I nodded.
“Well, I told you there wasn’t any cash in it, but there was something else. Kenny must have been using it to deal with someone new after I split, because there was an envelope inside.” He reached over to the harmonica case and flipped it open to reveal a tiny plastic bag full of white powder lying on top of the needle. He pinched it between his fingers and held it up. “It was stuffed with maybe fifty of these. I saw it and suddenly everything I’d learned in rehab went right out the window. I wanted to fix so bad, I could actually see myself sitting in one of the empty apartments upstairs, watching the needle go into my arm and lying back to feel that sweet, warm wave wash over me again. I never wanted something so badly in my life. That’s the thing about heroin, Paul. You can get clean, stay clean—for your entire life—but you never forget what it feels like. You wouldn’t believe some of the stories I’ve heard in rehab from people who have been clean for years. And I don’t care who you are—a politician, a priest, a mom with a house full of hungry babies to feed—once you’ve experienced that feeling, you’ll do almost anything to have it again.”
He stared at me. I don’t know if he was looking for solace or sympathy, but when I stayed silent, he began again.
“So I’m standing there with this open envelope full of enough shit to put me in jail or in my grave, and I hear someone coming down the stairs from the apartment inside. So I take one, just this tiny, little one,” he said, waving the packet in front of me, “slam the mailbox shut, and hoof it to the bus station.”
“Why?” I asked.
He laughed. “I don’t know. I wanted to do the right thing, leave it all right there, but once I had so much of the thing I’d been chasing for most of my life sitting in front of me, I just couldn’t leave it alone. I know it sounds crazy, but my love of smack was so strong, is so strong, that leaving that junk there felt like, well, a kind of betrayal.
“But it’s a long bus ride from Pennsylvania to Maine. And on it, I did some thinking. I thought about throwing the packet out at the first bus stop. I almost did. But what scared me most wasn’t being way up here in the woods without it. What really terrified me was what I might do when I got back home, where I knew it would always be around. So this,” he said, waving the packet again, “became a test. I thought if I could just keep from fixing when I had this one hit within reach, if I could use the time up here to prove to myself that I could stay clean when I had the chance not to, I’d have the strength to do the same when I got back to the real world.”
“Okay,” I said after a long moment, “I get it, but I still wish you’d left that shit in that mailbox. Bringing it here might have helped you with your problem, but it sure made a hell of a mess for me.”
Tommy reached over with his other hand to pinch the other corner of the packet. He pulled it apart and let the tiny shower of white powder fall on the table. Then he took in a breath, bent his head to the table, and blew it all away.
***
I woke hours later to feel Cassie’s body beside mine. She’d unzipped the side of my sleeping bag and held it against me. When I realized she was naked, I got that way too.
***
I got up afterward, picked up the wine bottle from the floor, and put a couple more logs in the woodstove. For the first time that season, it was cold enough for a fire. I filled my nose with the scent, the wood smoke triggering a distant recollection of my first trips to the park.
The memory was something I sensed more than visualized—a pattern of warm feelings woven from my earliest summers at Baxter. With only eleven months between us, Kim and I had our parents to ourselves for seven years before Tommy and Jordan were born. As I knelt by the maw of the stove and fed wedges of birch into the flames, the fire’s perfume wreathed around something I’d forgotten from those days: the intimate history that bound me to Kim. The gulf between that ancient kinship and the weeping sister I left on Sentinel’s porch, however, now felt impassable—a distance as great as the one that stood between me and the other sister I’d lost at Kidney Pond.
The bunk creaked when I got back in. Cassie shifted against me, raising her head to let my arm circle under her neck while I shifted the two unzipped sleeping bags closer to cover our bodies. I buried my nose in her hair and closed my eyes, trying to trace the path between the solid foundation of my family’s start and the wreck it had become.
“What are you thinking?” Cassie asked.
“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
The birch I’d loaded caught, and the fire began to sing, sending faint flickers of light through the stove’s thin cracks to dance upon the walls.
“Paul,” she said softly, “if we’re going to do this, I need you to share more than your body with me.”
I didn’t answer at first. Finally, the weight of her silence grew too heavy to ignore.
“What do you want me to say, Cass? It’s been a pretty confusing day. Tommy just threw away his stash and tried to convince me he’s clean. He seems sincere, but he’s lied about using for so long I don’t know what to believe. When I saw that junk lying on the table, the first thing I wanted to do was beat the shit out of him. Then, when Robert tried, I jumped in and got the shit beaten out of me. I seem to be incapable of staying out of my family’s mess.”
“Why try?”
“Why try what?”
“Why try staying out of it?” She shifted to rise up on an arm in the bed. It was too dark to see her, but I could feel her looking at me. “Maybe making a mess is exactly what you need to connect with them again. Maybe that’s the price for fixing things between you.”
“I don’t want to fix things,” I said. “I tried that, a long time ago.”
“But maybe—”
“Cassie,” I said, “I really don’t want to talk about my family anymore.”
“But—”
“When’s your next shift start?” I asked. It took a moment, but she finally bought my change of subject.
“It doesn’t. I’m done for the season. I’ve got an old friend—a retired ranger—whose wife died a couple of months ago. He really misses the park, so I asked headquarters to let him close Abol for me. I was thinking of going south to visit my family for a while.”
I laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“I just realized, I don’t know where you’re from.”
“Folly Beach. It’s a tiny town on the coast of South Carolina. My dad owns a surf shop there.”
“You surf?”
“Of course. He had me up on a board when I was four. He was a great teacher, still surfs—or he did until recently. His health’s not that great. Diabetes. I thought I’d go down and help him with the shop. Give my mom a break.”
“From him or the shop?”
She laughed. “Both.”
“How long would you stay?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell how sick he is. Maybe till I come back here next spring.”
“That long?”
“Of course, if they need me.” We were quiet then. Over the pop and hiss of the fire in the woodstove I could hear the first faint patter of raindrops on the roof.
“What about yours?” Cassie asked.
“My what?”
“Your family. What are you going to do after they leave?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, your mother has Alzheimer’s. Your brother may or may not be using. And from what you’ve told me, your sister’s marriage is going up in flames. That’s gotta be hard on her kids too. If that’s not a family in need—”
“I told you. I tried helping them before. All of them.”
“Maybe it’s time to try again?”
I didn’t answer. I snaked my arm out from under her head and got up to put another log in the stove, even though it was still full. When I returned to the bunk, I lay on my back and folded my arms across my chest. She reached for my hand. I let her take it, but I didn’t move. I stared into the darkness, hoping it would close i
n to cover everything, like a black velvet tide filling my eyes, my ears, my nose and mouth, drowning every thought and feeling that was struggling to surface.
A moment later, the still of the night was pierced by the cry I knew so well, but which still surprised me with its painful beauty each time I heard its haunting echo waver across the pond.
“I looked for the loons when I paddled today,” I said quietly. “I thought they’d gone.”
“Well, her song’s certainly appropriate,” Cassie said.
“Why?”
She put her arm across my chest, and I turned to let her pull me toward her.
“That was a wail call.” She shimmied closer to nuzzle her face against my chest. “They make that call when they’re lost. It’s the song they sing to find each other in the dark.”
40
Camp Day
I drifted in and out of sleep, finally waking to a morning shrouded in gray. The rain was soft but steady, the kind that would last the whole day. Cassie snored softly beside me. I rearranged the open sleeping bags over her, stocked the stove, grabbed my slicker, and headed outside.
I didn’t know where I was headed. I walked toward Sentinel but had no intention of going inside. It was still early, and I doubted that any of my family would enjoy starting their day with the sight of my puffy, bruised face at their door. I saw Tyler bent over something on the front porch of the ranger cabin and walked over to check in with him. He turned when he heard me coming, and I saw a look cross his face that I hadn’t seen before. Instead of his usual open, boyish grin, he gave me a cautious smile. “Hey, Paul,” he said, turning back to his work. He was slipping the chain over the blade of a chain saw. “How’s the family doing?” It was a big question that I had no desire to parse.
“Better.”
“Well, it will be good to have you back after they leave. My to-do list is turning into a book.”
“Where are you using that?” I asked, pointing to the saw.
“Lost Pond. There’s a huge blowdown in the middle of the trail. I’ve been trying to get to it all week, but I won’t be able to attack it till after the weekend. Just thought I’d get this thing shipshape for Monday morning.”
“I’ll be on duty that afternoon, but I can come in earlier if you want.”
He stood up, wiping the grease from his fingers on a rag.
“Oh,” he said, “I’ve made it this long, I’m sure I can hold the fort till your regular shift. Enjoy the time you have left with your family. I think your niece and nephew are in the library.”
I thanked him but walked away feeling uneasy. Wasn’t Tyler’s newfound independence exactly what I’d hoped he’d find? It was, but in the short trip between his cabin and the library, I realized the young ranger’s maturation might well have been inspired by the fall I’d taken from the pedestal he’d placed me upon.
***
I opened the library door to find Aida and Aaron huddled side by side in the corner, reading.
“It’s freezing in here,” I said when they looked up. “Why didn’t you light a fire?” They answered with a pair of blank stares.
“Okay,” I said, moving over to the box of kindling by the woodstove. “Class is in session.”
“What class?” asked Aaron.
“Fire building 101. Come on over.” He put his book on the chair and came to stand beside me. When I glanced over at Aida, I saw she’d put hers down too.
“It’s all about the air,” I told them as I took a sheet of newspaper from the kindling box and crumpled it in my hand. I opened the stove and scooped a hollow in the shallow bed of ashes on its floor, then placed the wad of paper in before turning to pull a small log from the box. “There are different ways to arrange your fuel,” I said as I placed the wood in the stove behind the paper. “My dad always liked teepees, but I’m more of a lean-to type of guy. See how I’m—” I stopped, my hand frozen in place inside the stove. I took the wood out of the oven and turned to Aaron. His eyebrows rose.
“What?” he asked, a bit defensively. “I was watching.”
“I know you were.” I told him. “That’s the problem. Here.” I held the stick of pine and a book of matches out to him and moved away from the woodstove. “You do it. I’ll tell you how.”
***
Five minutes later, Aaron shut the door on a roaring fire. Aida pulled her chair closer while I went to the windows looking out on the pond. I could just make out the silhouette of a loon gliding across the surface, its black body screened by the angled gray stripes of heavy rain. A second later the bird flicked his head and disappeared below.
“Looks like it’s too wet out even for the loons,” I said. “Guess it’s a camp day.”
“What’s that?” Aida asked.
“Just what it sounds like. A day to stay in camp when the weather’s like this.”
“Borrring,” she replied. I walked over to the bookshelves along the wall and came back to the table, placing a deck of cards and a cribbage board in front of the kids.
“Doesn’t have to be,” I said.
They picked up the game quickly. After a few hands, Aaron was counting our scores even faster than I could. Aida was delighted when she began pegging far ahead of us on the board.
You can tell a lot about a person in a game of cribbage, whether they play it safe with the cards they’re dealt or sacrifice points for the chance the dealer will flip over a hole card that would bring them more. Aida was a risk taker, and it was paying off big—at least for now.
“Fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, fifteen eight, double run for sixteen!” she cried, slapping the bare wood table with the palm of her hand before moving her peg down the board.
“You got the right jack too,” Aaron said. “That’s another point.”
She turned to me. “Do I still get it?”
“You do,” I said, moving her peg an extra hole, “but only because you’re a beginner. Pretty soon we’ll play Muggins, and when we do, watch out. Whoever finds your missing points will take them for himself.”
The library door creaked open. A gust of wind caught it and slammed it against the inside wall. We hurried over to help Mara and Kim inside. They were carrying plates of hot food that they set on the table while I shut the door against the driving rain.
We ate sausages and slices of French toast with our fingers. Halfway through breakfast, I remembered Cassie back in the cabin. I was tempted to go get her—but didn’t. Now that Robert had exposed our affair, there was no reason to pretend we weren’t together. But trotting out my new girlfriend in front of my family was the last thing I wanted, especially after she’d just run my sister’s husband out of the park. My new girlfriend? I thought, wiping the syrup from my fingers. Is that what she is?
Mara moved her chair by the fire and took her needlepoint from her basket. The image of my mother bent over a colored square of canvas by the woodstove was right out of my childhood, only now it was Aaron and Aida who framed her instead of Kim and me.
I looked over to see Kim stacking the dishes. We’d avoided saying anything to each other during breakfast, but when I saw her grab her raincoat and head to the door, I spoke. “Can’t those wait?” I asked, pointing to the plates in her hands.
“No, I’ve got to start packing.”
“You’re leaving?”
“What do you think, Paul? We’re just going to continue with this happy little reunion after you and Robert almost killed each other? And don’t act like you’re disappointed. It’s clear you never wanted any of us here in the first place. So brighten up, we’re going home.”
“I’m not.”
We turned to look at Mara. Her eyes stayed on the canvas she stitched in her lap.
“You can’t be serious,” Kim said.
Mara dropped her work and looked up. “We had a deal,” she said.
Kim stared at her. I glanced at the kids. They sat frozen in place in front of the forgotten game.
Kim slammed the plates down o
n the wooden table, sending a loud crack echoing through the library just as Tommy slipped in the door. “To hell with your deal!” Kim told Mara. “I must have been insane to agree to come back here. This place, this pond, is nothing but one big pool of painful memories. And now I’ve got a whole new load to dump into it. You like it so much, stay.” She turned to me. “She’s all yours. I’m going home.”
“No, you’re not,” Tommy said as Kim started for the door. “The Range Rover has a flat.”
41
Small Repairs
“Where are your keys?” Tommy asked.
Kim took a moment to orient herself. She looked over at the kids. The anger on her face faded, and the look that took its place was so open and broken that I was tempted to reach out and hug her. She put her hand into her pocket and held the car keys out to Tommy.
“You have a spare, right?” he asked her.
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
“Why not wait until the rain stops?” I asked Tommy.
“It’s letting up; I’m fine,” he responded.
“I’ll give you a hand.”
“I got it.”
He walked out, but I grabbed my jacket and followed him. I felt cold drops sting my cheeks as I hustled behind him; it hadn’t let up at all. “It’ll be easier with two of us,” I called out. He kept walking, his back to me when he replied.
“Suit yourself.”
It was going to be a messy job. There was an inch of standing water covering the packed bed of dirt and gravel in the Kidney Pond parking lot. The flat tire on the back driver’s side was sunk deep into the mud.
Tommy unlocked the back of the vehicle. It was full of plastic jugs of fresh water and other camping supplies that hadn’t made it into the cabin. I began pulling them out and transferring them to the backseat, and Tommy did the same. When the trunk was clear, I pulled the handle on the floor to reveal the jack and lug nut wrench underneath. Tommy reached in to grab the jack and went around to the side of the truck. He got down on hands and knees to find the place in the frame that mated with the tool. When he turned it, I walked over beside him.
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