Smoke Screen

by Suzanne Ouimet

  “Thank you,” Tom said as he poured the wine, not quite believing his joy at hearing her admit she cared about him.

  Returning, he handed her a glass of wine, then led her into his studio. His drawing table sat by the window, a stack of drawings on top.

  “These are wonderful, Tom,” she told him, “really beautiful. For sure, you have to make them.”

  After going through all the designs, Marybeth said, “I should be heading home.”

  “You could stay, Marybeth,” Tom suggested, not wanting the evening to be over.

  “Not a good idea,” she replied.

  “The guest room is empty. You could sleep in there – with the armoire,” he grinned. “And the boxes.”

  “Tom, give me a bit more time, will you? It just seems too soon. You know, after Greg.”

  “It’s been over six months, Marybeth. And it wasn’t like he was home all the time. He was gone a lot before he died.” Tom tried to keep the petulance out of his voice.

  “Don’t say that. You just don’t understand.”

  “I do, honey. I do, you know that. Besides, I’m only suggesting you stay the night, not that we sleep together.”

  “I’m going home, Tom. Let’s not argue about it. It’s just not time yet.”

  Tom bristled, “Hey, no problem. Take all the time you want.”

  “Don’t feel rejected. I’m not saying never, just not yet, is all.

  “Here, give me a hug,” she ordered, putting her arms around his waist. “After work tomorrow, you can come over and inspect your new shop. And once you start working over there, we’ll almost be living together,” she teased, looking up into his eyes.

  Tom took the opportunity to kiss her soundly on the lips for the first time ever and was gratified when she kissed him back – but she left for home, anyway.

  Tom stood by the door for a few minutes, watching as her taillights faded into the darkness. Maybe she’s right. Take it one day at a time

  Chapter 4

  Allesandro

  The morning following their big date, Tom was feeling he and Marybeth had crossed some kind of a threshold in their relationship, but still felt frustrated. From his point of view, things were progressing, but not fast enough. For at least a year he’d been looking forward to being with Marybeth, not just working alongside her. He wanted to tell her how he felt but wasn’t sure how to begin.

  They were patrolling on Hwy 20 northeast of town, when a large green, diesel ‘dually’ sped by in the opposite direction.

  “Wow! That guy’s going awfully fast. Let’s go get him!” Marybeth cried.

  Making a tight, fast u-turn, Tom took off after the truck in an attempt to clock its speed. But before they caught up, the driver slowed down to the posted speed limit.

  “Drat! Couldn’t clock him,” a disappointed Marybeth exclaimed. “Hey, his left tail light is broken. Do you think he’s aware of it?”

  “Maybe not. We’d better let him know, don’t you think? Warn him about his speeding too, while we’re at it.”

  Reaching out the window, he popped the blue flashing light onto the roof, then turned on the siren. As he came up alongside the truck, the driver dutifully pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and stopped.

  “You stay here. I’ll go talk to him,” Tom ordered Marybeth as he slipped out the door. Though not anticipating any trouble, he wanted to make sure she wasn’t involved, just in case.

  “Yes, boss,” she replied, demurely.

  Tom asked the driver, a dark-haired male about 30, to hand over his license and registration. “You were going a bit fast back there, fella.”

  “Sorry about the speed, Officer. As soon as I realized I was going too fast, I slowed it right down.”

  “Okay, I won’t ticket you this time,” Tom told him. “By the way, did you know your left tail light is broken?”

  “Yeah, that just happened this morning. Somebody in the parking lot at Drago’s Fruit Mart backed into me and broke it. Dented the fender too. Didn’t even leave a note. I’m heading home right now to install this new one,” he said, holding up the replacement light.

  “Do that.” Tom studied the man’s license, then ordered, “Wait here, Mr. Juarez, while I check your information.”

  Walking back to the cruiser, he handed Marybeth the license and registration and waited while she did a radio check, keeping his eyes on the ‘dually’.

  “Nothing on him,” she reported after a few minutes. “Did you advise him to slow down?”

  “Yes, boss,” he replied, smiling sweetly, before heading back to the green truck. Returning the documents to the driver, he advised him once again to watch his speed.

  Back on the road, Marybeth asked, “Did you notice his name and address?”

  “Something or other Juarez, wasn’t it? Lives up at The Falls?”

  “Right. Allesandro Juarez. Unusual name. Obviously Hispanic. I didn’t know we had any Mexicans around here.”

  “Greeks, Mexicans, Swedes, Indians, Blacks – we got all kinds.” Tom grinned. “Even got some white folks, too. We’re not fussy.”

  Marybeth looked at Tom, her eyes glistening. “Good thing, seeing as how I’m one of those.”

  “Which?”

  “I dunno. One of ’em. I fit in… somewhere.”

  “Does it bother you, Marybeth, that I’m an Indian?” Tom knew in his heart she wasn’t prejudiced. She’s not, I know she’s not. Still, he longed to hear her confirm she wasn’t.

  “Are you kidding? You’re great, whatever brand you are. Besides, you know I’m not prejudiced. I don’t know why you’re even asking, Waabishkaa Gekek.”

  Tom reached over, took her hand, kissed her palm, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome!” Marybeth replied, squeezing his hand before letting it go.

  “Two hands on the wheel, Tom,” she grinned, then changed the subject. “This Marilyn deJean. We need to do a search for her, don’t you think?”

  Tom, disappointed they couldn’t continue flirting, reluctantly replied, “I agree she’s a person of interest. She lived in that burned building. So yeah, I think we should try to find her.”

  Back at the precinct, when they requested she do a check for a ‘Marilyn deJean’, who was definitely ‘a person of interest’, Pam told them, “You’d think she’d have come up when I checked for Frannie. Same last name. Could be she’s not in the system. Not everybody is, you know.”

  Chapter 5

  Ben's Letters

  Later that week, Tom and Marybeth were drinking iced tea with Lisa Kelly on her cottage deck. Lisa’s eleven-year old twins, Jack and Sami, were diving into the slow-moving current of Long River, climbing out onto the dock and diving in again. Their dog, Whiskers, lying nearby, watched them closely.

  Lisa commented, “The twins are strong swimmers and with Whiskers on guard, I don’t have to worry. He’d jump right in if one of them got into trouble.”

  “Has he done that before?” Marybeth asked. “Rescued someone, I mean?”

  “Oh, yes he has. And he won’t let anybody swim alone, either. He’ll jump right in and pull them out, by the bathing suit if necessary,” she told them. “Did you have any trouble finding my driveway?”

  “No problem,” Tom responded. “Saw your sign. It’s certainly easier getting up here now the road’s in,”

  “Sure is. I had to buy a car, though.”

  “You bought a Volkswagen, right? Is it new?” Marybeth asked.

  “Yes, and it’s just about large enough for two kids and a big dog. The kids love it; they call it ‘the beetle’. Better than trying to bring us, and our groceries, home in our little boat, for sure. Especially in bad weather. And I don’t have to depend on others to ferry me around anymore, which is a huge relief.”

  “It took them long enough to put the road through, didn’t it?” Tom asked.

  “It sure did! But at least they finished our side of the river, first. People on the other side are still waiting. They say it won
’t be finished over there until sometime after Christmas. Some of the folks over there are coming up our road and ferrying across from this side. A few leave their boats at my dock and park their cars at the back of the house. It’s a lot more convenient for them.”

  “I wondered about those other cars,” Tom said.

  “How is Peter getting along at university?” Marybeth asked about Lisa’s oldest son.

  “He’s doing wonderfully. He’s living with a cousin of mine in Seattle. You heard he’s taking pre-med?”

  “Yes, we heard. You must be very proud of him, Lisa. Has he always wanted to be a doctor?” Marybeth had been keeping track of the Kelly family since she and Tom had ‘found’ the twins the previous year. She liked Lisa and was interested in her family’s welfare.

  “Alex’s father was a doctor and wanted his sons to go into medicine. But Alex always wanted to work outdoors and ended up in forestry. He would have approved of Peter being a doctor. Both his grandfathers would too, if they were still alive. We always hoped Peter would attend university, so, yes, we’re all happy.”

  Leaning forward, she asked, “Did you have some reason in particular for wanting to talk to me?”

  “Yes, we wanted to ask you if you’ve every heard of ‘Frannie deJean’.” Tom answered.

  She thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think I have… But I do have an Aunt, Marilyn deJean, my mother’s sister.”

  “Do you know if she had a niece, Frannie?”

  “No.”

  “Frannie was the young lady who your Dad rescued in the apartment fire back in 1968. Apparently she was Marilyn deJean’s niece.”

  Lisa appeared bewildered. “That’s strange. My Aunt Marilyn doesn’t have any nieces except me. I’m her only one.”

  “We thought perhaps this Frannie person might have gone to school with you.” Tom said.

  “I think she would have been about your age, Lisa, or perhaps just a little younger,” Marybeth added.

  “I don’t recall any Frannie,” Lisa answered thoughtfully. “Maybe my brothers…

  “You know about my two older brothers, Cal and Sonny, don’t you? Mom and Dad adopted them.”

  Marybeth glanced at Tom. A new development.

  “That must have been strange,” Marybeth answered. “Two instant older brothers? How did you feel about that?”

  “I was only four when they came to live with us. I don’t remember any discussion before they came, except Mom telling me I was going to have two new brothers. She said it would be lovely because all little girls need to have an older brother and I would have two.”

  “We didn’t realize you had two older brothers,” Tom told her. “We knew about your younger ones, though.”

  “I haven’t talked about Cal and Sonny in years,” she told them. “They’ve been gone a long time.

  “Looking back, I don’t think Dad had any idea how troubled those two kids were when he talked Mom into adopting them,” Lisa continued, then added, “I hope you don’t mind me talking about them…”

  Marybeth assured her, “We’d love to hear about them.”

  “Mom was only about 22 years old then. I think you’d agree that’s pretty young to take on a couple of badly traumatized boys, which, in hindsight, I believe they were. I was born when she was eighteen.

  “I asked Dad a few weeks before he died why he and Mom adopted Cal and Sonny. He told me he’d heard at church about these two little boys who’d been abandoned, felt heartsick about them and decided he wanted to give them a home. Of course, when they got into high school and began to rebel, he couldn’t do much with them. He tried so hard, got them counseling, interventions with Native leaders, the minister at the Methodist church and our Priest too, but nothing worked. It was just one thing after another. Finally, Cal left home, then Sonny followed a year or so later.”

  “That’s so sad,” Marybeth commented. “How did you get along with them, Lisa, before they left?”

  “Oh, hey, they were great with me! Very protective, very loving. They spoke some Spanish and taught me a few words. I really couldn’t have asked for better brothers, until they started getting into trouble during high school. I thought they were perfect. I think it might have been when my little twin-brothers were born that they started rebelling, getting into trouble. Things weren’t so good then. Quite awful, actually. Fortunately, I was still pretty young when they left, so I wasn’t affected too much, although I did miss them.”

  “Have you seen them since they left or heard anything about them?” Marybeth asked.

  “No. We never did. They broke Dad’s heart when they left but I think Mom may have been relieved. I remembered her crying a lot, though, so I’m sure she missed them.”

  “You must miss your parents, Lisa. And be very proud of your Dad.”

  “Yes. I really miss my Mom. She was a saint. I wish she could have seen my children grow up,” Lisa replied sadly. Marybeth noticed she said nothing about her dad.

  Just then, Jack and Sami came up from the dock, shivering and blue-lipped, wrapped in huge, brightly coloured towels.

  “Can we go watch TV, Mom?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, but change into dry clothes first and hang your bathing suits and towels on the line. I don’t want to find them lying on the floor. Go on, now.”

  “Oh, oh!” Tom suddenly exclaimed. Whiskers, soaking wet and muddy came up right behind their chairs and, before they could stop him, shook dirty wet water all over them. Laughing, they dried themselves off with towels that Lisa, apologizing profusely, handed them. Jack and Sami were almost beside themselves with glee.

  “Okay, you two. How did Whiskers get wet?” Lisa demanded.

  “He wanted to swim with us, Mom.”

  “You’re sure you didn’t throw him in, Jack?”

  Jack stared at his feet.

  “He was hot, Mom, so me and Jack thought he needed a swim to cool him off,” Sami told her mother.

  “Yeah, right. But look how muddy he is! Just look at him! Keep him out of the house until he’s completely dry, you hear? Wait a second, ” she told them as they walked off, “apologize to our guests. They’re all wet and muddy because of you.”

  “Sorry,” the twins said in unison, not looking terribly contrite.

  Lisa watched her giggling children go indoors, and then lifted a large leather-covered box, which was sitting by her chair, onto to her lap. “After you called, I decided to go through this box of Dad’s. It’s been stored away since he and Mom died. It’s filled with pictures of Cal and Sonny, their adoption papers and so on. Also, letters from their mother, before she died. I didn’t read everything in here, but I found these and thought you’d probably want to see them.”

  Almost reluctantly, she handed Tom two plain envelopes. “They’re very disturbing, but I thought you needed to see them. I don’t know why or when Dad wrote them. They’re not dated.

  “I’m going to go inside while you read them, if you don’t mind. I need to check on the kids.”

  When Lisa had gone inside, they, Marybeth hanging over Tom’s shoulder, read the documents. The first, typewritten, was more a story than a letter.

  I am writing this on the advice of Father Dwyer. He seems to think by putting it all on paper, like a letter to myself, it will help resolve some of my confusion. I’ve tried to be very faithful to conversations I had with Mag, have written them down as closely as I can to my memory of them. I really want to get things straight in my head. I need to figure out what happened.

  I heard about the desperate plight of two young half-Indian lads from Father Dwyer, during one of our weekly chats. I was in the habit of joining the good Father at the rectory on Wednesday nights and he would often tell me, over coffee, about various members of his congregation who were having difficulties. I helped out whenever I could, although it was often not much more than maybe lending a hand with some household chore or other, such as repairing a leaky roof or fixing a broken appliance. Maybe taking one of the old folks for
a weekly doctor’s appointment, that sort of thing.

  But this was different, much different. The idea of bringing these unfortunate little boys into my family, giving them a proper home and a good upbringing began to obsess me. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, that it would be a lot of extra work for Margaret, but I felt it was something I needed to do. So one Sunday night, after she’d put Lisa to bed, I approached her on the subject. She knew about the boys of course, as the family had been on the prayer list at church for several weeks.

  “Mag, I was talking to Father Dwyer this morning after Mass.” I told her, “He was telling me about those poor little boys again. They’re in a bad way. Their father left them last year, no real sad loss perhaps as he was obviously very abusive. But their mother is very ill now and can no longer look after them. No one in the community seems able to take them in. I would like to see what we can do.”

  “How old are they, Ben? I’ve forgotten.”

  “The older one is ten, the younger eight. Their father spoke fluent Spanish – so he might be a Mexican. Both boys speak Spanish apparently. Their mother claims she is Native, but I don’t really believe she is. They, she and the boys have been living until very recently in Seattle. It’s only since she became ill that she’s sought help from our church. Father Dwyer told me she was ashamed and didn’t want to admit to needing help. He told me she has only a few months to live and wants to find a good home for her boys before she gets much sicker.”

  “Why doesn’t she get her own family to help her?” I could tell Margaret was annoyed with me because I thought we should help more than we already had.

  “There is no family. They’re probably going to end up in an orphanage.”

  “I can’t believe someone in the band wouldn’t take them on. Someone needs to take responsibility. Her own family.”

  “That would be us, Mag.” I wanted her to know I felt we should be the ones to take them on, that I actually wanted to, that I believed it was the right thing to do.