In Winter's Grip (14 page)

Katherine's mother had liked to dress her in matching short sets, pastel pink or blue, and she wore them without fuss, although I knew she preferred my denim pedal pushers and plaid shirts. My favourite of Katherine's clothes had been her mint green outfit with a fisherman on the sleeveless top and the line of his fishing pole extending down her shorts to a fish on the pocket. A fringe of thread tassels rimmed the bottom of the shirt. Katherine had told me that the clothes were hand-me-downs from a rich cousin in California, and they'd assumed an exotic appeal beyond our tiny world in Duved Cove.

I'd forgotten that Katherine had become rebellious in her mid-teens. By then, I was thinking of nothing but Billy and devising ways to spend time with him without my father knowing. My second biggest preoccupation back then had been staying close to my mother to protect her from the days of sadness. Instinctively, Jonas and I had put ourselves between her and my father, and that had kept us close to home. Katherine and I had still hung out some, but not nearly as much as in grade school. When I remembered Katherine, it was from the younger years, before we'd found boys and started to grow apart. She'd run through a few boyfriends after she'd turned thirteen—boy crazy, my mother had said. It looked like boy crazy got you married at seventeen and separated at forty. I wondered if Katherine regretted settling for sex in the back seat of a car instead of pursuing her dreams. If she could go back and change those years, would she do it differently? Would any of us?
I wish I didn't know now what I
didn't know then.
Bob Seger had gotten it right.

I turned towards the road and began walking towards Jonas's. With any luck, he'd be back from the doctor's. I hoped he hadn't sunk into a depression that would keep him from telling me what he knew about the will.

As it turned out, the doctor decided to keep Jonas in the hospital overnight. He wanted to try a new medication and thought it best to observe Jonas's reaction to the drug for at least the first day. Claire arrived home with the news mid-afternoon. We took glasses of wine left over from the wake into the living room and sat facing each other at either end of the green velvet couch. The fireplace remained unlit and the anemic sunlight sifting in through the windows made the room feel dreary and close. I felt a headache coming on and would have liked to soak in the tub then have a nap. I looked at Claire as she took a long swallow of wine. She appeared less agitated than the last time I'd seen her at the lawyer's, one leg tucked under her as she leaned back into the pillows.

“It really hit Jonas hard this time,” she said, lowering her glass. “I think the stress of finding your father was too much. Doctor Galloway took one look at Jonas and admitted him on the spot. The hospital's the best place for him at the moment.”

“I'll drop by to see him after supper.”

“He'll probably be sleeping. When he gets like this, all he wants to do is sleep.”

“Has Jonas had many bouts depression? He never let on to me.” I didn't want to think about how little we'd been in touch over the years.

“Off and on. Maybe once or twice a year, but usually he can feel an episode coming on and starts on medication right away before it gets too bad. He never wanted you to know.”

Jonas had never wanted to make trouble for anyone, especially me. I took a drink from my glass and swallowed hard to keep from spitting it out. Sam would have thrown the whole lot of it down the sink if he were here. Its sweetness made my tongue curl. I turned as Gunnar walked into the room. I couldn't tell from his expression whether he was affected by his father's visit to the hospital. Gunnar's scowl had been a fixture on his face since my arrival.

“What's for supper?” he asked Claire, his eyes large and defiant.

She pretended to sigh then chuckled lightly. “Is that all I am to you? A cook? Well, I thought for tonight, we'd order pizza. How does that sound?”

“Okay, I guess. I have hockey practice at seven.”

“I hadn't forgotten. Get a start on your homework until the pizza comes. I'll order in a few minutes.”

Gunnar nodded once and clumped out of the room. Claire shook her head in mock disapproval. “You're so lucky you never had children. They can drive you nuts.”

I had desperately wanted children, “had” being the operative word. Once I hit forty, I'd finally accepted that children were not to be part of my life story. It had taken me many years to reach that acceptance. “I'm already nuts,” I responded and drank again from my glass. It was starting to go down more smoothly.

“I'm sorry about my reaction this morning to the will. It was just a shock, you know? I figured Jonas deserved better.”

Jonas or Claire deserved better?
“It's okay,” I answered. “It was a shock for me too. At least my dad looked after Gunnar.”

“At least that.” Claire fiddled with the stem of her wine glass, then turned her full gaze on me. “What will you do with the money?” She smiled to soften the blunt edge of her question.

“I'm not sure. It really wasn't anything I'd planned on.” I should have told her that I'd be sharing it with Jonas, but I was still annoyed with her for all the secrets she'd kept about my father's funeral and his will. I'd let her stew a bit more.

“Well then, I guess you'll have some decisions to make.” Claire stood. “Time to order pizza, if I'm going to get Gunnar to his practice.”

“Claire,” I called just before she reached the doorway.

She turned. “Yes, Maja?” Her expression was guarded.

“Did you see Katherine Lingstrom when she was home?”

“A few times in their yard. She's put on so much weight I hardly recognized her. Why do you ask?”

“I went to see her today, but her mother said she'd gone on vacation.”

“Well, I saw Katherine two days ago walking down the highway. I was honestly surprised she didn't come by yesterday to pay her respects.”

“Yes, that is odd,” I said. “It would have been nice to see her again.”

“She's changed a lot,” Claire said. “God knows why she let herself go like that.”

After Claire left, I finished the last of my wine then stretched out on the couch and closed my eyes. I was suddenly overcome by exhaustion. The headache had spread from behind my eyes to the back of my head, and I needed a break from the tensions swirling around me.

FOURTEEN

I
woke up. Someone was stealing into my bedroom. Someone I hadn't invited. I sat up and asked, “Who's there?” A shadow crept forward.

“It' s me.” Jonas was beside my bed looking down at me. His ghostly face was half in darkness, but I could still see the worry there. His hair, white in the moonlight, was standing every which way, and he kept running his hand through the curls in a nervous repetitive motion I'd come to know too well. His eyes were those of a wild horse, the pupils dilated and crazed. He couldn't seem to focus on me.

“Why are you here?” I asked as I sat up. The clock shone three thirty on my bedside table.

“To warn you. Dad is home, and he's had too much to drink.” Jonas's voice was a harsh whisper.

“Is Mom awake?”

“She will be if she isn't.” Before I could respond, Jonas had turned and melted into the darkness. I grabbed the pink velvet housecoat of my childhood and slipped it over my shoulders, belting the sash tightly around my waist. Already I could hear my father's heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. Thump, thump, thump, like a rabid animal closing in.

“Where's my fuckin' family?” he bellowed, and the hair on my neck stood on end. I heard the cocking of his gun, and I knew this was going to be bad. I wanted to hide, but I couldn't leave my mother and Jonas to face this alone. I stood still, listening until his footsteps stopped outside my door.

“Don't you hide from me, you little bitch.” Jonas hadn't shut my door completely, and my father's boot hit it with a crack. Even though I'd made myself stand tall, the sight of my father in the doorway scared me almost to wetting myself.

“I'm here, Daddy,” I said. “We're all here.” The desperate words were meant to head off his madness. They only threw gasoline on his rage.

“Git with your damn mother where I can see you.” He reached for my arm and crushed his hand around my forearm, tossing me into the hallway. I sprawled on the floor and scrambled to my feet. My knees stung from carpet burns, but I hardly noticed the pain. I ran ahead of him to find my mother. I started searching the rooms, one by one. I was frantic to find her.

“Mama! Mama! Where are you?” I screamed, but she wouldn't answer. The rooms got darker as I ran from one to the other until I felt like I was blind. I reached out my hands to feel my way, screaming for my mother.

“Aggg... I sat up and clutched my chest. My eyes shot open, and I stared wildly around me, willing my heart to slow so that it wouldn't break the confines of my body. I madly searched the corners of the room, gulping in a great breath of air. I was in Jonas's house, safe on his couch. The dream was just a dream—the same one I'd had since childhood. It always ended with me searching for my mother. Sometimes I made it as far as the front of the house and out into the front yard before I woke. This time, the dream had been mercifully cut short. I glanced towards the mantle, where the clock ticked in a comforting steadiness. Seven ten. I'd fallen asleep, and Claire hadn't wakened me. She must have thought it would be a kindness to let me sleep. I pushed myself off the couch and listened for noises in the house. It seemed that I was alone.

I walked quietly into the kitchen and found her note on the table, propped against the salt and pepper shakers. Claire and Gunnar had gone to hockey practice and left pizza for me in the fridge. They'd be home after nine. I looked around me. The house seemed suddenly too empty and the walls were closing in. I had to get outside and drive somewhere with people talking and laughing—people who had no reason to be afraid. I ran back down the hallway to get my coat and boots. It was with the greatest feeling of relief that I stepped outside into the cold winter night.

I stopped by the hospital first and found Jonas sleeping in a private room, just as Claire had predicted. It was a deep, medicated sleep and I didn't stay long. Rather than go back to the empty house, I made my way to Hadrian's, where I knew I'd find company. A few heads turned when I walked in. I recognized Billy's nephew Wayne sitting alone at a table in the corner. He lifted his eyes when I passed, and I sensed him watching me as I crossed to the bar.

Hadrian the younger was in the act of pulling a draught of beer into a frosty stein. I settled myself onto a bar stool in front of him, where I could watch the television, which was tuned to a football game. Hadrian was wearing a blue and red plaid shirt circa Paul Bunyan, and his curly brown locks were tied back with a rubber band. He placed the beer on a tray with two other brimming steins and left to serve a table. When he came back, he wiped down the counter with a stained rag as he talked.

“Evening, Maja. Sorry I missed your father's funeral. It was stock-taking day.”

“No problem. My father would rather have been with you in the pub, if he'd had any say.”

“Ain't that the truth.” Hadrian grinned, revealing an uneven row of teeth and two pointy incisors that could have doubled as paper punches. “What can I get ya?”

“I'll have a caesar—lots of spice and celery if you got any.” I hadn't eaten the pizza Claire left in the fridge and was hungry. I watched Hadrian's oversized hands prepare the drink with surprising dexterity. He set it on a coaster then reached under the counter and set a bowl of peanuts in front of me.

“Thanks,” I said. The tabasco burned the back of my throat, just as I liked it. I set my drink down and reached for a handful of nuts. “Say, Hadrian. Did my father come here often the last while?”

Hadrian leaned on the counter next to me. A mixture of Old Spice and sweat tickled my nose when he shifted positions. I put the back of my hand up to my face and tried not to sneeze. “Your father liked a drink as much as the next guy, but he'd really cut back the last few years. He still dropped in to chat and have a few beers, but not like the old days when my dad ran the bar.” Hadrian chuckled and began to tell a story about my father's glory days but then remembered who he was talking to and clamped his mouth shut. I was just as glad not to have to hear about the nights of drinking it up with the boys that had led to him staggering into our house with pent-up rage pouring out like lava.

“Was he in the week before he died?”

“Not that I remember.” Hadrian made a circular motion with his index finger to someone behind me and started pouring drinks, his attention now directed to the task at hand. I lifted my face to watch the football game. Blasts of cold air caught me on the back of my neck as the door opened and shut a few times. Hadrian's had a faithful following, and if you sat there long enough, you'd see almost everyone in town stop in for a drink. I looked sideways. Tobias was standing next to me with red cheeks and a big grin.

“This seat taken?” he asked.

“Help yourself,” I said, not unhappy to see him. I was still shaken from the dream and didn't want to be alone with my thoughts.

He opened his parka and removed the black toque from his head. Straddling the bar stool, he ran a hand through his grey hair and ruffled it so that it wasn't lying flat. “Just off duty,” he said, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “Hadrian, I'll have what's on tap.”

Tobias leaned into me. “So, you're still here. How long you planning to stay?”

“Till you find who killed my father...or hell freezes over, whichever comes first.” I frowned at him over the rim of my glass.

“Ouch. Thanks, Hadrian.” Tobias lifted his glass and drank. A line of foam rimmed his lips. He licked it off slowly. “The way I see it, whoever killed your father did it in a fit of anger. If it had been premeditated, they wouldn't have used his shovel, which was probably the closest weapon at hand.”