Mayday

by Jonathan Friesen

  “If you wait . . .”

  I turned and peeked at Adele. She continued, “You can apologize to Will. He ran to town to see if he could find a present for his dad, it being Christmas and all. He didn’t want to go home without a present. I don’t quite get it.” She gestured around the place. “He said he used to live here, that the key was beneath the rock by the church. It was, but obviously the place is deserted. I’d appreciate the company.”

  “I don’t.”

  The voice was deep and metered, as if each word had been weighed and measured for effect. Behind me stood a distinguished version of Will. His dad, there was no doubt.

  I reached out my hand. “Shane Owen. And this is Adele Raine.”

  He looked at my hand but did not grasp it. “How long have you been here?”

  “We just arrived.” Adele stepped forward. “I was looking for you.”

  “Christmas service has ended. We hold that service next door. In the church.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Now, if you’ll kindly vacate church property, it will spare us the inconvenience of a holiday call to Officer Blake.”

  “We’ve come a long way,” I said. “All four of us, including Crow and your son.”

  Shock hits men in a multitude of ways—rarely tears, I think, but that is exactly what happened this time. The man standing in front of us burst into tears, rocked a bit so that I grabbed his arm to steady him. He did not resist.

  “Will’s come home? How does he look?”

  Adele smiled, “Really good. We’re waiting for him now.”

  “Tell me where he is.” The reverend grabbed my arm. “I’ve waited for this day long enough.” He sniffed and took off his coat, then put it back on. “I will not wait another minute. Where is he?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. Somewhere in town,” Adele said, “He felt he needed a gift before he could come home.”

  This pulled another sob from the pastor.

  I stared into the eyes of a father in love, a man so desperate for his son he could not think straight. Standing there fixed my own purpose. With the last whispers of my walkabout, I knew what I needed to do.

  I toyed with the locket.

  Please, God, just a little more time.

  “Come with me.” Reverend Kroft ran out the door and toward the church parking lot—I believe we left the house door wide open—and soon we were speeding, yes, speeding, toward Morneau. Ten minutes later, we arrived, and the next set of events will stay with me forever.

  • • •

  Picture in your mind an empty town, maybe a scene from a Western just before the outlaw gang rides in. Remove the dust and the saloon and the little kid hiding under the stagecoach and cover everything with snow and light. Morneau, decked out for Christmas. Angels blowing bugles and evergreen wreaths hung from each streetlight along the town’s main street.

  The road was silent. Not horror movie silent, holiday silent. There’s a difference. One says, ‘Something is coming,’ the other, ‘Something has come.’ The street was still and quiet.

  In the middle of the road on the town’s south side sat a young man. His back was to Morneau, and he faced out toward the miles of nothingness stretched out before him. His borrowed suit hung crumpled on his frame, and his head drooped buried in his hands. In front of him, toppled in the street, rested two jugs of orange Gatorade, green ribbons around each one.

  Like a mannequin, he did not shift or flinch at the sound of our car engine; he was not in this world. He sat waiting, I think, for an imaginary bus to arrive at an imaginary bus stop and ship him south to the Twin Cities. But I wager that no such vehicle ever passed through Morneau, and certainly not on Christmas.

  Leave him, if you will, and pan north on Main, past Casey’s Pizza and Percy’s Tire Repair. Beyond the bakery and the three-story hardware, the last business on the west side. If you stared the opposite direction down Main Street, you saw the back of a statue, a girl, carved from darkest obsidian. She, too, plunked in the middle of the road, her back to the town and to Will.

  She sat cross-legged, posture erect, her backpack in front of her, waiting, I believe, to freeze, and yes, to die. Witness Crow.

  The pastor slowed his car and pulled to the curb right between them.

  “Who are they?” He glanced left, and then right. “Looks like they just finished a gun fight.”

  “That might not be far from the truth.” I shared a wondering look with Adele. “Reverend Kroft, that young man slumped on the far side is yours.” I puffed out air and faced Crow. “This young lady is mine to deal with.”

  The reverend bolted from his car and ran toward Will. Upon hearing the door slam, Will slowly rose, and I could tell he gave thought to flight. But his shoulders heaved, he reached down, and weakly lifted the Gatorades toward his approaching father, who slowed, took them, dropped them, and gave young Will a hug so real I felt its meaning from down the street. And they cried and then they laughed; then Adele joined them, and they laughed and they cried some more.

  I closed my eyes at the sight of their reunion.

  • • •

  “What a fool you made of us.” Mom didn’t turn. “How many notes are there in that recital piece? Maybe twenty? How can you forget twenty notes?”

  I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

  “It is very easy to forget twenty notes,” Dad interrupted. “You recovered magnificently.”

  “With your help.” Mom hissed. “You know how Dr. Jude feels about your constantly coming to Crow’s rescue.”

  “I know how Dr. Jude feels about too many things.” Dad shot Mom a glance. “But that man will never know Coraline. My daughter analyzes every word she reads, feels every note she hears, even the missed ones.”

  “Save your philosophical garbage and take me home.” Mom stared out the window.

  Dad turned, gazed at me, and pulled the car onto the shoulder.

  “What are you doing? Flat tire?” Mom asked.

  “Flattened heart.” Dad whispered. He removed a CD, my practice CD with a full orchestra playing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” He punched it in, turned up the volume, and stepped out of the car. He opened my car door, reached for my hand, and led me safely into the grass.

  “My darling Coraline. No matter what happens in the next few days, always remember that together, we play superbly. Will you dance with me?”

  He rounded my tiny waist with his hand, took hold of my other hand, and for the next forever, we danced. Cars flew by, Mom’s voice rose in the distance, but nothing mattered but my gentle twirl and the gleam in Daddy’s eyes. And I laughed. And he cried.

  Opening my eyes to look again at Will, it struck me: there is not much difference between saying good-bye and saying hello.

  • • •

  Crow hadn’t shifted. I approached her, eased down in front, and assumed her position.

  “Do not say one word.” Crow whispered. “I asked at the station. I know the letter is true. I know he is who he said he is. But none of that changes what he might do to her. I heard it. I heard it clearly.”

  I nodded. “I believe you.” I reached out my hand, and she narrowed her eyes. “Yep, I’m asking you to trust me. I’m asking you to let me take you home.”

  Her body shook and softened. Her shoulders drooped. “If I stay, I die. If I let her go, I die. I have nothing of my own to go home to. I’m nothing.”

  I sat in silence before the truth. Her truth. My truth. She finally got it, and it hit me like a hammer. My walkabout hadn’t given me a second chance to live. It gave me a first chance. And the moments were fleeting.

  “I don’t think trains run today,” I said, “but we need to get you home.”

  Crow stared with no hardness in the eyes. They were soft and open and longing for a reason to get up off the street.

  I peeked over her shoulder at the reuni
on still happening at the far end of town, and I glanced back at the reverend’s car.

  “I think I know a way back.”

  She took my hands, held them up to her mouth, and blew. Warmth I didn’t know I had surrounded my fingers.

  “I trust you.”

  CHAPTER 24

  THE THOUGHTS OF C. RAINE

  I know well what I am fleeing from but not what I am in search of.

  Michel de Montaigne

  THE REVEREND DID INDEED LOAN ME HIS CAR on the promise that it would be returned sooner than later. Crow slumped into the passenger’s side and shut the door, while I stood outside and shook Will’s hand.

  “I don’t imagine I’ll be seeing you again,” I said.

  Will glanced nervously at his dad. “Don’t count on it. There are still things I need to figure out.” He stepped nearer. “You’ll take care of Mr. L? He’s a good guy.”

  “Yeah, I got it.” I turned and hugged Adele. “And what happens to you?”

  She peeked at Will, and then gazed back at me. “I don’t know. I’ll call my mom and let her know I’m fine. Don’t tell her I’m here. Let me go home on my own time. Maybe when you come back with the car, we can head back together.” Addy bent over and knocked on the car window. Crow slid lower in the seat.

  Addy straightened and grabbed my forearm. “You’ll take care of her? I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  Honesty was all I owned, so I forced a smile and said nothing.

  Soon, Crow and I sped silently south. I remembered Sadie’s gag order, but here in the car I battled to contain the truth. Crow looked at peace. She was oh so close to believing, to accepting that Will might not be the monster she’d heard he was. The Crow beside me was a vast improvement over any Crow I’d been. This Crow trusted. She trusted another person . . . me. The first time around, the train struck before I ever crossed that track.

  No, I wasn’t here to change the future, but if I could give Crow even the slightest push, if she let Will off the hook, there wouldn’t have to be a crash, there’d be no death, no red locket, no Lifeless.

  “Do you think it’s possible that Will might be all the way good?” I breathed deeply. “And maybe Mel is all the way bad?”

  “You’re talking about one of my best friends. You’re saying she made up the story and spread it around just to hurt me. Why would she do that?”

  We peeked at each other.

  “I suppose”—my hands clutched and reclutched the wheel—“that if you both wanted the same thing.”

  “Yeah.” She rubbed her hands back and forth across her black jeans.

  A half hour of deep silence settled down between us. Crow fought through it.

  “I don’t want that thing, you know.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “That’s good.” I snuck a peek at my locket, half expecting to see a bright green glow. I mean, she got it. She knew what happened. She must see through it all now.

  Instead, all that remained was dull crimson, and a wave of dizziness blurred my vision.

  “Crow, I don’t want to take you home.”

  “I don’t want you to.” She straightened. “But I can’t bear Basil’s mom right now, and I’m sorry, I’m not ready for your place.”

  “No.” I blinked hard. “I get that. But I need to show you something, and it has to be today.”

  I slipped out the scrap of paper Sadie gave me and looked at the address. I took a deep breath. What a fool I’d been, so focused on past events. Stop Mayday. Stop Mayday. No longer—I just wanted to reach the address in time.

  • • •

  “You think I should be locked up?”

  We pulled to the curb, where Crow stared at the imposing doors of Minnesota State Hospital.

  I pushed my hand through my hair. “No, there’s someone I need to see, and I think he may be in here.”

  “You have a friend who lives here?” Crow asked.

  I hope so.

  I checked the address etched in granite, 576 Wabash Street, and felt nauseous. “Will you come with me?”

  She didn’t say a word. Crow simply pushed out into the cold, and together we climbed the steps and slipped inside.

  A weighty darkness descends when you walk into a locked facility. You know the place isn’t your home, but a voice deep inside says, “You’re just one bad mistake from your new address, my friend.”

  Buzzers and buttons and the clanking of doors ushered us farther from fresh air and life. Whoever lived in here had truly left this world, and the thought of its being my father set my heart throbbing.

  We reached the reception area. The sparse group of Christmas staff huddled behind a floor-to-ceiling Plexiglas wall. They were in the midst of Christmas poker. In the distance, a frightful scream, but I don’t think they heard. I knocked on the glass, and the largest man looked my way and lay down his hand. The others pushed back from the table and threw their cards into a heap.

  The man, Joe by his name badge, approached and reached for the buzzer. Though bouncer huge, his voice rattled small and tinny inside my head. “May I help you?”

  “Yeah, I’m looking for Cameron Raine.”

  This is when I was mighty glad we were in a locked facility, or I would have lost Crow. She backpedaled to the metal door and tugged.

  The guy behind the glass watched her. “Your friend okay? You know, this is a state hospital, not a drop-off site. There are admission procedures.”

  “No, she’s fine.” More or less. “Just wants to see her dad. Is Cameron Raine here?”

  “Cameron? A dad? Yeah, he’s here.”

  Crow stopped tugging and slumped to the floor. “Dad lives here. My dad lives here?”

  I shrugged and swallowed hard. I was thinking the same thing.

  • • •

  In one of her saner moments, Mom had told me about her wedding to Cameron Fillmore Raine.

  “Marriage is a gamble, pure and simple. You think you know this man. He’s been on his best behavior while you dated, and you’ve spent half your energy trying to figure out if it’s an act or if he’s for real.”

  “Which one was Dad?”

  Mom’s face turned wistful. A rare, gentle moment.

  “There’s nothing false in your father. He cared so much, he wilted. I watched him stop for motorists and empty pockets for every hustler on the street. If he saw a cardboard sign, there went your allowance. ‘What if he’s a vet? What if she hasn’t eaten in days?’ At some point, a man has to insulate himself, or the weight of the world crushes him. Your father could not do that. He let everyone in. Way in. I knew it before I took the walk—that he would be frail. But I thought a man frail from love was a better deal than a hard man unable to share his heart.

  “Still, you walk down the aisle, face covered, wondering, Who will I see when he lifts the veil. Same guy?”

  • • •

  Joe whistled and twirled his keys as he walked down the hall. Doors, solid, save for a small window of reinforced glass, lined the left and the right. My father lived behind one of them.

  Crow and I followed at a distance. “Shane, how did you know? I didn’t know. And why?” she whispered.

  Because any moment I could disappear from your life again. If you don’t make a different choice, in a few months you’ll disappear, too. We need to see him. Both of us.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “He’s alone on Christmas.”

  Joe stopped at a gray door on the left. “You’re really family? He’s never had a visitor before.”

  “We didn’t know where he was. How long has he been here?”

  “At least eight years. He was here when I came.”

  Crow stepped to the window. “He’s been alone in a room for over eight years?”

  “Cam gets out. He likes to walk the courtyard. He likes it quiet, to
read or listen to music or think. Now, I’ll be outside this here door, but I’ll be watching. Just wanted you to know. One of you at a time.”

  “Crow?” I asked. “I should have told you, but I wasn’t sure you’d—”

  “I want in.” She pressed her nose to the glass.

  Joe inserted the key with a click, and the door swung open. He cleared his throat. “Cam? Look what Santa brought. A few Christmas visitors. Do you recognize this young lady? Crow. Her name’s Crow. She says she’s family. Do you know—” The door shut behind them, and soon Joe reappeared. I strained and listened, but could hear no sound from inside the room.

  Minutes turned into an hour, and still Joe hogged the window. How I wanted to watch, but it wasn’t my place.

  “Well, I’ll be,” he whispered. “Would you look at that? She hasn’t seen her dad in eight years?” Joe asked.

  “Thirteen.”

  “It’s a beautiful sight, but what kind of person lets her dad sit in here for thirteen years? Just sayin’.”

  Me.

  Finally, Crow knocked and walked out, clutching a large book. She’d been crying, but she walked up to me and kissed my cheek. I do not know what was said in that room, but I have a feeling it bordered on the holy.

  “Do I get a turn?” I grabbed Joe’s forearm.

  He stared at my fingers and frowned. “Cam may be worn out, but I can ask.”

  “Great.” I slowly released him. “That’s great. My name’s Shane.”

  Joe stepped into the room again. “Cam? I have a Shane out here.”

  “It’s Christmas. Let everyone in.”

  Joe popped his head out through the doorway. “I think he’s getting confused. Keep it short.”

  I stepped into the room with thoughts of Alcatraz floating through my head. Toilet, sink, cot. That picture quickly vanished.

  Books filled the room, their stacks towering to the ceiling. Kant, Kierkegaard, Plato. My eyes burned when I saw them.

  Dad.

  A spacious window and plenty of sun kept alive several large potted plants. An Oriental rug covered the floor. And in a rocker sat a man, hands folded, eyes filled with tears. Though crying, he did not look weak.