by Garry Ryan
“Often it’s a matter of sensitivity and degree.” Loraine looked him right in the eye and said, “The sensitivity that makes you successful in your work also makes it harder for you to deal with what you’ve experienced. You have to deal with it some time. More often than not, when we reach a certain age we have to face the trauma’s that have shaped us. Arthur told me about some of the things that happened to you.”
“So, what are you saying to me?”
“Listen to Arthur when he says you need help,” Loraine said.
Lane forced a smile and thought, Arthur, you bastard.
CHAPTER 14
“How come you’re not coming downstairs?” Beth sat a plate of spaghetti on the night table in her mother’s bedroom.
Nanny sat in the high-backed oak chair by the window. “See that car there?” She pointed past the T intersection to the road leading to Ernesto’s house. She handed binoculars to Beth.
Beth took them and said, “Which one?”
“The grey one.”
Beth studied the binoculars. “Weren’t these Dad’s?”
“Brought ‘em back from the war.”
Beth lifted the glasses to her eyes. Two men sat side by side in the front seat of a Ford. “Who are they?”
“Marv and Lester. Bob’s friends.” She spat the names out like they were clots of phlegm.
“How do you know it’s them?” Beth said.
“They’re the ones who came to the door the other day. They dropped off the letter to scare me off. Saw ‘em drive up yesterday and earlier today.” Nanny’s hand was a river system of veins caressing the back of Beth’s blouse. “Didn’t think they’d give up. They don’t think I’m serious. I knew they’d be back after the dirty letter.”
“What do you mean about them not taking you seriously?” “I told them I’d protect my own.”
“We’d better call the police.”
“Then what?” Nanny said.
“What do you mean?”
“What are the police gonna do?”
“Chase them off.” Beth felt a familiar tightness in the muscles around her ribs. Life was spinning out of control again and she was the same terrified kid whose sister ran away just before her Mother fell apart.
“Those two’ll just find another way to do what they’re gonna do. They did before. Remember?”
“What do you want me to do then?” Beth sat on the edge of the mattress.
“Nothin’.”
Beth opened her mouth and stopped, then changed the subject, “It’s your birthday tomorrow. We should go out for dinner. Somewhere nice.”
“Ernie comin’?”
“I’ll ask him.” Beth sensed something disheartening in her mother’s behaviour. “Let’s go somewhere nice.”
“Sonny’s.”
“But.”
“Got a two for one coupon.” Nanny picked up her purse.
“How about trying another restaurant?”
“I like chicken.” Nanny opened the purse and pulled out a coupon.
“Lots of other places have chicken.”
“It’s my birthday.” She put the coupon back.
“But . . . ” Beth knew she was losing but once she’d stopped swimming with the current it was hard to quit. She realized she liked being a fighter and thought, with a shudder, I’m becoming my mother.
“Wanna cup of tea?”
“Sure,” Beth said.
“Me too.” The old woman lifted the binoculars. “I warned those two and they didn’t listen.”
“I still think we should call the police.” Beth thought about going downstairs and dialing 911.
“Nope.”
“Remember what those two did last time?”
“I’ll never forget,” Nanny said.
“They spread those rumours around town till Dad had to sell the business and school, it was hell.”
“Things are different, now.” Nanny looked at her daughter. “How?”
“I’m not afraid of them anymore.”
Wednesday, August 2
CHAPTER 15
“What, exactly, is bothering you about the Swatsky case?” Arthur said. He bent to hook fingers around Riley’s collar.
Lane had spent most of his day off sorting through the details of the case in his mind. Finally, after a supper of silence, Arthur had insisted they take Riley for a walk.
Lane looked across the prairie grass bearding Nose Hill. Below, in the river valley, Bankers Hall and Petro-Canada skyscrapers stuck their long noses out of the urban forest. To the west were the newer houses, where the land was mostly stripped of trees and the Rocky Mountains formed a backdrop. Soon, the peaks would be silhouetted by the sun.
Riley galloped away with glowing coat and tail held high.
Lane wore running shoes, shorts and T-shirt. He felt free of the tiny prison the tie and pistol imposed upon him during work days. He smiled at the simple pleasure of an evening where the air was warm at sunset.
“Something is out of place?” Arthur said.
“It’s too much of a coincidence. Ernesto at the airport on the same day Swatsky’s car was found.”
“What else?” Arthur said.
“He’s a great cook.”
“So?”
“The old guy’s a real charmer. It’s hard to imagine him as a killer,” Lane said.
Riley barked and headed for deeper grass where only his tail was visible.
“A better cook than me?” Arthur pulled sweaty cotton away from his belly.
“No, but he needs a shrink and you think I need one too.”
Arthur ignored the sarcasm, “You like him?”
“Yes and he knows more than he’s telling.”
“You think he’s got something to do with Swatsky’s disappearance?” Arthur said.
“Will you let me finish a thought?”
Arthur put his palm over his mouth till only eyes and nose were visible.
“He’s so damned nice, and . . . ” Lane watched Arthur remove his hand from his mouth.
“And?”
“And innocent.”
“Of the crime?” Arthur said.
Lane shrugged and looked to see what Riley was up to. The dog pranced through the shorter grass with his nose low to the ground.
“The old woman called Ernesto a pervert. That hit a nerve?”
“Yes, but that’s not the only reason,” Lane said.
Arthur waited.
“You know what I’m talking about. He’s so lonely he gets himself a doll. He’s not hurting anyone. Someone labels him a pervert. Sound familiar?”
Arthur said, “Of course.”
“Maybe getting a love doll is not what it appears to be. Maybe its got nothing to do with sex. Maybe it’s just about being lonely.”
“Maybe it’s more,” Arthur said.
“You don’t understand.”
Arthur said, “She’s real to him?”
“Sometimes I think she is.”
“That’s what I mean.”
Lane said, “I don’t know. You know, after the real Helen died, he said he got a job at the cemetery just so he could be close to her.”
“Really,” Arthur said.
“Said it was the only way they could be together and he could still take care of their son.” Riley barked. Lane turned his head. “Sounds like he’s found something.”
“The cemetery angle might be worth looking into.”
Riley’s bark became a series of excited cries.
“What do you mean?” Lane said.
“Which cemetery did he work at?” Arthur said.
“Queen’s Park.”
“Isn’t that on the way to the airport?”
Riley yelped. The men turned. The dog’s cry was filled with anger and pain. His tail was tucked between his legs.
“Riley!” Lane ran.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur followed.
Arthur tripped and fell.
“Riley!” Lane skidded to a stop.<
br />
Arthur arrived seconds later.
Riley had grown a beard; a circle of bristles around his muzzle. A few quills sprouted from the black of his nose.
“Jesus!” Lane went to touch the quills and pulled his hand away. “Porcupine. Where the hell is it?”
“Don’t know.”
Riley pawed at the quills and yelped.
“We’ve got to get him to the vet!” Arthur wiped at tears.
Lane reached under Riley’s neck with his right arm and tucked his other arm behind the retriever’s rear legs.
By the time they reached the Jeep, Lane’s arms, back and legs were one solid ache. A mixture of rage and desperation drove him forward.
It took 20 minutes to reach the clinic with Arthur sitting in the back seat holding Riley’s head in his lap.
Arthur held open the door. Lane carried the dog inside the vet’s office. The receptionist took a quick look and pointed to an open door. Lane found an examination table and eased Riley onto it. He put his hands on the retriever’s front paws. “Got to keep you from touching those quills. Only pushes them further in.”
“Think he’ll be okay?” Arthur said.
“Hope so.”
“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” The Doctor stepped in the back door. She wore a white smock, blue jeans, a southern US accent and close cut grey hair.
“Riley ran into a porcupine. It was a bit of a shock.” Arthur nodded in Lane’s direction.
The Vet moved in between the men and leaned over the dog. “Hey there Riley.” She scratched him behind the ear. In a voice full of good humour she asked, “Is he a biter?”
“No,” Lane said.
“Well, Riley ol’ boy we’d better get busy. This’ll take a while. Rose, I need a tray!”
“Comin’ up,” the receptionist said.
“How many times did he go after the porcupine?” said the Vet.
“We never saw it,” Arthur said.
“If we had, there’d be one less porcupine,” Lane said.
The Vet said, “Porcupine’s don’t go lookin’ for trouble. Better ask yourself if it was just defending itself.”
Lane was about to reply when questions about Riley and Ernie coalesced into one answer and he said, “I’ll be damned.”
Thursday, August 3
CHAPTER 16
Ernie was caught in the distorted reality of a nightmare.
He blinked.
He remembered the horror of wanting to run but being unable to. He saw the knife’s reflection. He felt the steel across the bridge of his nose. Uncle Bob said, “Don’t make a sound or I’ll cut you!”
He was fully awake and slick with sweat.
“Ernie?”
His door opened.
A silhouette in a nightgown.
“Mom?”
“You okay?” Beth stepped inside the room.
He heard the fear in her voice and saw it in the hesitating way she moved.
Scout nudged his hand with a cold, insistent nose.
“I heard a scream,” Beth said.
“Nightmare,” he said and blinked when she switched on the light.
She said, “You’re so pale!”
“It was a nightmare, Mom.”
“You scared me. That scream. That bloody scream. This has to be the fourth night in a row.”
Ernie shivered.
“Come on.” She gestured for him to follow.
“Where?”
“I’ll make a cup of tea.”
He swung his feet out and onto the floor, keeping the sheet across his lap. “Mom.”
“Oh, I’ll meet you downstairs, then.”
They’d discussed every crisis over a cup of tea. He held the taste of Earl Grey in his mouth, remembering the other times. “Ernie your grandfather has died. Ernie, your father and I are splitting up. Ernie, we’re moving in with Nanny.” Each time they’d sought the warmth of something familiar, something they could share by boiling water.
They sat across from one another at the white plastic table on the deck. Each had a mug in hand and the tea pot in between. Scout curled like a fox around Ernie’s feet. The orange of sunrise was a pale line on the horizon.
“What was the nightmare about?” she said.
“Uncle Bob.” Ernie took a sip, then carefully set the cup down. A flashback would shake the burning liquid out of the china.
“What did he do to you?”
“I’ve already told you everything. Everything I remember!” “I mean, this time.”
“He told me to keep quiet and I screamed. He cut my nose.”
Scout scampered to the end of the deck and cocked her head so she could see around the edge of the house. She growled.
There was the sound of metal sliding over metal as someone worked the gate latch.
Ernie felt his heart beat accelerating, his bowels cramping. “Scout?” a familiar voice whispered.
Ernie forced himself to take a breath.
“Ernesto?” Beth said.
Half of Nonno appeared around the corner of the house.
“Helen said you would be up. She said Ernie and me should go golfing.”
The old man’s hand wiped a thumb under moist eyes.
Goose bumps sprouted along Beth’s arms and back. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Can Ernie go golfing? Please?”
“Ernie, Grab my ankles!” Nonno lay on his belly. The toes of his running shoes stuck into the sloping rough at the edge of the pond.
“What?” Ernie looked left and right down the fairway. The golf course Marshall had threatened to kick them out last month. Something about not using the proper etiquette, which really meant Nonno had been swearing. Nonno had said it was impossible to prove he was swearing because the Marshall couldn’t speak Italian. The two had gotten into an argument. Ernie looked back at the tee and ahead to the green. No other golfers in sight. How did he get himself into these predicaments? At least, he thought, getting up this early meant no one else was around.
“Hurry!”
Ernie took a step toward the edge of the pond where cattails swayed. The soles of Ernie’s running shoes slipped on the dew covered grass and he fell. “Shit!” He’d tried to warn his grandfather that the slope to the pond was too steep. He’d told Nonno to forget the ball embedded in the muddy bank. Now the old man had the golf ball but couldn’t move backwards on the slick grass.
Ernie crawled forward.
“Sonamabitch!” Nonno tried to put his right hand on the edge of the grass. It quivered with fatigue and slipped back into the pond. “Va . . . ” the remainder of the curse was lost as his head went under water.
Ernie scampered the rest of the way.
The old man’s calve muscles shivered with the strain.
Ernie reached out, locked his hands around Nonno’s ankles and leaned back.
“Whoof!” Nonno took a gulp of air.
The boy grabbed the cuffs of Nonno’s pants and pulled. Ernie held onto one cuff with one hand and reached out with the other to dig his fingers into the rough. Ernie pulled, dug and pulled until his right arm cramped. By that time it was easier to pull the old man who was like a seal being dragged over the ice in some Inuit documentary.
Nonno rolled onto his side and spat a mouthful of muddy water. There was more mud in his nostrils. He smeared the black across his cheek. He opened his hand, a muddy paw, revealing the orange pearl within.
Ernie laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Nonno picked mud out of his nose.
Ernie put his hands around his belly. He imagined the old man’s nose cutting a furrow in the grass. A plow, with a woman behind, skirts billowing, dropped seeds into the furrow and folded the soil over with her toe. Ernie felt the tears rolling out of the corners of his eyes.
“What you laughin’ at?”
Ernie pointed at the shadow trail his grandfather’s body had painted in the silver tipped grass.
“I got the ball.”
Nonno rose to his feet in stages. He looked toward Nonna sitting in the golf cart. “I know the boy needs me.”
“Okay.” Ernie rolled to his feet.
“I know, you say I’ve only got a little time left.” He stuffed the ball into the pocket of his trousers and bent to wipe his hands on the grass.
“What do you mean?” Ernie looked at his grandfather and then at Nonna. This is nuts, he thought.
Nonno’s eyes were deep in their sockets; a pair of brown buttons melted into waxy flesh. He stepped closer and Ernie felt the back of his grandfather’s hand on his cheek. The old man embraced him. Ernie caught the ever present scent of wine.
“She says I’m out of time.” Nonno nodded in the doll’s direction.
“Out of time?” Ernie fought his way out of the old man’s arms.
“That is the life.” Nonno shrugged.
Ernie looked at the doll. A breeze pushed strands of blond hair into her ever open eyes.
Nonno climbed in behind the steering wheel and patted Nonna’s knee. He smiled at her and turned to the boy. “Pick up your club.”
Ernie bent and gripped the driver. “How could she know what’s going to happen?” He slid the club into the bag at the back of the cart then perched on the rear bumper.
“One more hole and we’re finished,” Nonno said.
Ernie absorbed the acceleration with his arms and legs.
The cart’s motor whirred.
Nonno turned right.
“Hey!” Ernie leaned and held on.
Another cart slipped out of the bushes about five meters ahead. MARSHALL was written in red letters, low down, across the Plexiglas windscreen. The driver wore a white hard hat, white golf shirt and a cigar. Smoke puffed out the side of his mouth.
Nonno stamped his foot down on the accelerator. “Hold on, Ernie!”
The Marshall pulled the cigar out of his mouth. “Stop!”
Ernie’s knees absorbed another bump in the fairway. The clubs rattled and bounced. He looked over his left shoulder and saw the Marshall turning to follow.
“Hey!” the Marshall said.
“We’ll skip the last hole!” Nonno said.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ernie said.
Nonno glanced over his shoulder. “Always wanted to do this ever since he called me a stupid wop!” Nonno grinned as he took his left hand off the wheel to shake his fist. The cart veered right. Nonno straightened out and said to Nonna, “I’ve been waiting a long time to get even!”
