by Fred Stenson
“I haven’t seen Marie yet.”
“But you’re talking on the phone, right?”
“Actually, no.”
“Oh boy. Jeannie! He hasn’t even phoned her yet. Wait. Jeannie tells me to tell you you’re a friggin’ nutcase.”
“The psychologist and I haven’t talked about gambling yet. I didn’t think I should talk to Marie until we had.”
“Of course you’ve been talking about gambling! Whatever you talk about, Dad, Mom, Lance, Ginny, your kids, Marie, your job—it’s all about the gambling!”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Anyone with ordinary movie IQ would know that.”
“So what are you saying? I should just phone her?”
“Yes!”
Bill was planning his phone call to Marie when the phone rang. He assumed it would be her. But it was Henry Shields.
“Bill, I hope you don’t mind, I read that corrosion maintenance plan you left on your desk.”
“That’s good. It’s probably the last thing I’ll ever do in my career. Be a shame if nobody read it.”
“It’s great. I wanted to tell you.”
“You don’t have to shore up my ego, Henry. I’m fine.”
“I’m phoning because Houle wants us to do a unit corrosion check. He’s asking all the unit managers. It’s plant-wide. Thing is, what he’s asking for is almost exactly what you’ve done—only yours is better because it doesn’t require shutdowns.”
“If you’re asking can you use it, be my guest.”
“That’s not it. What I want, with your permission, is to show Houle your plan. I’ll say it was on your desk, I read it, and so on.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
“What I want to suggest to Houle is that he ask you to come back and supervise the corrosion check, for the whole plant. Who better than the man with the plan?”
“Houle wouldn’t have me on the place.”
“I’m going to make a guess. I bet you haven’t been watching the news much since you left.”
“No.”
“All hell’s been breaking loose. University of Alberta released a study that proves more pollution is getting into the river than anybody ever admitted, a lot of it through snowmelt. The premier has publicly accepted the study as fact. There’s talk of a federal-provincial action plan to revamp the river monitoring system.”
“That’s good. That’s the right thing for once. But I don’t see what it has to do with me.”
“Suddenly everybody up here wants to look busy on the environment file. All Waddens Lake has done recently is blow up its hydrotreater and put the guy who evacuated the nearest Indian village on leave. That made the national news, by the way.”
“Which is why Houle won’t want me back.”
“The opposite, big guy! If you and I were running New Aladdin, we’d be thinking, ‘We had one guy who showed he cared about local Indians—and we put him on leave?’ We’d be thinking, ‘How can we beg this guy to come back?’ ”
“What do you want to do?”
“With your permission, I show Houle the corrosion maintenance plan. I tell him you’d be the right guy to put it in action plant-wide. If he doubts you’d be willing, I’ll offer to run it by you.”
“I’m not sure I would be willing.”
“What would you want? Big raise? Public apology?”
“Why don’t you ask him if he wants to try the corrosion plan first?”
He phoned Marie and asked her if she would go for dinner with him. She said she wouldn’t come to the city because she was teaching in the morning, but he could drive out. Conditions were, he must bring no wine and leave by nine.
He phoned Joe Fistric and got the receptionist. When Joe came to the phone, he was annoyed.
“This is not within the rules.”
“We have rules?”
“I have somebody coming in in about one minute. Get talking.”
Bill said there was a possibility of his being asked to go back to work and that he was going to Marie Calfoux’s for dinner. Did Joe have any advice about either?
“Keep a cool tool.”
“What?”
“I’m joking. You’re on your own.”
While Marie grilled steaks, Bill went down the hall and looked out the back-facing window. The upgrader sulked above the treeline, a breathless dragon. He had no feelings for it now. He could take it; he could leave it—the ideal conditions for a horse trade, according to his father.
When they sat down at the table, they had a good long stare at each other. She had her hair tied back, her sweet ears showing. She was all pretty, this woman. He was full of fondness.
“You cleaned up good tonight,” she told him.
“You look nice too.”
“Your steak’s getting cold.”
They ate for a time in silence.
“You’re happier than before,” she said.
“I think so.”
“Why?”
“I’m happy I called you. Happy you invited me out.”
“There’s other reasons, though.”
“I had a good time with my sisters down south. They want to meet you.”
“And what else?”
“The therapy’s going well. I have no interest in gambling. Not a single urge.”
After they put the dishes in the dishwasher, she decided a beer couldn’t hurt and got a couple from the basement. The bottle she gave Bill was moist and chilly. They sat on the couch and touched the long-necks together.
Marie slid closer and put her head into the cup of his neck and shoulder. “I still don’t think you told me all the reasons you’re happy.” He told her about the plant, about Henry’s phone call; what Henry was intending to do, with Bill’s permission.
“After this beer, let’s go for a walk,” she said, “in the midnight sun.”
They went along the lakeside trail, same one they had used when they went on snowshoes. Where the trees blocked the last of the houses from view, Marie stopped.
“So, do you think your boss will call?”
“Henry seems pretty sure. I’m not as certain.”
“Do you want to go back to work there?”
“I’d want concessions. No more telling me what I can do and say around you. I’d have to be in charge of the corrosion plan. They’d have to give me the resources to do it right.”
“Is that it?”
“It would have to be okay with you.”
“Can you ask them to collect up all the copies of Beading Our Future and burn them?”
“Done.”
She laughed and hooked her arm through his. They kept on along the squishing path.
7
Waddens Lake
WHEN HENRY ENTERED Theo Houle’s office and sat, Theo did not speak. He finished reading a page and shot it into a basket on his desk.
“Henry.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve read the plan you gave me. We might be able to use some of it.”
“That’s great.”
“Then there’s Bill Ryder.” Houle leaned forward until his chest touched the desk’s edge. He placed his hands one on top of the other. “Henry, what you need to learn to go forward in your career is loyalty. You’ll say to me you know what loyalty is, and that’s why you’re here. That’s why you’re recommending this plan and Bill Ryder to run it. You’ve done the two things because you’re loyal to Bill.”
“Well …”
“You can talk when I’m finished. If Bill Ryder is not loyal to this project or this company, then you are not loyal to this project or this company when you come here out of loyalty to Bill. It’s an ironclad fact that Bill Ryder will never set foot in this plant again. I will tell him so tomorrow morning. That is more than I should confide in you, because it is my unpleasant duty to inform you that this is your last day at Waddens Lake as well—your last hour of working for New Aladdin. When you leave my office, Mr. Hansen from security will go with you to you
r office so you can collect your effects. Then he’ll escort you to your car, take your office keys, your ID, your gate pass, and your computer.
“What I regret in all this is that you are a top-notch young engineer. Except for this business with Bill Ryder, you would have been named as his replacement. Now that promotion will go to someone else. I wish you luck with your career, Henry. I suggest you get a lawyer who can talk to our lawyer about the conditions of your severance. I’m not willing to argue any of this with you, now or ever, but if you have questions relating to how we go forward, I’ll put you in contact with an HR person in Calgary.”
8
Highway 63
ON BILL’S DRIVE back to Fort McMurray, the sun was lowering into the forest. The final rays touched the tree horizon and gold splashed across the oil sands, making the strip mines, upgraders, and tailings ponds disappear. The land was reclaimed by light.
Bill was thinking of Marie and all the promise that now existed between them. He thought too of Tom and Ella, and his sisters, and of himself when he’d been Billy—of all the people, animals, and things whose fate it is to be born too close to the fire.
The shaking house, the creatures born dying, the rivers running discoloured to the sea.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Who By Fire brings together strands of experience from my personal life and my freelance writing life. In both these compartments, there are people I could thank for help with this novel—but I will not name them, partly because I’m not sure they would want to be thanked, and because many are not around to ask.
This novel is not autobiography even though I did live many experiences described in the story. Tom and Ella Ryder are not based on my father and mother, though I borrowed a trait or biographical element here or there. Likewise, the sisters are not my sisters, and the neighbours are not our neighbours. For one thing, I wanted to write a story less satisfying to live than my own family’s. My parents were part of an air pollution lawsuit in the 1960s and ’70s that resulted in a settlement. This came as a great surprise, for it was regarded as impossible for a few farmers to push oil companies hard enough to make them settle out of court. There were many sour gas plants in Alberta at the time with many rural neighbours who simply suffered the consequences, without feeling recognized or repaid. That is the reality I wanted to express.
I have dedicated this novel to my parents and sisters, and I thank them again now: my parents for their example of courage, and my sisters for their demonstration that we are still people who will put up a fight if things become unjust.
I do want to name and thank the late William Geddes, who during his career as an Edmonton lawyer helped translate civil law and government regulations into real obligations for industries that harmed their neighbours.
I owe a different kind of thanks to the people in the oil and gas industry who hired me over the years not just to celebrate their industry but to tell the truth about how it developed, disasters included. My portrayal of Lance Evert as an idealistic oil and gas industry engineer comes from many people I have known. Industry-community relations have always had an adversarial side, but it was not for lack of determination by individuals inside the industry to improve things like sulphur recovery from sour gas. That said, the petroleum industry is in a destructive phase now, and governments have never been more averse to doing an honest job of regulation.
I thank environmentalists and scientists for their work on behalf of the planet—specifically David Suzuki and friends Andrew Nikiforuk and Sid Marty.
For the making of this book, I would like to thank, first of all, my great editor Martha Kanya-Forstner, whose guidance as I fought my way through various thickets of this story was always professional. I thank her too for never saying this book was good until she felt it was. My thanks to Kristin Cochrane and Doubleday Canada for another great experience. I thank my fine agent Anne McDermott.
At home, my wife Pamela Banting provides an atmosphere that is cheerful, literary, and engaged in the world every day. I benefit from this in countless ways and am always grateful. When we were not talking about this novel, we often were.
I have always been lucky to have a circle of friends and family who, collectively, keep me convinced of the value of literature and the value of writing. My thanks to Chris Fisher, Marina Endicott, Jack Parr, Greg Axelson, Merna Summers, Don Domanski, Caroline Adderson, Wade Bell, Curtis Gillespie, Gordon Pengilly, Kate Stenson, and Ted Stenson.
