Smoked

by Garry Ryan

“How did you find out?” Margaret smiled with her teeth.

  Take the offensive. Realizing he was being tag-teamed and put on the defensive, Lane smiled back and asked, “How’s he doing?” Lane nodded toward the shrunken form under the sheet.

  Margaret’s eyes flashed with anger. He watched her hide it behind a smile. “We know why you’re here.” It was an accusation.

  Lane thought, You have no idea, sister. He eased around her.

  Joseph held out his hand. Lane shook it out of habit. The flesh felt oddly unfamiliar. Joseph released his brother, and stepped back closer to the wall.

  Lane looked at the man in the bed. His eyes were closed. His nose was larger somehow, his eyebrows thicker, more unruly, than Lane remembered. White hair stuck out at odd angles over his ears and against the pillow. The skin on his neck lay in loose folds, like chicken flesh. Lane estimated his father weighed no more than one hundred and twenty pounds and was now under six feet tall. The lack of medical machinery, told Lane that no resuscitation was requested.

  Martin’s blue eyes opened. They registered fear.

  “He’s here,” Joseph said.

  Lane could feel Margaret’s disapproval like cold breath at the back of his neck.

  It took more than a few short sniffs of oxygen before Martin recognized Lane.

  Lane reminded himself to breathe.

  “It is you.” Martin’s voice came in quick gasps.

  Lane had a flashback of his father smoking a cigarette. He looked at his father’s fingers and saw the yellow stain of nicotine on the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.

  “How did skating go today?” Martin asked.

  “I…” Lane looked at his brother and sister-in-law. They would not meet his eyes. “Fine.”

  “Good. You’re such a fine skater. Sorry I didn’t get to your practice again today.” Martin watched Lane’s face carefully.

  “That’s okay. Maybe next time.” Lane thought, He’s remembering the figure skating lessons. That was so long ago. He’s lost his short-term memory.

  “Sit with me awhile?” Martin lifted his right hand with the intravenous tube and patted the side of the bed. “Tell me how you’re doing.”

  Lane sat down. He remembered his father’s scent. The mixture of scotch and tobacco. Tonight, he smelled of urine.

  Martin waved his left hand, “You two can go home now, he’s here.”

  Margaret said, “We’ll stay with you.” She looked at her husband.

  “We’ll stay,” Joseph said.

  “We’ll be fine! Go!” Martin began to cough.

  Margaret opened her mouth.

  Lane watched Joseph wink and shake his head. “We’ll go downstairs for a bite to eat.” He took Margaret’s arm to guide her out the door. She pulled her arm away.

  Lane watched them leave. He saw Margaret hovering, her image reflected in the glass of the storage-room door across the hall. She perched outside the door, listening.

  Lane watched his father sipping short breaths once his coughing subsided.

  A woman walked in. She filled the doorway. “Time for physio.”

  Lane watched as she rolled his father onto his side, massaged his back, then worked his arms and legs. “There you go. Now you can go on with your visit.” Lane watched her leave.

  When he looked back toward the bed, his father’s eyes were on him.

  “Seems like you’re so busy, I never see you anymore. You’re always skating or up in your room doing homework,” Martin said.

  Lane remembered those days when he became aware that there might be something quite different about him. Something that needed to be hidden. That uncertainty, gradually turning into certainty. And, with that knowledge, Lane withdrew, hiding from those who knew him the best. Those he felt he could no longer trust. Lane nodded at the memory.

  “I remember how you could skate. I thought you were flying. The way you moved! It was something!” Martin, unaware he had lost the concept of time, looked past Lane at the wall, where the scene replayed somewhere in the depths of memory, in a world where the more recent past no longer existed.

  Somewhere in that memory, Lane’s father fell asleep.

  Lane looked out of the window at the lights of the city spread out to the horizon. He looked east along the river valley to the Louise Bridge and Kensington. He decided to sit for a few minutes and close his eyes.

  He woke up when the physiotherapist returned. She said, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She leaned over the bed and began to work on Martin’s back.

  Lane sat up in his chair. He licked his lips then searched his pocket for a pack of gum.

  The physiotherapist lifted Martin’s arm. “Wait a minute!” She dropped the arm.

  “What’s the matter?” Lane asked.

  “My goodness!” She looked at Lane. He saw the fear in her eyes.

  Lane stood up and looked at his father, who appeared to have sunken into the pillows.

  “Cold. He’s cold,” she said.

  Lane reached out to touch his father’s foot where it poked out from underneath the blanket. “He’s dead?”

  She nodded.

  Margaret stepped into the room. “We’ll take it from here,” she said.

  Joseph followed in her wake. He studied Lane with vague eyes.

  SUNDAY, MAY 11

  chapter 13

  The phone rang just as Matt, Lane, and Arthur sat down to lunch.

  They stopped and looked at one another across the table before Lane reached for the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Alexandra.”

  He felt his mind slowly working at processing information, exploring options.

  “Can I talk with Christine?” Alexandra asked.

  “We can’t get her to come out of her room.” Lane looked across the table at Arthur.

  Matt said, “It’s no wonder. First her mother, and then her father.”

  “Could I come over?” Alexandra asked.

  “And your father?” Lane didn’t think before asking the question. He thought, It’s like my mind and mouth are disconnected.

  “I just put him on the airplane. He’s gone home.”

  Lane rubbed his palm over his face to try to clear his muddled mind. “When will you be here?”

  “An hour.”

  Lane hung up. He looked at Arthur, then Matt. “She says she’ll be here in an hour.”

  “Who?” Matt and Arthur asked.

  “Alexandra,” Lane said.

  All three looked up in the direction of Christine’s room.

  “You tell her,” Arthur said to Lane.

  “I’ll tell her.” Matt stood up.

  Lane and Arthur watched him move to the stairs.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Arthur asked Lane.

  Lane tried to think of an answer.

  Roz whined at the back door to be let out.

  “Smart dog. You know when trouble is coming.” Lane got up and opened the door. Roz nosed her way outside. Maybe I should follow you, he thought.

  The sound of Matt tapping on Christine’s door carried down the stairs. A few seconds later, he tapped again. “Christine, I’m opening the door.”

  He might need backup. Lane made his way to the bottom of the stairs. He stubbed his toe on the bottom step. The pain brought him some sense of clarity, or at least clarity about the pain.

  Matt opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

  Lane anticipated an explosion of emotion from his niece.

  There was the murmur of Matt’s voice and mumbled one-word answers from Christine.

  Then, “She is? An hour! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Matt stepped outside, looked at Lane, and smiled. “She’s says she’s getting ready.”

  Matt, Arthur, and Lane sipped coffee and listened with more than a little curiosity while Christine showered, dried, and stomped back and forth between her bedroom and the bathroom. Even Roz ventured back inside to await
the unveiling.

  They watched as Christine came downstairs in a T-shirt and jeans. She poured herself a cup of coffee and nibbled on a blueberry muffin. “What are you lookin’ at?” She asked as she accidentally spit a muffin crumb, which plopped into Arthur’s cup. Lane watched the event with curious detachment. Arthur, unaware, sipped his coffee.

  The doorbell rang eight minutes after Christine finished her coffee. Christine answered it.

  Alexandra waited for the door to open, stepped inside, and embraced Christine.

  “I just dropped Dad off at the airport. I decided to stay on for a few days.” Alexandra said into Christine’s ear. “Do you want to go shopping?”

  Christine said, “Matt? You comin’?”

  Matt frowned at Lane and Arthur. “Okay.”

  “Would you like to come back here for supper?” Arthur asked.

  The sisters looked at one another. Alexandra said, “Sure.”

  After they left, Arthur turned to Lane, “What are you going to do?”

  “About what?” Lane’s mind filled with the image of his father in his hospital bed, with a mind falling deeper into the past.

  “About the funeral.”

  ×

  “Maddy, I’m hungry.”

  “Shit.” Maddy reached inside her coat pocket to pull out the fifty she’d taken from her mother’s purse.

  Andrea started to cry.

  Maddy took a breath, leaned over, and hugged her sister. Andrea wrapped her arms around Maddy’s neck. She looked at the group of three approaching her: two young women and a young man. He walked with a bit of a limp. The women are absolutely stunning, Maddy thought. A river of resentment washed over her as her little sister hugged her closer.

  “They’re gay then?” The young woman with the accent asked.

  Maddy thought, She’s American.

  “Got a problem with that?” the young man asked.

  The American leaned her head back and laughed. “Look at me.” She pointed at her face. “Look at her.” She touched the shoulder of the young woman next to her. Then, she laughed harder. “Look at you!” She pointed at the young man, who began to laugh. “How could the three of us have a problem with anything? Come on Christine, we’ve got shoes to buy and we need lattes for fuel,” the American said.

  Maddy watched them pass. Some people have it all, she thought. “Come on,” she said to Andrea, “we’ll go to your favourite: the Mexican restaurant.”

  She looked ahead at a pair of young men headed in the opposite direction. Be careful, she thought and held Andrea’s hand a little tighter.

  The teens were dressed in black jeans and jackets of a related style. They wore similar hats and had similar walks. Both wore dragon tattoos on the backs of their right hands.

  Maddy watched as other pedestrians furtively appraised the teens with heightened senses, evidenced by their stiffer backs and sideways glances.

  Maddy looked straight ahead as the pair approached.

  The male on the right asked his buddy, “Do you use moisturizer?” The one on the left said, “No.”

  “Man, you should. Look at your hands. Now, look at mine.” He held his hands out in front of him as he passed Maddy and Andrea.

  In the wake of the gangsters, Maddy inhaled the scent of lavender and aftershave.

  The sisters waited at the pedestrian crossing. Andrea pressed the button. Yellow lights flashed. They waited for a cyclist, who used his right hand to push his knee on the down stroke of the pedal. He smiled as he rolled through the crosswalk and said, “Thanks.”

  ×

  “We’re going out.” Arthur wore black pants and a fresh-pressed blue shirt. He pulled on his leather jacket.

  “What?” Lane sat close to the phone.

  “A month ago, Loraine and Lisa invited us to their baby’s christening. Get up. We’re going.” Arthur bent to put on a shoe.

  “I forgot.” Lane closed his eyes as he realized his mistake.

  Arthur stood up and frowned. “Of course you did.” He bent back down to tie his other shoe. “The kids are out. They know your cell number, and we haven’t been out together for months. Let’s go.”

  It took less than half an hour to get to Lisa and Loraine’s inner city bungalow, where the family had just returned from baby Benjamin’s baptism. “He screamed through the whole thing,” Lisa said, holding his left hand as she breast-fed him in the front room, surrounded by a talkative mixture of friends and family. “Did you get some lobster?” Lisa asked Kane and Arthur, “Loraine’s dad sent it from the east coast. Lots of beer and coleslaw to go along with it.” She looked back down at her son and stroked his cheek.

  Lane thought, Lisa, the big tough Mountie. Now her son’s got her wrapped around his finger. Come to think of it, Matt and Christine have got us wrapped around theirs!

  Arthur handed a gift to a beaming Loraine, who sat across from her partner and son. Loraine, the blonde-haired psychologist, was just over half the height of her partner. Arthur had informed Lane on the way over that the gift of baby clothing had been purchased and wrapped two weeks ago. Loraine hugged Arthur around the neck, and said, “Go get some lobster before it’s gone.”

  Loraine spotted Lane and stood on her toes to hug him as he bent to hug her back. “So glad you could make it. Isn’t Benjamin beautiful?”

  Lane nodded. “Lisa’s turned into an earth mother.”

  Loraine smiled. “She can’t believe it, and neither can I. He’s perfect.” She put her hands on either side of Lane’s face and kissed him. Then she went to Lisa and kissed her.

  Lane met Arthur out on the covered deck. The floor was covered with a blue tarp. People sat in lawn chairs with newspaper on their laps and at their feet as they struggled with lobster claws, stuffed lobster meat into their mouths, or sat with eyes glazed from eating too much lobster. Many wore green garbage bags over their torsos. Lane thought, It looks like some weird, campy version of Robin Hood. He looked for Errol Flynn; instead, he spotted an old acquaintance, an architect named Robert, who actually could have passed for Flynn. Robert waved Lane over.

  Once Lane found his newspaper, paper plate, lobster, coleslaw, and cold beer from the ice-filled cooler in the middle of the floor, he sat down in the lawn chair next to Robert.

  “It’s been a long time,” Robert said.

  Lane cracked the shell of a lobster’s tail by locking his fingers and making a vice with his palms. “How’s business?” Lane asked as he peeled the outer skeleton, removed the meat, and dipped it in a nearby bowl of vinegar.

  “Lots of money around town these days. I’m always in the inner city designing something glitzy for someone wanting to tear down an old house and erect a palace with lots of exotic wood, pillars, granite countertops, and arched entryways. It’s becoming a bit of a cliché, I’m afraid.” Robert took a sip of white wine.

  Lane took a bite of lobster and thought, I’d forgotten how good this tastes. He looked at Robert, who managed to look elegant even when he was sitting in a lawn chair and sipping wine from a beer glass. Lane looked across at Arthur, who was talking with Loraine’s brother and dipping morsels of lobster in butter.

  “How are you enjoying your new house?” Robert asked.

  “The house is fine.”

  “Word has it you’ve inherited two children.” Robert chuckled. “You and Arthur have initiated quite a trend among your friends.”

  Lane laughed. “This is the first social outing we’ve had in months, and we’ve got the cell phone just in case.”

  “How old are your niece and nephew?” Robert asked.

  “Eighteen and seventeen.” Lane picked up his bottle of honey brewed beer and took a sip.

  “An interesting age.”

  “You could say that.” Lane leaned over, picked up a knife, and split open one of the lobster’s claws on the chopping block. He fished out the white flesh with his thumb and index finger.

  “I have a few nieces and nephews and when I talk with their parents it ma
kes me glad I’m not of the breeding persuasion.”

  Lane considered the remark as he savoured the lobster and took another taste of beer. “Since they arrived on our doorstep, it’s been…”

  “Insane, wonderful, bizarre, hopeless, chaotic, magical?” Robert asked.

  “Actually, all of that and much more.”

  “And you’re working on another interesting case, I hear?” Robert handed Lane a paper napkin.

  “You certainly are well informed.” Lane wiped his fingers and face.

  “It’s a small town. All I have to do is listen.”

  “This case concerns a young woman who worked in a dentist’s office.” Lane leaned back in his chair and thought about grabbing another lobster.

  “Now there’s a ‘Jones’ who definitely dares the neighbours to keep up with him,” Robert said.

  “You know Dr. Jones?” Lane looked over at a grinning Robert.

  He lifted his glass. “Dr. and Mrs. Jones wanted an ostentatious home. I designed one for them.”

  “You enjoyed working with the doctor?” Lane forgot all about the lobster as he listened carefully to Robert’s response.

  “He has a very orderly mind and exotic tastes.” Robert’s tone was a combination of scandalous intrigue and sarcasm.

  “Exotic tastes in?” Lane dangled the hook to see if Robert would reach for the bait.

  “Young — very young — women.”

  Lane nodded. “He revealed his predilections to you?”

  Robert took a sip of wine. “No. At least not in words.” Lane waited, tired of Robert’s game. Robert leaned over, picked up the bottle of wine next to his chair, and poured himself half a glass. “Let’s just say he has an eye for prepubescent females. I don’t have any proof, you understand. It was the way he looked at his youngest daughter. It was like smoke in the room. You can smell what’s going on, but it would be very difficult to prove that the doctor intends to bed his youngest.”

  A lobster on a paper plate appeared under Lane’s nose. He looked to his left.

  Loraine stood grinning, with baby Ben on her right arm. “Have another one. They don’t fly in that often.”

  “Sit here.” Robert stood up. “I need to chat with Lisa about the plans for your basement.”