and finally open my eyes to stare at the empty bunk above. After Jodi and Bryan left, Heather immediately took over their room, leaving me on my own.

  The smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee wafts in and I drag myself out of bed.

  “I’m heading out for supplies,” Heather announces as I come down the stairs from my room.

  “Well, good morning,” Dad says to me, eyeing his watch, “or should I say afternoon?”

  I ignore him in favour of the coffee and pour myself a cup. I give it a sniff, certain it’s way past its prime but take a sip anyway. “Ugh.”

  “Well, then make yourself some fresh stuff.”

  I shrug and grab some cream and sugar to muzzle the taste and make for the couch.

  Dad stands at the stove. “You want a couple of eggs?”

  I nod.

  “If you want anything from town, now’s the time to tell me,” Heather calls out, “I don’t want to hear any complaints about what I didn’t pick up after the fact.”

  Looking at Mom, Dad can’t resist a jibe. “Kids these days just don’t understand.”

  “I know,” Mom says, pointing at Dad’s old-school landline phone on the wall. “We have these devices that allow ou
r voices to travel through wires.”

  “And I believe you have a similar device that uses satellites—”

  “Okay, enough,” Heather cries out, “I’m leaving. You deal with them, Tony.”

  I salute her. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  Dad brings over a heaping plate of spinach, tomatoes, peppers, and onions, topped with eggs and bacon.

  “What is this?”

  “Your daily serving of vegetables.”

  “Looks like last night’s salad.”

  “Eggs-actly!”

  I sigh. “Too early for Dad jokes.”

  “Fine. Eat up and don’t complain when people feed you.”

  Mom changes the subject. “Your dad and I are going out for a walk, Anthony.”

  This feels like an invitation, but I need alone time as much as Mom and Dad do. “Have fun.”

  I get the nervous glance from her that I’ve grown used to.

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to read…” I grab an old paperback from the bookshelf beside me at random. “The Stand. It seems…” I turn over the gigantic book in my hand and try to force a smile, “thick.”

  “Very good.” Dad replies and in a flash I’m alone in the cabin with the last of my breakfast and a fat, dog-eared novel.

  chapter 10

  By mid-afternoon, I’m deep into the book. It took a little while to get going, but now I’m excited to turn every page. I go read outside for a while, lounging in the hammock, enjoying the sun, before coming back in to grab a ginger ale and sprawl on the retro orange couch by the big bay window. The living room is bright, but the sun has shifted to the other side of the sky and soft shadows fill the room.

  Knock knock knock.

  I jump, staring at the front door. A silhouette rocks back and forth. Likely a neighbour from down the road who needs something.

  I open it, and there stands Charlie Wolfe.

  “Hey.” He cracks a smile, the kind that makes me think he’s happy to see me.

  I’m not sure how I feel, so I don’t say a word.

  I study him, taking in as many details as I can. He looks the same, except he’s gotten some sun. He wears a hoodie, a pair of old jeans, and is carrying nothing but his name, which is strange for a journey all the way up here.

  He raises an eyebrow and shrugs as if to cue me to speak.

  Still, I say nothing, but I’m thinking about everything. Where’ve you been for the past few months? Where did you go as soon as school was out? Why didn’t you return any of my texts? And the big one: How the hell did you find our cabin?

  “Uh, hey?” he repeats.

  I want to say so much more, but all that comes out is “Hi.”

  His smile grows. He walks right past me inside.

  “Come on in,” I say. I can’t help the sarcasm.

  He stops in the space between the kitchen and the living room and gazes around. I pull the door shut to keep any more mosquitoes from getting in.

  “Now this… is exactly what I expected.”

  I’m not sure if this is a dig or a compliment, but Charlie isn’t a dick like that with me, so I believe he’s being sincere.

  “It’s all right,” I say, feeling a little self-conscious.

  “All right? Beats my place hands down.” He eyeballs the interior slowly. “And that’s my actual house, not my summer home.”

  I stand there, silent.

  He notices where I’ve been sitting on the couch. He glances at the ginger ale, then picks up The Stand. He looks at the page I’m on. “Big book for you, Shepherd.”

  “I started this morning.”

  He nods. “You’ll like it. A pop culture classic,” he says, smiling again, “a battle between good and evil.” He puts it down carefully, making sure not to lose my page.

  “Why are you here?”

  He ignores the question and checks the coffee pot, recoiling slightly at this morning’s remains. He goes to the kitchen

  cupboards and finds a bag of coffee, checking the label. “Ethiopia. Hmm. Very nice. I love dark roasts.”

  He opens another and pulls out the coffee filters. I can’t figure out how he knows his way around our kitchen; it’s like he’s done it before.

  I move over by the sink and fold my arms across my chest. “How did you find this place?”

  He smiles smugly. “Did you know that dark beans have less caffeine than the regular ones? They lose it in the roasting process. Interesting, right? Because Joe Public thinks darker coffee equals stronger coffee and that must mean more caffeine. Not the case. It’s actually less.”

  He opens a drawer and digs through it before pulling out a measuring spoon. He scoops out a portion of the coffee grounds and puts it into the coffee maker.

  “Charlie,” I try again, “how did you—a guy who doesn’t even have a car—get here?”

  “Shepherd, relax. I’m here. I found you. Now, do you mind?”

  I shrug, giving up, and step out of his way. He takes my place at the sink with the coffee pot.

  “Whoa,” I caution, “non-potable.” I point to a water cooler in the corner.

  “Got ya!” He proceeds to fill the coffee pot from the cooler but then pours the water into a clean saucepan he finds on the stove. He lights the gas and I take a seat, resigning myself to the fact that he’s going to do whatever the hell he wants.

  “How long have you had this place?”

  “A while.”

  He cracks open a plastic container to find some blueberry hemp seed muffins. He takes one and bites into it. “Delicious.” He swallows. “Your dad make these?”

  “No, my sister, Heather.”

  He thinks for a moment. “The middle one?”

  “Yes.”

  Going to the fridge, he takes a block of cheese out of a drawer. He unwraps it carefully but then breaks off a large piece with his fingers. I grab a small plate from the cupboard and slide it his way, hoping he’ll take the hint. He ignores it and chomps away at the chunk of cheddar.

  I wonder if he even ate on his journey here… from wherever he came.

  “Man, I really like cheese.” He rewraps the rest of the block and puts it back.

  The water steams in the saucepan but doesn’t boil and he pulls it off. He fiddles with the coffee maker, leaving the basket hanging open and sliding the coffee pot beneath. He plugs the bottom with his finger, pours the hot water over the grounds, and stirs it with a spoon. I figure it must be hot, but he seems not to care. After a minute or so, he releases his finger and it starts streaming into the pot and he pours more hot water over the beans. It immediately smells delicious.

  He pours in the last of the water from the saucepan, and while it trickles through the coffee filter, he moves over to a cupboard and finds the coffee mugs. Again, I’m amazed by his accuracy. He offers me one, but I decline, so he pours himself a single cup once it’s finished dripping. He slides the pot back onto the hot plate.

  “I hate letting a fine cup of coffee overcook, but one has to improvise in the wilderness.”

  He stares at the magnets and pictures on the fridge and I recall his theory that they reveal a lot about a family. He nods but says nothing, until his attention is caught by a black and white photo of a man on the shoreline with a fishing rod and a decent-sized fish. “Who’s that?” he points.

  “My granddad. Mom’s side.”

  “He’s like you. Only browner.”

  I laugh, realizing how much I’ve missed his bluntness. But it’s true—everyone says I resemble my mother’s father. I’ve got my dad’s height, but I can’t argue my striking resemblance to Granddad.

  “What did he do for a living?”

  “He was a labourer. Worked in a wood mill.”

  “Where?”

  “Ontario.”

  He nods, then goes to scope o
ut the rest of the cabin. “Where’s the family, Shepherd?”

  “Mom, Dad, and Ollie went for a walk and Heather went to town.”

  “Cool. It’ll be good to see them.”

  Charlie sinks into the couch and I cross the room to a chair beside him. I see his relief as he takes a load off. He’s tired—must be—had to have been a hell of a lot of work getting here without a car. He leans back, settling into the soft cushion, and inspects me.

  “You’re taller than the last time I saw you. And you’ve filled out. Not so scrawny.”

  I take a deep breath. “Charlie, what are you doing here?”

  He shrugs again. “Thought I’d come see you.”

  “Just like that? You thought you’d head north five hours to an unknown, remote location just to say hi?”

  He smirks. “Sure. Why not? Don’t us poor kids deserve a holiday too?”

  He’s testing me, seeing what reaction he’ll get, but I’m not in the mood. He waits a moment more, but when I don’t bite, he moves on. “How long are you staying out here?”

  I don’t know the exact answer. “I think most of the summer, on and off.”

  “Yup, I’ve heard good things about these northern lakes.”

  He’s up to something. “Like what?”

  “Things happen here all the time. Did you know there are barely any alien sightings in this entire province, but there’s been nearly a half-dozen right in this area?”

  “You believe in aliens now?”

  “They say they follow ley lines.”

  “What lines?”

  “Spiritual pathways that criss-cross the earth.”

  “Really?”

  “And an old-timer told me on the way here that the bridge over the river has a mysterious hitchhiker haunting it. You pick him up and before you finish crossing the bridge, he’s disappeared.”

  “I’ve heard that one. There’s also a graveyard just down the road that has ghost lights floating in it.”

  “People wander out into these woods, see weird shit, and get lost. Just south of here, some farmer went out to mow his field—”