He arranged a break from their mortgage payments, which Rachel was grateful for, though he explained that ultimately the unpaid principle and interest accumulated. As diplomatically as he could he let her know that they were starting out on a road that would end in foreclosure if they didn’t get their finances in order. When he showed her to the door he asked about her family and said to give his regards to her dad. As she left he smiled in a kind of sad way, and she knew he felt sorry for her.
Now, as she sat in the kitchen with her thoughts, she lit a cigarette, the match flaring in the dark and reflecting in the mirror on the wall. For a few moments she stared at herself, bars of shadow and light cutting her face. She was thirty-three years old. Her kids were becoming independent, much quicker than she had herself at their age. She lived in a house that needed painting inside and out, and she drove a car that regularly broke down on her. Pete was spending his nights at Clancy’s bar, either running up credit or using money he took from her purse. Maybe it was time she cut her losses and admitted she was fighting a losing battle. If she left Pete the kids would go with her. They could stay with her parents for a while over in Williams Lake until she found herself a decent job. She could start again.
Her parents would be happy, she knew that. They’d always told her she was making a mistake marrying Pete. It looked as if they were right all along.
‘He comes from bad stock,’ her dad used to warn her. ‘I know how that sounds but it’s true, Rachel. Just look at the boy’s father.’
Well, there was no denying that all right, and nobody ever had, least of all Pete. His dad was a drunk and a bum who’d abused both his wife and kids for most of his worthless life.
‘Pete’s not like him,’ she used to say, believing every word. ‘He knows what his dad is and he doesn’t ever want to turn out like that.’
Her dad only shook his head with a pained expression. ‘I wish I could believe that.’
She’d thought he was being unfair and railed about how nobody could ever make something of themselves if they were never given a decent chance. She was right, of course, and her father’s attitude undoubtedly wrong, though maybe not his instinct.
At high school Pete was four years ahead of her so she never had much to do with him. She knew his reputation though. He was a loud mouth and he was pretty good at throwing his weight around, always getting in fights. If anybody had told her when she was sixteen that she’d end up marrying him she’d have laughed in their face. Pete was already gone by then anyway. He left to join the Army. She didn’t meet him again until he came back and then she hardly recognized him.
What struck her about him were his good manners, which seemed like a funny kind of old-fashioned thing to say, but it was true. At high school he was this scruffy, obnoxious guy she would’ve crossed the street to avoid, then suddenly there he was again, a whole different person. When he asked her out he was so polite and serious it was curiosity more than anything else that had motivated her to accept. She wanted to know how somebody could change so much, and if it was just an act. It wasn’t though. He opened doors for her and even pulled out her chair when he took her to a restaurant, and when he took her home he didn’t try to lay a hand on her.
They started dating regularly after that. He was kind of shy, and admitted it was because he hadn’t been out with many girls like her. He talked a lot about the future he planned. He had this ambition to get on in the world, and as she got to know him she found it was fuelled a lot by the fact that he hated his father and was determined to prove to everyone he would never be like him. That was always going to take some doing, because most people had already decided otherwise.
They got married for the oldest and stupidist reason there was - she got pregnant - but if she was honest with herself it probably would have happened anyway. It would have been nice if she could think that afterwards everything had worked out well, that Pete had proved to the world he was his own person. Even if they’d always had to struggle money-wise, that would have been okay, but life, Rachel thought, is never as simple as all that.
She found out early on that Pete had a weakness, which meant there was always going to be a gap between his ambitions and what he was capable of. He did poorly at school because he hadn’t studied or been expected to, and when he started the lumber business his shortcomings became obvious. He was no good at arithmetic and couldn’t read or write that well either. Contracts totally floored him and any kind of complicated ‘legal bullshit’ as he put it, went way over his head. None of that would have mattered if he’d wanted to work at it. Rachel was always there to help out with the books anyway, but Pete’s real weakness was he didn’t really believe in himself and it manifested as a refusal to take some night study classes. He was afraid he’d fail but he couldn’t admit that. He thought he could get by with sheer determination, but when something went wrong he blamed anything but himself. His insecurities became a huge chip on his shoulder. The world was out to get him, was how Pete saw it.
Rachel sometimes wondered if part of the reason Pete married her was because he thought she would make up for the skills and education he lacked. If so he was right. For years she was the foundation on which the family was built. Early on the lumber yard had done okay, but she was virtually running it. As the kids were growing up, however, she had to devote more time to them, and Pete took on more of the quoting and dealing with clients at the yard. Business declined, but Pete claimed it was just a temporary thing. She offered to help more, but he took it personally and accused her of thinking he wasn’t smart enough. Perhaps if she’d talked him around then they wouldn’t be in the mess they were now. Instead she got a job to help with the bills and she gradually lost touch with the business.
Now they were in a desperate situation. The business was all but finished, crippled with debt, no assets to speak of and any goodwill long since used up thanks to Pete trying to cut corners. The order book was empty. The only option was for her to take charge again, only this time she would have to devote herself full time to the task. The question was, did she want to?
It kept her awake at night, thinking about it. Whatever happened it looked as though they would lose the house. It would take years of struggle to regain the trust of their customers, and Pete would have to accept that she would be making all the decisions and dealing with clients. Effectively he would just be a hired hand and she couldn’t see him liking it. She would have to buoy him up at the same time as being tough on him, remind him of what his dad was like. He would have to stop drinking and face up to the reality of their situation. Did she want that? Did she want to be responsible for him? Would he even listen?
She didn’t know the answer. So she sat at the kitchen table at night drinking milk and smoking cigarettes, and wondering what to do with her life.
***
In the morning Rachel was tired. She hadn’t slept for more than a couple of hours. Her afternoon job at the grocery store had become full-time, for which she was grateful because of the money, but it depressed her to spend her days stacking shelves and working on the register. She felt like she was wasting her life. She’d graduated from high school and could have gone to college if she hadn’t got married. She didn’t kid herself she was any kind of genius, but she knew she was smart enough to do more than count change and pack orders.
When she took a break at lunchtime she had to get out for a little while to clear her head. As she walked along the sidewalk her head was down, her mind churning. She was barely aware of people around her until she almost collided with somebody coming out of a doorway carrying a stack of lumber off-cuts. He stumbled, trying to avoid her and the lumber scattered over the sidewalk.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said as she started helping him pick it up. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
‘Forget it.’ He barely glanced at her.
She helped him carry it over to his truck and it was only then she realized he was Michael Somers. She remembered him from high school. H
e was about Pete’s age, though that’s where any similarity ended. He hadn’t run to fat the way Pete had for one thing, and he didn’t have the red eyes and hangdog look of somebody who spent his nights drinking. He gave no indication that he knew who she was, which didn’t surprise her. She would have been little more than a kid when he left Little River.
They finished picking up the wood and Rachel apologized again. She felt awkward because she didn’t know what to say to him. She was aware of the talk about him and had read the newspaper reports after he shot somebody. At the time she studied his picture in the paper and tried to recall what he’d been like when he was growing up, but she really hadn’t known him then.
‘Thanks,’ he said when they were done.
‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ she blurted out as he started back to the store.
He stopped and looked at her again.
‘I’m Rachel Laine.’ She shrugged. ‘Actually it’s Ellis now, my married name. I used to come and pick up stuff for my dad when your dad had this place. You worked here sometimes didn’t you?’
‘After school, yes.’
He frowned like he was trying to place her, but she could see he didn’t remember her.
‘I heard you were back,’ she said and as soon as the words were out of her mouth she wished she could take them back. ‘What I mean is, I heard somebody talking and I recognized your name…’ She gave up, knowing she wasn’t making things any better, and desperately looked around for inspiration to change the subject. She gestured to the store. ‘You look like you’re busy in there. What are you doing?’
‘I’m thinking I might reopen it.’
‘Really?’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘It’s just…’ She broke off just before she was about to put her foot in her mouth for a second time.
‘Because what?’
There was something about the way he looked at her, Rachel thought. Like he was challenging her to say what she thought.
‘You grew up here,’ she said. ‘You know what it’s like in a place like this so you must know people are talking about you.’
‘So you don’t think it’s a good idea?’
‘I can’t answer that. I just know if it was me, this is the last place I’d want to be.’
He looked at her like he heard the crushed dreams and endless disappointments in her voice, and she felt like he understood her.
‘You’ve cut yourself,’ he said. ‘Your hand.’
She looked at her palm and saw a dark trickle of blood. She hadn’t noticed before. ‘It’s a splinter,’ she said examining it. She tried to get it out but it was in too deep.
‘Let me see.’
She showed him. It wasn’t so much a splinter as a small sliver of wood that had broken off just beneath the skin.
‘Come inside,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something that’ll get it out.’
Rachel hesitated and when he noticed he looked disappointed, and then his expression kind of closed down.
‘You should get it seen to anyway,’ he said, and then, as he turned away, on impulse she followed him inside. He looked at her in surprise.
‘Didn’t you say you could get it out?’
After a moment he went back to the counter. Rachel looked around at the store. It was a wreck. The counter was half ripped to pieces and the floor had gaping holes in it.
‘Come here in the light,’ Michael said, producing a pair of needle pliers from a toolbox.
She held out her hand to him, and as he tried to get his pliers onto the splinter she remembered how the store used to look when she was young. ‘I haven’t been in here in a long time,’ she said. ‘My dad was a builder. He was always sending me here to pick things up for him.’
He peered up at her. ‘Actually, I think I remember you.’
‘I doubt it,’ she said, sure he was just being polite.
‘No, really. I mean I admit I didn’t recognize you at first, but now I do. You look the same.’
She laughed. ‘Either you’re flattering me or you’re lying, but thanks anyway. It seems a long time ago now. Sometimes I can hardly believe I’m the same person. Things don’t always work out the way you plan them.’
‘No they don’t,’ he agreed in a quiet voice.
She felt a touch of accord. They were different people with very different lives, but perhaps they had that much in common. She wondered what he was really like and what happened to him. He committed violent acts but he didn’t strike her as a violent person.
She changed the subject, bringing up the name of a girl she thought he might remember. He took the cue and said he did.
‘She’s a model now. She works in New York, can you believe that? Her folks still live in the same old house though, and her brother works for the fire department in Spokane.’ She chatted on for a while, keeping to innocuous reminiscences about people they knew. Eventually he got the splinter out of her palm and fetched a tissue to dab away the blood.
‘You should clean that with antiseptic or something,’ he said.
‘I’ll do it when I get back to work,’ she said, and realized it was time she was getting back anyway. ‘Speaking of which, I should go. Thanks for the surgery.’
He smiled. It was the first time she’d seen him really smile since she came in. It changed him. ‘Anytime.’
‘It was good seeing you,’ she said at the door. ‘Good luck. I hope it works out for you.’
‘Thanks. You too.’
She smiled uncertainly.
CHAPTER 17
Overnight the temperature fell and the wind rose. Michael lay awake in bed listening to the creaking of the house. When a strong enough gust blew it rattled the panes in the windows. He liked the feeling of having the house to himself. After being locked up, it was a luxury not to hear the moans and deluded mutterings of men in their sleep. Sometimes he liked to get up and wander around at night, just for the feeling of solitude and space. The only room he avoided was his mother’s.
In the morning he saw it had snowed during the night. The clearing was newly made, covered with an eight-inch layer of fresh snow that subtly altered the contours and dips of the ground. Trees held a ridge of white along their branches and the evergreens and undergrowth were dusted with frost. The mountains were cloaked with heavy grey cloud. Crows called from just beyond the clearing, but their cries were muffled, the landscape soaking up the sound.
In the woodstore he took down the gauntlet hanging from a nail in the wall. Cully watched him from her perch, her plumage ruffled against the cold, one leg raised in the attitude of rest. She appeared content to remain where she was.
He held out his fist to her from a distance of twelve feet, the glove garnished with a strip of grey fur and red meat. ‘Come on Cully,’ he coaxed softly.
She tilted her head at the sound of his voice, her look childlike, and appeared to be contemplating whether or not she felt like playing this game. Hunger got the better of her and she lowered her clenched foot and roused her feathers, shaking herself from head to tail like a dog drying itself. With her plumage then lying sleek she clenched her feet and leaned toward him.
‘Come on,’ he coaxed again.
Her wings flicked open and in a second she was there, looking at him, the glove, the meat, as if she had surprised herself, then she bent to eat.
‘Good morning,’ he said quietly and while she fed he attached jesses, swivel and leash then took her outside.
In the morning air she bobbed her head with keen pleasure, taking in the changes in the landscape that had occurred overnight. Her perch in the clearing was half buried in the snow, and instead of putting her there he let her stand on the porch railing and tied her leash. He’d been feeding her small amounts four or five times a day. She had to come to his fist for her meal, and every time he extended the distance, so that now she would come thirty yards on a line without any hesitation.
He weighed her and she was exactly three and a half pounds.
He’d learned that at that particular weight she watched his movements avidly, waiting for food. He looked at his watch and started to tie a fifty-yard nylon line to her swivel. The remote end was attached to a wooden handle which, with the drag of the line, was too heavy for her to carry off. He checked the time again then set about tying meat to the lure he’d made from a weighted pad of leather and a pair of duck’s wings. The lure was joined to an eight-foot length of cord.
He heard the sound of a vehicle turning off the road and then its careful descent down the track. Tom Waters’ Cherokee nosed into the clearing past the trees. He raised a hand in greeting as he got out.
‘Sorry I’m late. The roads are bad.’
He looked at Cully on the rail. His expression was contemplative, thoughtful. ‘I give up,’ he said at last. ‘What is it? I mean I know she looks great, better than ever, but there’s something different. What is it?’
Pleased that he’d noticed, Michael pointed out that it was her feathers. When she’d been confined in a cage for a few days the wire mesh had bent half her tail out of shape and shredded the primaries on her good wing. When he took a closer look he found some of the shafts were actually broken. Later in the year she would molt and replace damaged plumage, but until then the damaged feathers would affect her ability to maneuver in the air.
He showed Tom how he’d repaired the shafts of the feathers by cutting them off and fixing them together again using glue and small wooden needles shaped with a knife. ‘It’s called imping,’ he explained. The bent and frayed feathers had been straightened just by dipping them in hot water.
Tom eyed him speculatively. ‘You’re really getting into this aren’t you?’
Michael shrugged. ‘I enjoy it.’
‘Well, I better do my part then. Let’s take a look at that wing.’
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