Smoked

by Garry Ryan

  “It’s like smoke,” James said.

  Lane focused all of his attention on James. “Explain.”

  “Jennifer knew there was something wrong there, she could smell it, she could feel it.” James stopped talking to look at MaryAnne.

  “We’ve been talking about it ever since. We just haven’t come up with any definite answers.” MaryAnne looked at James. “He gets tired quickly.”

  Lane and Harper were back in their car within fifteen minutes.

  Harper started the engine. “Smoke?”

  Lane watched a husband and wife carefully put a newborn in a car seat. “It’s possible Jennifer discovered the source of the smoke.”

  ×

  Fibre sounded like he was talking on speakerphone. “We’re still no closer to an answer. Toxicology came back inconclusive. I’m still eliminating possibilities one by one.”

  To Lane’s ear, Fibre could have been talking about the weather or whether to have the filet mignon or the salmon for dinner. It’s a good thing the good doctor is great at his job, Lane thought.

  “I’m looking at contaminants in the victim’s system, but so far nothing has come up. Not even a little alcohol, although there was some evidence of caffeine.” Fibre came as close as he ever did to sounding frustrated. “Is there another specific avenue that I might want to explore?”

  Lane searched his thoughts for possibilities. “What other possibilities besides nitrous oxide are there?”

  “I can’t think of any,” Fibre said.

  “The dental office is called Rockwell Sedation Dentistry,” Lane said.

  “We keep coming back to nitrous oxide,” Fibre said.

  “What do you know about it?” Lane asked.

  “Nitrous oxide is commonly called laughing gas. I’ll check into the typical anesthetics used by dentists in general and those used at the offices of…?”

  “Doctors Stephen and Jones,” Lane said.

  Fibre hung up.

  SATURDAY, MAY 10

  chapter 12

  Lane watched the bmw driver ahead of them change lanes, turn left without signaling, then run the three-way stop inside the mall parking lot.

  “Did you see that?” Christine asked from the back seat.

  Matt sat next to Lane in the front passenger seat. He exhaled and looked out his window.

  “See what?” Arthur asked from the back.

  “That?” Matt pointed at the blue sedan. The luxury vehicle stopped and parked. The driver hopped out and ran into a sporting goods store. His bmw blocked traffic.

  Lane turned right, away from the congestion.

  He parked at the very southern edge of the shopping mall parking lot. Away from the madness, he thought.

  After they got out of the Jeep and walked past the rows of parked cars, a horn sounded.

  “Look!” Matt pointed.

  The man was getting back into the bmw parked out front of the sporting goods. A horn sounded again. The man turned around and raised his middle finger to the person in the car behind the bmw.

  “Let them sort it out,” Arthur said to Lane.

  Lane waited for Christine and Arthur to catch up. Matt ambled along in his patented cerebral palsy gallop that was somewhere between walking and skipping.

  “Thanks.” Arthur touched Lane’s elbow.

  They gathered inside where some shoppers reclined in oversized, overstuffed chairs and others ambled east and west. Lane caught the scent of coffee and looked to his right. A gaggle of men and women gathered near the espresso machine that alternatively steamed and hissed out lattes, mochas, and cappuccinos. “Which way are you going? I’ll catch up to you. Anybody else want a coffee?” Lane asked.

  “I’ll help you carry them,” Matt said and went with Lane to join the line.

  Arthur and Christine turned right, toward a series of shops where, as Matt put it, “Everyone comes away lighter in the pocketbook.”

  After ordering their drinks, Lane sat in a box-shaped armchair. Matt sat on the armrest.

  “Think she’ll be okay?” Matt asked.

  But you two fight so much. I thought you hated each other, Lane thought. He stared at Matt. The eyes of his nephew looked back at him, waiting for an answer.

  Lane glanced at a young woman with black hair who was making coffee.

  “Go ahead, just say it.” Matt put his hand on his uncle’s shoulder.

  “I thought you two hated one another.” Lane looked up to gauge Matt’s reaction.

  Matt laughed. “You worry too much. She’s like the sister I never had. Almost everyone I talk with at school fights with their sisters. It’s the way it is.”

  “Mochas and cappuccinos double up!” The voice sounded like that of an auctioneer.

  “That’s us!” Lane stood up. The chair tilted. Matt almost fell off the armrest.

  Holding two coffees each, they looked for signs of Arthur and Christine.

  Two white-haired mall walkers passed by with arms swinging and legs pumping in military precision.

  “You don’t like talking about it, do you?” Matt asked while sipping his coffee and looking at Lane over the rim.

  “About what?”

  With whipped cream on his top lip, Matt smiled. “About family stuff. You used to talk before, now you just clam up.”

  “Before?” Lane asked.

  “Before Christine came. Before that we used to talk all of the time. Now we hardly talk at all.” Matt looked away.

  And he’s listening to every word I say, Lane thought. “Before, I thought I knew what to say to you. Now it’s different. There’s so much tension all the time. And…”

  Matt waited for half a minute. “Well?”

  “When my sister had Christine, I was there when she was born. We bonded. Then she was gone. I was gone. Now she’s back. I still don’t know quite how to handle that. There are years of her life that I know nothing about. And I’m worried about you. Worried about saying the wrong thing. Worried you’re unhappy because she’s living with us. She seems so confused. I have no idea what to say to either of you.” Lane looked at Matt, who was looking through a window, past the mannequins.

  They watched as Arthur picked out a blouse for Christine. The look she gave him was sharp enough to cut flesh. Arthur raised his eyebrows and hung the clothing back on the rack.

  “You think other families don’t act like that?” Matt pointed with his finger and the cup of coffee. “Sometimes I sit in the mall just watching how families act.”

  “I have no idea what other families do.” Lane wondered how long it would be before Christine left the store, and some drama would play itself out in the middle of the mall.

  “I’ve been asking around.”

  Lane turned to Matt. “And?”

  “Everybody thinks their families are pretty screwed up. Some parents get drunk every weekend. Some pay absolutely no attention to their kids. And some keep their kids so close they can hardly breathe.”

  They watched as Christine began to walk out of the store, followed by Arthur.

  “Here we go.” Lane prepared for the explosion.

  “You worry too much,” Matt said.

  Christine turned toward them.

  “I thought it would look good on you,” Arthur said.

  “I hate that colour!” Christine rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  Arthur took a deep breath and looked at Lane as if to say, “You try.”

  “What colours do you like?” Lane asked.

  “I don’t know,” Christine shrugged.

  Matt said, “You like that place over there.” Matt pointed with one cup of coffee while handing Arthur the other.

  Lane handed Christine a cup. “Let’s give it a try,” he said. “What do you think?”

  Christine looked around her.

  Matt said, “You might like that one.” Matt pointed at a window hiding the opening to another clothing shop.

  “It’s too expensive.” Christine looked further down the mall.
>
  “How many times do you get to meet your dad for the first time?” Arthur asked.

  “Let’s give it a try.” Matt headed for the store without looking to see if anyone was following. He moved with none of Christine’s grace.

  Lane tucked his arm in Christine’s and Arthur took her by the other elbow.

  As they turned past the display window, they came face-to-face with a copper-coloured waterfall reaching from the floor to the ceiling.

  It’s much the same as the one in Dr. Jones’ office, Lane thought.

  Inside, the mid-sized shop was filled with a major collection of female shoppers, all of whom turned to look at Christine being escorted by an all-male entourage. Lane felt Christine try to turn around, but he and Arthur carried her forward into the centre of the store and the heart of the crowd.

  “How about that?” Lane looked at a simple white blouse and black pants. He caught a whiff of perfume and strawberry shampoo emanating from one of the women.

  Christine moved in closer to touch the fabric.

  A woman walked past Lane. She smiled. “You’re a brave man.”

  Christine held the top and pants up to her as she stood in front of the mirror. “It’s 50 percent off.”

  Five minutes later, they passed the waterfall again. Lane heard the trickle of the water and an idea lapped at the back of his mind. He looked back at the crowd inside the store and wondered at the cost of the sculptured waterfall, rent, salaries, and sales. It must take a fortune to operate this place.Kuldeep was right; I don’t understand what it costs to run a business.

  “Now you need some shoes to go with the outfit.” Arthur swung the bag holding Christine’s clothes, pointing in the direction of a nearby shoe store.

  All were relieved when the point came when Christine said, “These shoes are a perfect match for the outfit.”

  They were home within the hour.

  ×

  At the entrance to the Red and White Club, Lane watched Christine as she opened the door for the tv crew. He thought, White and black never looked so elegant. He reflected on a memory of her when she was less than an hour old.

  The tv personality was blonde and wore a tight red top and matching skirt. Her high heels seemed to clap, “Watch me!” as she stepped onto the tiled lobby. The echo of stiletto applause followed her. The camera operator said, “Thank you,” to Christine.

  Arthur, Matt, and Lane followed, taking in the room. The carpeted ballroom was filled with tables, red tablecloths, and life-sized images of Bobbie “Go Long” Green posing with a football, posing at the goal line, making a fingertip catch with outstretched arms, and waving to the crowd.

  Lane looked around the room. He felt Christine tuck her arm around his.

  Matt watched them, waiting.

  Arthur cocked his head to the left.

  Lane followed the motion.

  The lights of three tv cameras illuminated one man. He stood more than six feet tall. His smile was directed mainly at the reporter in the red dress. Lane studied the man he’d met only a couple of times nearly twenty years ago. Bobbie’s black hair was still thick and cut short. He moved like he was comfortable and confident in his skin. The blue pinstriped suit was obviously tailored to fit his body.

  “That’s him?” Christine asked.

  Lane nodded. “That’s your father.”

  They moved closer to catch the questions and answers.

  “What are you up to these days, Mr. Green?” the reporter in the red dress asked. She looked up at Bobbie, fluttered her eyelashes, and smiled.

  Bobbie grinned, “I’ve got various business interests around the country. They keep me busy, and of course I play a little golf when I can.”

  “How does it feel to be back here?” another reporter asked.

  “Great. It’s a great honour to have my name next to so many other talented players, and to see some people I haven’t seen in years.” Bobbie looked over the crowd, spotted Lane, stared for a moment, frowned, then looked away.

  “So, you’re her.” The female voice came from the right of Lane and Christine.

  They turned to the woman behind the voice. She stood as tall as Christine, and had the same colour eyes and hair. Even her skin was a similar shade.

  Besides that, Lane thought, their faces are remarkably similar. He felt himself fill with dread at what the woman was about to say.

  “How old are you?” the woman asked.

  “Eighteen.” Christine studied the woman’s face and clothes.

  “My name is Arthur.” Arthur held out his hand.

  She took it, smiled and said, “Alexandra Green.”

  “This is Christine.” Arthur put his hand on Christine’s shoulder.

  Christine held out her hand. Alexandra pushed it aside and hugged her. She put the flat of her hand on Christine’s spine and rubbed it furiously. “Bit of a shock for both of us. My mother mentioned you a time or two. Dad always said it wasn’t true, but one of the wives on the team was certain. When my parents got into an argument, you usually came up.”

  Lane’s mouth went dry. “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen,” Alexandra said.

  Christine stepped back and wiped at her eyes. “This is my Uncle Lane and my cousin, Matt.”

  “Good to meet you.” Alexandra’s long fingers wrapped around Lane’s hand.

  “You look so much alike.” Lane heard the quiver in his voice. Alexandra held onto his hand as if trying to steady him.

  “I’ve been watching you since you came in. You see, I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so I’ve always wondered about you. It’s one of the reasons I came on this trip: to see if you would be here.” Alexandra kept her eyes on Christine.

  Christine shivered and looked over at the tv lights.

  “Want to meet our father?” Alexandra grabbed Christine’s hand and pulled her forward.

  “Wait!” Lane felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding. He moved to catch Christine, but the young women were beyond his reach and fast approaching the edge of the cameras. Christine used her free hand to shield her eyes from the glare as the girls entered the spotlight.

  “Stop them!” Arthur pulled at Lane’s elbow.

  Lane felt he was watching a catastrophe about to occur, and there was nothing he could do but observe.

  “Too late!” Matt said, standing at Lane’s other elbow.

  The cameras turned to the young women. The reporter in the red dress turned to Bobbie, “Are you going to introduce your daughters?”

  The look Bobbie gave his oldest daughter caused both young women to stop and look away. “No comment,” Bobbie Green said. He walked away from his daughters, away from the cameras, and out of the room.

  Christine said nothing all the way home. Once inside the house, she went to her room and closed the door.

  Arthur passed the time rocking in the chair next to the couch. He looked at the grandfather clock. “She’s been in there for over four hours.”

  “It was another rejection.” Lane looked at Roz, whose worried eyes told the story of their evening.

  “I gave her our number and address.” Arthur looked out the window as a car drove by.

  “What?” Lane asked.

  “I gave Alexandra our phone number and our address before we left.” Arthur waited for Lane’s reaction. “Maybe when things get back to normal…you know.”

  Lane thought, I’m beginning to wonder if our lives will ever get back to normal.

  “Well, one thing is for sure, this night can’t get any worse,” Arthur said.

  The phone rang eight minutes later. Lane picked it up, “Hello?”

  “Uncle Lane? It’s Mandy. You know, your niece. My parents don’t know I’m calling. Your father is in the Foothills Medical Centre. The priest is giving him the last rites. You should come.” Mandy took a breath.

  “I don’t know if I should.” Lane felt an old agony intensifying somewhere just beneath his ribs.

  “He asked me to phon
e you.”

  “Who did?” Lane asked.

  “Your father.”

  I haven’t seen him in more than fifteen years, Lane thought. “What room is he in?” he asked.

  She told him and hung up.

  Arthur said, “What is it?”

  “Dad is dying, and he’s asking for me.” Lane studied the patterns in the oak of their living-room floor. He saw how the wood grain of some boards seemed to run into the next even though most of them were of different shades, ranging from blonde to something close to cherry.

  Arthur grabbed Lane by the shoulders. “I’ll stay here with the kids. You have to go.”

  Lane looked up.

  “Go.” Arthur kissed him.

  ×

  Lane parked on the east side of the hospital, looked at the moon in the clear sky, eased past a man in a wheelchair who was smoking a cigarette, walked into the warm air blasting between two sets of sliding automatic glass doors, and was enveloped by the soapy, antiseptic scent of the Foothills Medical Centre.

  He shared the elevator with two nurses, who stared at the door all the way up.

  In the hallway he checked the signs, walked past the nursing station, and found the room at the end of the north wing. He read the name, Martin Lane, on the wall. Am I too late?

  “Yes?” asked a woman’s voice.

  He looked into the eyes of a strawberry blonde who was still quite attractive in her middle years. Lane recognized her at about the same moment she realized who she was talking to.

  “It’s you,” she said, and looked over her shoulder.

  Lane stepped to his left and looked inside the room. He saw his brother at the foot of the bed. Joseph Lane wore a blue pinstriped suit. It’s like a lawyer’s uniform, Lane thought.

  Joseph turned his eyes to his brother and stared.

  Lane was shocked by how much he and his brother looked alike — except, of course, for their hair. Joseph had none.

  “We weren’t expecting…” Margaret began, as she slipped past Lane to put herself between the brothers.

  “You to be here,” Joseph finished.

  Lane recalled their habit of finishing each other’s sentences. Say as little as possible, Lane thought, and protect Mandy.