The Urn Carrier

by Chris Convissor

  Chapter 25

  TESSA RETURNS FROM the river and puts her ankle up and ices it with one of the two bags she bought at Saskatchewan Corners. She distracts herself from the pain, with the photo albums. She finds the picture of the four of them in 1968 at Lake Louise, Lake Agnes Tea House. The four of them. She looks again. That can’t be . . . That can’t be.

  Tessa finds Madeline at her camper.

  Madeline smiles. “Honey? Did you cut your hair?”

  Tessa touches her shortened locks. Nods.

  “Mmmm. I used to be a hairdresser in a former life. Sit.”

  Tessa obeys. She has a question she needs answered anyway.

  Madeline returns from the rig with a drape and a pair of shears. “Some folks actually pay me to do this on the road. This one is gratis. We’ll just even up some of those layers you have going. My you cut it short. But you have beautiful, thick hair. I bet it grows fast.”

  The memory is flooding back: Her father taking the scissors and a fist full of her long, little girl hair . . . Tessa shoves it away again.

  “Why, darling, you have some natural body here, this is going to be beautiful.”

  “You know,” Tessa says carefully,” I found pictures of my Great Aunt Sadie and Uncle Percy, when they were younger.”

  “Did you?”

  “Mmhmmm. And there’s another couple with them. Right here. In Canada.”

  “Is there?”

  “That’s you, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I’d have to see the picture.”

  Without hesitation Tessa pulls out the color photo she has in her pocket. It’s the two couples at the Tea House above Lake Louise.

  Madeline glances at it. “Yes, that’s me.”

  “You didn’t even look at it. You’ve been following me this whole time, right?”

  “Well, no, not exactly.”

  “Mr. Forsythe send you? He paid you to follow me, right?”

  “No one paid me to do anything.”

  “Then why? Why are people following me? Why doesn’t anyone think I can do this myself?”

  “It’s not that, honey.” Madeline smiles, her arm bent at the elbow, the scissors up in the air as she bends forward and looks Tessa in the eyes. “It’s that your Uncle Chunk is such a dick.”

  Tessa laughs, despite her focus on all this new information. “But who are you? And who is this other guy in the picture?”

  “I will be happy to answer every single one of your questions, but frankly I’m famished. After I finish evening up some of these edges, why don’t you return to your rig and make one of those fabulous salads you rave about and I will tell you everything. Promise.”

  And for a moment, Tessa realizes she hasn’t been feeling the drowning, or drama of emotions involving Dina. For a brief moment, she’s allowed herself the respite of being authentic in the moment. It’s going to take practice. She needs to do this to heal.

  “Okay.”

  “I need protein, none of that vegan stuff for me. And bring that fine ax you have in the camper, I need to split some wood for our campfire tonight.”

  Madeline makes a few more snips. She mousses Tessa’s hair with some product and professionally hands her a mirror.

  “Wow. You left most of the pink.”

  “I like the pink. Are you happy?”

  “You make me look hot.”

  “That’s not hard to do, sweetie. So, you like?”

  “Very much.”

  “Good, now don’t dawdle making the salad, okay?”

  Tessa obeys and makes her spinach, feta, tomato, hard-boiled egg, avocado, and walnut salad.

  Madeline insists on grilling.

  Tessa is also dragging the ax behind her. She can’t put her finger on it, but she hates axes. This one looks like it’s been in the family for generations. It has an old sturdy wood handle with the patina of human oils and rubbed-in varnish. Inscribed in neatly carved, cursive, charcoal black letters is “Babe.”

  Tessa believes it must be the name of the ax, or Uncle Percy’s nickname, like on the back of the photograph.

  Madeline picks up the ax and begins splitting wood. She catches Tessa watching her, almost open mouthed.

  Madeline grins, her beautiful dimples creasing the corner of her mouth and without saying a word stacks a chunk on another big round piece of wood and lifts the ax in the air. It slices smoothly through the wood like butter.

  “The trick is eyeballing that splinter piece you want and not biting off more than you can chew.”

  Thwack.

  Another straight piece falls off like a fat pat of butter.

  “It helps that it’s ash wood also.” Now Madeline is downplaying her prowess. “And I’ve done it since I was a kid.” She thumbs the edge of the ax. “Huh.”

  That one movement triggers a freight train of barreling memories for Tessa. While Madeline is absorbed with taking a rasp from her tools, filing the burr off the axe head, Tessa is plunging into a series of picture memories she can’t stop.

  Thwack.

  Blood.

  She buries her hands in her face.

  “Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.” She is keening and rocking back and forth. Her face in her hands.

  Alarmed, Madeline abandons her task and turns Tessa from her seat at the picnic table toward the mountain. Murphy is sniffing at Tessa, whining.

  “Ohgodohgodohgod.” Tessa is holding her stomach. Holding her stomach so her guts won’t fall out. Holding her stomach where the deeply hidden searing resides, and is now roaring to her forehead, unleashed. “I killed him! I killed him!”

  Madeline pulls her in and Tessa leans against her, against the taller, stronger body, against her chest. She collapses within the surprisingly strong arms and dissolves.

  Her head is pounding and she’s gagging. Madeline insists she drink water. She pours water on a dishcloth and puts it on Tessa’s neck, one arm still holding her.

  After the nausea passes, Madeline helps Tessa into her camper. She leads Tessa back to the bed and puts the cool cloth over her forehead.

  “Ever since Dina left, I’ve been having nightmares. Now I understand them.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. Traumatic events can shift your sense of what really happened.”

  “My dad backhanded Eli and then he punched me.”

  Tessa closes her eyes as it all comes rushing back.

  It had been just that quick, her dad backhanding Eli and turning with a closed fist to punch her, once, twice. She partially covered her face and before he could hit her again, she could see Eli jump on her father’s back and begin pounding him, howling.

  Their father threw him off. “Is that all you got?”

  He spat a stream of tobacco juice that landed near Eli’s head in the snow.

  Eli roared and ran at him again. Their father was still holding the knife but it was behind his forearm as he shoved Eli off with both hands. Eli went face first in the dirt and snow.

  “You were always the slow one.”

  Eli got up on all fours and was looking at Tessa, but not really. Her head was exploding from her father’s fist but she could see Eli’s eyes. They were fixed somewhere else and almost seemed to be turning into yellow cat eye slits. Cold, pure hate, not at her, but at him.

  Their father toed Eli’s behind with a boot. “Try again.”

  Eli howled and turned. He grabbed their father around the knees. He pulled them into the wet leaves and snow. They tussled and turned and fought. Wrestling, sticks broke under their heaving bodies. Their father was on top, his forearm against Eli’s throat, the knife still gripped in his right hand, tucked away from Eli’s face.

  He was choking Eli with a rage that was out of control. “I brought you in and I can take you out!”

  Eli’s feet were kicking and he was losing; Tessa heard horrible rasping, choking sounds. She was up, the ax in her hands, and it was just that quick. She closed her eyes and swung, connecting.

  The side of her father’s fac
e fell away as he rammed his right arm back at whatever had attacked him and cut under the hem of Tessa’s green, wool jacket. Her eyes fly open and their father’s momentum took him all the way around, the disfigured monster.

  Tessa fell.

  Madeline is looking at her with large, brown eyes, absorbing this story.

  Tessa begins sobbing. Big, racking grief-stricken cries.

  She remembers. She remembers all of it and hates herself. “I killed my father, Madeline. I did it. Uncle Chuck is right. I’m no good. I’m a bad seed. I murdered my father.”

  “You know, honey. Memory can be a funny thing. This trauma with your girlfriend . . .”

  “Ex-girlfriend.” Tessa sobs.

  ”Yes. Ex-girlfriend . . .”

  “I did it. Not Eli. All these years I was thinking it was him. And he took the fall for me. He took the fall for me because he knew what it would cost . . .” Tessa tears soak Madeline’s lap.

  Madeline strokes her hair.

  “I didn’t think this could get any worse.”

  “Don’t you think the trauma with your gir . . . ex-girlfriend provoked this?”

  “Maybe.”

  Madeline lets Tessa cry as long as she needs.

  “Is there any possibility this might be what you think happened, instead of what really happened?” Madeline asks.

  Tessa searches inside her brain. She sees it all clearly. She shakes her head no. “What now?”

  “Well, I think a drink would be nice, don’t you?”

  “I mean, do we go to the cops?”

  Tessa hears Madeline chuckle.

  “Why?”

  “Well, ’cause . . .”

  “Oh no, child. Whatever for? Land sakes, has civilization eroded this far we have to depend on authorities more than our souls?”

  “But if I . . .”

  “Tessa,” Madeline takes both of Tessa’s hands in hers, “hear me now. Whatever happened, whatever you did or think you’ve done . . . What was your intent?”

  “To save Eli.”

  “And did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then all else fall’s to the side. You need to wait some. And get home and return to familiar. You’ve been on the road almost three months, doing other’s work. And this fight with your girlfriend . . .”

  “Ex-girlfriend.”

  “Ex-girlfriend hurt you. The first is always the hardest.”

  Tessa’s eyes widen. “You mean this happens more than once? I can’t go through this twice.”

  “Then I suppose three or four times would be out of the question?”

  Tessa pulls her hands away and folds her arms over her face. “Oh god, this sucks.”

  “I agree, it does. Don’t hide your grief any more than you would your love.”

  “I’m not.”

  “And when you’re done, I’ll tell you all the stories you want to hear.”

  Madeline hands Tessa a wad of Kleenex. Tessa blows her nose so loudly it sounds like a goose honking as it takes flight and startles Murphy.

  “Do you need a neti pot?”

  “A what?”

  “To irrigate your nose.”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Honey. Just take a moment and breathe, can you do that for me? Big, deep breaths.”

  Tessa straightens and closes her eyes, listening to Madeline’s breathing slow and sure, coaching her.

  Madeline does three long breaths.

  Tessa adds a fourth. Murphy leans against her. Tessa opens her eyes and turns to him. She holds his long face in her hands. “You are my rock, aren’t you?” She looks at Madeline. “I’m sorry to burden you with all of this.”

  “It’s what friends do. I care about you, Tessa Marie.”

  Tessa pauses. “How did you know my middle name is Marie?”

  “Maybe I heard your friend say it.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, well then . . . busted.”

  “Busted?”

  “That’s going to have to wait. I think you’ve been through quite enough for one day.”

  “Then tell me about you and the man, in the picture.”

  “That man in the picture is my husband.”

  “Where is he?” Tessa puts a hand over her mouth. “He’s not dead, right?”

  “No!” Madeline laughs. “My husband’s name is Dan.” A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “His full name is Dan Forsythe.”

  Tessa feels her mouth drop open. “But you said your last name is Sweet.”

  “It is. My maiden name. Dan and I are . . . separated.”

  “Yeah. He’s in Michigan and you’re here.”

  “No. I mean we haven’t lived together for a very long time.”

  “Oh.”

  “Like years.”

  “So you sorta babysat me ’cause you’re on the road all the time?”

  “No, I’m more like a human guardian angel. You didn’t see Chuck after that night in Ottine, did you?”

  “That was your doing?”

  “I had some help.”

  “The Hoopers? You all acted like you didn’t know each other on the ferry . . .”

  “Yes, we did. I’m glad we were so convincing. Chris is a former Navy Seal. He is very commanding when he need be.”

  “Chris? He was all freaked out about the shotgun.”

  “Chris is a good little actor, isn’t he?”

  “And now you’re here . . . ?”

  “Well, because of Dina.”

  “So why are you here because of Dina?”

  “Call it a hunch.”

  “A hunch?”

  “A sixth sense.”

  “A sixth sense like she was going to say something totally shitty and break my heart? That kind of sixth sense?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you a mom?”

  “No. I am so not a mom.”

  “I’m exhausted.”

  “Well, you’re not going anywhere till we have supper, okay?”

  Tessa nods.

  “Now do me a favor, please, and rest a bit. Drink more water. Come outside when you’re ready.”

  Madeline has a look on her face that Tessa doesn’t argue with.

  Tessa lies back down in the big, comfortable, queen size bed of the motorhome.

  She tries closing her eyes, but that seems to last only a moment. She opens her eyes, and is surprised that time has actually passed. Not only is Murphy’s warm body beside her, the sun light in the window has shifted over, illuminating a framed piece of embroidery on the wall near the foot of the bed that says, “Into your garden you can walk and with each plant and flower talk.”

  Curious, Tessa rises and investigates the walls of the rig.

  There’s a cloth patch with a black border and red background pinned on the wall by the bathroom door. A campfire in the middle with the words in black stitching above and below, “We are the Grand Daughters . . . Of all the witches you were never able to burn.”

  Wow.

  Tessa walks toward the front part of the coach.

  A bumper sticker is stuck to the fabric behind the driver’s seat and over the couch. It has a piano in the trees and says, “See you in August.”

  Over the driver’s seat is a large pink banner with #moranstrong and a photograph of a woman racer crossing the finish line in a lime green shirt, arm’s upraised in elation. She exudes joy.

  Madeline calls in. “Tessa? Are you awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “The grill is hot. Will you please pull the meat off the center shelf in the fridge?”

  Tessa opens the door and pulls out a very neatly wrapped packet in white butcher paper with black handwriting reads, “Chuck steak.”

  Tessa stares at the packet and slowly walks out of the camper to Madeline.

  “Honey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Tessa hands her the packet, her eyes never leaving the hand written “Chuck.”

  Madeline bursts ou
t laughing. “I did not pull a Fried Green Tomatoes. Promise. That really is chuck steak.”

  THE NIGHTS WITHOUT Dina are incredibly lonely. Tessa has no one with which she can make a goodnight tuck-in call. Or process the whole scene with her father, her, and Eli. Eli. Eli will tell her. Eli will tell her everything. Madeline is right. She needs to return home.

  For now, it’s just her and Murphy. At one point she goes out to look at the stars that fill the sky. It must be after one and before four, because the sky is black. Far off she hears a sound like tinkling water and she wishes the Northern Lights would come.

  IN THE MORNING, Tessa runs.

  Not very far because it feels like her bone is on top of her foot. But she forces herself to try. She knows she must look ridiculous to the other campers, with their families and friends, out in the morning sun, drinking coffee. Sharing laughs. And her trying to run, a hippity hoppy kind of run. She wears the lime green hat because it gives her strength.

  She can’t afford to care what others think. She stares at the beauty around her and forces herself to run. To hobble, to half ass jog. Good. Let it hurt, let this pain be greater than the one inside.

  She maybe only gets a quarter mile, and then she turns around and hobbles back. She hears from behind her a tinkling noise, like rain against a metal roof. It’s Madeline, wearing one of Great Aunt Sadie’s ankle bracelets, made from antique buttons.

  “You have one of Great Aunt Sadie’s ankle bracelets.”

  “I do.” Madeline sits at the picnic table and pats the seat next to her. “I haven’t been completely honest with you. You didn’t read far enough in those journals, did you?”

  Tessa feels her cheeks warm out of embarrassment. The days with Dina blew everything else in her world out of the water. She’s looked at the pictures again, but not the journals.

  “Your aunt and I had more than a friendship.”

  Tessa absorbs this. “You’re B. In the journals.”

  “Yes.”

  “B, as in Babe.”

  “Yes.”

  “So that ax is yours?”

  “We travelled together. It belongs with the rig.”

  “What about Uncle Percy?”

  “Well, Dan and he had more than a friendship.”

  B and F. Forsythe. Fortie.

  Tessa starts to say something. Madeline waits.