Quiver (10 page)

Kate said, “You promised me you weren’t going to do anything else.”

“I had to come back,” Luke said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He pulled the tab on the can and took a drink.

Kate said, “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Luke said.

“You came back up here, but you don’t know why?”

Luke looked down at the floor.

“You’re not supposed to drive,” Kate said. “You’re not supposed to leave town.”

“I don’t care.”

Kate decided not to say anything else. She was glad he was all right.

Luke said, “Why’d you call the sheriff? What’d you think I was going to do?”

“Nothing would surprise me the way things have been going.” She was angry and wanted him to know it.

Luke’s face tightened and he turned and walked out of the kitchen. She heard the back door close and moved through the lodge to the big picture window. She could see him heading down toward the lake. She went outside, walked to the end of the yard, stood on the bluff and watched him—regretting what she’d said—Luke on the beach skipping stones across the flat dark surface of Lake Michigan.

She couldn’t believe how much their lives had changed in the past seven months. She was worried about Luke, but maybe this was a blessing in disguise. It was just the two of them now. She could spend time with him and try to help him.

DeJuan parked on the side of the highway, left Scarface on the gravel shoulder and walked—had to be a mile—through the woods. It was cold, too, freezing in his Fubu jersey and Sean John denims. Didn’t have the right clothes on ’cause he didn’t know he was going up north on vacation. His moms said his great-grandfather was Masai, lived in northern Tanzania in Africa. DeJuan looked it up. Masai were the dudes carry spears and herd cattle. Wore bright red cloaks. Young warrior called a
moran
had to go out, kill a lion with a spear. That’s why DeJuan was freezing his ass off—’ cause it don’t get cold in northern Tanzania.

He could see the cabin through the trees now. Saw Mrs. McCall talking to a sheriff ’s deputy in a brown uniform. It look like she knew him. They friends. DeJuan watched him get in the car and disappear down the driveway. Mrs. McCall went inside. But the dog was running around. Went in the woods and came up behind him, started barking. “Yo, pooch, be cool. Don’t want no starving, skinny-ass black motherfucker.”

He saw the kid come out of the cabin now, scan the front yard.

“Leon … want a treat?”

Dog left DeJuan there, took off running.

DeJuan was so hungry he’d eat a dog biscuit right now. He moved through the woods to the side of the cabin. Could see Mrs. McCall and the kid—looked like they in the kitchen—having a heated conversation. He saw the kid walk out the room, then come out the back of the cabin. DeJuan followed him down to the water, look like the ocean, deep blue out to the horizon. Could see cottages way off—look like miles—in the distance on the other side of a long deserted stretch of beach. Nothing the other way, either.

At first DeJuan thought he going to have to call it off. But now he was thinking, wait a minute—this out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere location going to work out better.

Bill Wink was trying to think of a way to ask Kate out without being too obvious. Invite her to do something. Not make it sound like a date. Maybe include Luke, too. But, what?

He came to Woolsey Lake, took a right, passed a gold car parked on the side of the road. He didn’t see anyone in it. He did a U-turn and drove up next to it—a 1980-something Chevy Malibu with a custom paint job and chrome alloys. He figured
whoever was driving it ran out of gas or had car trouble. Lighthouse Point, the national park, was a mile or so down the road, and he guessed that’s where it was heading. Person probably hitchhiked back to the Mobile station in Northport.

He backed up and stopped and punched the license number in his computer. The vehicle was registered to a DeJuan Green, who lived on Fourth Street in Royal Oak. He didn’t check any further. His shift was over. He’d change, go into town and have a couple beers.

Luke listened to Wilco on his iPod, driving into town with his mother, turned the music up so he couldn’t hear her, didn’t have to talk to her. He liked “Hummingbird” on disc two; it was his favorite. He listened to it three times in a row, reminding him of “Mr. Blue Sky” by ELO. He saw a couple of deer as they drove on their private drive through the woods—almost a mile to the county road, and then passing cherry orchards on the way to Northport, trees blossoming with white flowers giving off a sweet smell.

They split up in town. His mom had to run some errands and he walked the street, stopped in a video arcade for a while, played a few games of
Mercenary
Force
and then walked down to the lake. He could see the dark shape of a freighter creeping on the horizon, hull pointing south, heading for Chicago or Milwaukee.

He started to go back into town and saw Del’s, an old log building with a sign on the front that said
“Hunting Outfitters since 1955.” His dad used to take him there when he was younger.

Luke opened the door, went in, let it swing closed behind him and then it was quiet, not a sound. He stood looking at a wall of heads all staring at him—elk, caribou, whitetail, bighorn, pronghorn, antelope, boar, dik-dik, Kodiak blacktail—and more animals, their bodies stuffed and perched on the exposed log rafters: a fox, raccoon, badger. Across the room there was a seven-foot grizzly ready to attack, and next to it, a full-size polar bear with a king salmon in its claws.

From somewhere in the room, a voice said, “Dropped ever one of ’em with sticks and strings.”

Now Del Keane appeared from some unseen place, a big man with a dense gray beard and gray hair combed straight back and tied into a braided ponytail that went halfway down his back, like a hippie version of Santa Claus. He wore suspenders over a flannel shirt.

Luke was staring at a deer head with a twelve-point rack.

“That fine gentleman,” Del said, “was the Pope and Young world-record Kodiak black tail, November 1988. Put one through his wheelhouse, never knew what hit him. What’s your name, boy?”

“Luke.”

“You a hunter, Luke?”

“Not anymore.”

“I’m Del Keane at your service, what can I do for you?”

“I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.” He was nervous, uncomfortable all of a sudden. He took a step toward the door and Del moved with him.

“You’re Owen McCall’s boy, ain’t you?”

Del took a pipe out of his shirt pocket and lit it, blowing smoke that smelled like sweet cherrywood into the room.

“I better go,” Luke said.

“Awful thing that happened,” Del said. “Lost my own daddy when I was about your age.”

He took the pipe out of his mouth, holding the bowl. He looked off across the room and then back at Luke. “Ever talk to him?”

Luke didn’t know what to say.

“Your daddy,” Del said. “Ever talk to him?”

“Mr. Keane, he’s dead and buried.” Luke moved closer to the door. He wanted to get away from this crazy old man.

“You’ve got to tell him what’s on your mind.”

Luke said, “I keep seeing him with that broadhead sticking out of his chest.”

“Son, your daddy’s not feeling any pain where he’s at. Let me tell you something.” He drew on the pipe and blew out a cloud of gray smoke. “What happened was an accident. Like I told you, go out to the woods, talk at him. Square things. I guarantee he’s not blaming you. In fact, he’s watching us right now, I’ll bet. Up there with the likes of Art Young, Saxton Pope and my own daddy, Lester Keane.

“You tell him Del Keane says, hey. And get my room ready. I’ll be joining him before too long.”

“I’ve got to go,” Luke said. He wanted to get out of there. He went through the door and let it slam behind him, walking fast and then running into town.

On the way back to the lodge, Kate looked over at Luke and said, “I saw you coming out of Del’s. How’s he doing?”

“He’s weird,” Luke said. “How old is he?”

“At least seventy, probably older.” She went right, taking the highway out of Northport. There were cherry orchards on both sides of the road.

Luke said, “No wonder …”

Kate glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“He was talking about dying.”

“Something wrong with him?”

“He didn’t say,” Luke said.

“All I know is, he’s a strange old guy,” Kate said.

“And he doesn’t shower much,” Luke said, “I know that, too.” He grinned big.

“Your dad used to say every six months, whether he needed it or not.”

Luke grinned again. It had been a while since she’d seen him so relaxed, so animated, and it made her feel good, like he was his old self again. She wanted to hang on to this moment. Kate had always considered them close, good friends. He used to come home from school and tell her about something that happened in class—like the day they had a substitute teacher. Every time she turned her back to write on the board, everybody picked up their desk and moved it forward. Luke was laughing so hard he could barely tell it, describing the teacher’s reactions as she wondered what was going on. He told her about chanting “Ohh-eee-ah! Ee
ohh
-ah!” from
The Wizard of Oz
. You could do it with your mouth closed, looking right at the teacher, and he’d freak ’cause he didn’t know where it was coming from. He told her about Lauren, his first real girlfriend, admitting he liked her a lot and thought about her all the time and wondered if that was
normal. They talked about music and movies and sports: tennis and the Detroit Tigers.

“Mr. Keane said his dad died when he was my age,” Luke said. “At first I thought he was crazy, but what he said makes sense.”

She glanced at him. “What did he say?”

They were passing Woolsey on the left, the world’s smallest airport. Luke was turned toward her in his seat.

“I should talk to Dad. Go out in the woods and tell him what I think, what’s on my mind.”

Hearing it bothered her a little. This old coot with his backwoods psychology got through to Luke, made a positive impression with one conversation. Something a trained psychiatrist hadn’t been able to do in almost seven months of sessions. Something she hadn’t been able to do either. But if Del Keane’s advice could help Luke, she was all for it.

When they pulled up in front of the lodge, Jack was there, leaning against the trunk of his car, a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. Luke looked over at her but didn’t say anything. She couldn’t read him, couldn’t tell if Jack showing up bothered him or not. “I didn’t invite him,” Kate said. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Luke said. He sounded normal, out of his funk for the first time in months. He got out of the Land Rover and went in the lodge.

“I decided I’d come up, take my chances,” Jack said. “I got a motel room down the road in case you’re worried.”

Kate said, “How’d you know I was up here?”

“I called Maureen.”

“That’s right, she gave you a card, didn’t she? She gives everyone her card. You want to come in and see the place?”

He followed her inside, standing in the main room that had to be fifty by fifty, varnished log walls, and a wood-plank floor partially covered by a large Oriental rug. There was a furniture grouping—couches and chairs and end tables and lamps—in front of a huge fieldstone fireplace you could walk into. There was a staircase that led up to the second level—and above that, a thirty-foot beamed cathedral ceiling supported by log trusses.

“The kitchen and breakfast room are over there,” Kate said, pointing to the opposite side of the room.

He looked past the table and chairs into the
kitchen. There was a stainless-steel industrial stove and Sub-Zero refrigerator-freezer. He liked it, big open floor plan.

Jack said, “How many bedrooms?”

“Four. All upstairs.”

Kate took a check out of her purse and handed it to him. “I was going to give this to you earlier, but it slipped my mind. For your real estate deal.”

Jack held it in his hand. Stared at it—fifty thousand.

“I couldn’t remember the name of your company,” Kate said.

“Eldorado Estates,” Jack said.

“You can fill it in,” Kate said. “I’m sure there will be some papers to sign, huh? You have them with you?”

Jack couldn’t believe it. “Why’d you change your mind?”

“I didn’t. You obviously think it’s a good deal. So I’d like to take advantage of it and help you out.”

Jack shook his head.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Jack said. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

Surprised didn’t begin to say it. He was floored. He was thinking of the things he could do with fifty thousand dollars—cash the check, be on his way. He saw himself on the beach in Cabo, living like a king
for years in Mexico. But, on the flip side, he saw the money running out, and then what? Fifty grand sounded like a lot to him at the moment, but wasn’t enough to even make it interesting.

Jack handed the check back to her. “You’re too late. Deal closed yesterday at five o’clock.”

“You sure?”

No, not completely, but he said, “Yeah, positive.”

The way Jack looked at it, all he had to do was win her back and there’d be a whole lot more than fifty grand.

Teddy got a tree stand—gun hunter’s special, plus climbing spurs and T-pads and seven-by-fifty Bushnell binoculars—at an outfitter in Northport. The owner was an old guy with a long gray beard, reminded Teddy of the bass player in ZZ Top. Man smelled like dead meat his dad used to hang in the cellar. Jesus, he was ripe. It was a strange place, filled with animal heads.

Old guy said, “You’re a little early for deer season.”

Teddy—thinking, you can’t even buy a goddamn tree stand without somebody getting in your business—said, “Am I too early to see grosbeaks and warblers?”

The old guy perked up and said, “Ever see a Kirtland’s warbler?”

“Kirtland’s warbler?” Teddy said, pretending to be interested. “No, I don’t believe I have.”

“And you’re not going to unless you go downstate between Grayling and Mio,” he said, pointing at Teddy with the mouthpiece of his pipe.

Old graybeard was a real sexual intellectual, a fucking know-it-all. Teddy said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Only eight hundred pairs still in existence,” he said, wanting to tell Teddy every goddamn thing he knew about them.

That had all happened earlier. Now he was forty feet off the ground, setting in the tree lounge, drinking an MGD, watching Jack’s rich lady’s place that was about thirty yards away, just inside the tree line, and it was some place. Neither DeJuan nor Celeste knew from tree stands, so Teddy was elected.

Got up before dawn, drove over, walked a couple miles through the woods and found the tree.

DeJuan said, “Can’t miss it. Biggest one near the house on the east side.” He strapped on the spurs and T-pads, climbed the tree and set up the stand. He
was drinking coffee, relaxing as the sun came up over the water.

He saw Jack’s rich lady sleeping and saw her get out of bed, watched her through the binoculars—filling up the tub and then taking her clothes off and getting in, making faces as she got used to the water. Teddy zooming in and holding on different parts of her—looked like she was close enough to reach out and touch. She soaked for a time and then stood up and got out and dried off. Seeing her naked body warmed him up against the chill of morning. She was a looker. He’d drink that bathwater she was setting in.