Snow Falcon

by Harrison, Stuart

  ‘Come on, let’s go home,’ she said.

  CHAPTER 5

  Michael caught sight of his reflection in the plate glass showroom window and did a double take. The last time he’d worn a suit on a regular basis he was working in an office on the fifteenth floor of a glass and steel tower in downtown Seattle. Back then he was the agency’s most successful account manager, and in return for his skills the company provided him with a BMW and paid him a ridiculously high salary. He was literally the blue-eyed boy. Clean cut, six feet and lean, wearing thousand dollar suits and outwardly confident that it would all last forever. He didn’t look much different now, despite the intervening years and all that had happened. A little older around the eyes where the lines were etched deep, the hair darker and a little longer perhaps, but it was like encountering a ghost.

  The suit wasn’t new, but it was conspicuous in a place like Little River. If people wore suits at all they bought them for one ninety-five on sale. A guy wearing a sports coat and pants that sagged at the knee approached him with a smile.

  ‘Morning. Something I can help you with today?’ He sounded doubtful, maybe thinking that Michael didn’t look like their regular truck-buying clientele.

  ‘I’m looking for George Wilson,’ Michael said and added, ‘I’m here about the job.’

  The salesman’s smile became curious. He gestured to the rear. ‘Just ask the girl behind the desk over there, she’ll find him for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Any time.’

  The job of promotions manager had been in the paper next to the twice-weekly, full-page ad Wilson’s Auto House ran to sell their cars. Michael had looked over the ad with the eye of an experienced advertising professional and he thought he had something to offer. A phone call secured him an appointment. The girl behind the reception desk looked up as he approached.

  ‘Hi there. May I help you?’

  ‘My name’s Somers. I have an appointment with Mr Wilson.’

  She ran her finger down her diary where he saw three or four other names. Her expression gave no sign that his name meant anything to her, other than he was there about a job. ‘I’ll tell him you’re here.’

  He took a seat while she spoke into the phone. ‘He’ll be down in a couple of minutes,’ she said to Michael. ‘Can I get you anything? Coffee maybe?’

  ‘I’m fine thanks.’

  ‘Okay.’ She seemed reluctant to go back to whatever she’d been doing and fiddled with her pen for a moment. ‘It’s not so cold out today,’ she ventured.

  ‘No,’ he agreed.

  She was maybe twenty-five. Though she wanted to chat it made him nervous, so he picked up a magazine from the table. He considered what to tell her if she asked where he was from or something. When she went back to her work he could feel her watching him now and again. He started to think the suit had been a mistake, that he should have made himself less conspicuous.

  George Wilson had a shock of white hair and had to be in his seventies. He shook Michael’s hand and appraised him with quick intelligence before leading the way to his office, which looked out over the front of the lot. He closed the door and gestured for Michael to join him at the window.

  ‘You’re not from around here, Michael?’

  ‘No,’ he said, deciding now wasn’t the time to elaborate. ‘I’ve been living in Seattle.’

  ‘I didn’t think you bought that suit here.’

  Together they looked out on the vehicles arranged in lines below. Michael had a feeling that Wilson spent a fair bit of time standing right at this spot. The salesman he spoke to earlier appeared outside and went over to a young guy who’d wandered in off the street. They started talking and the salesman nodded repeatedly before guiding the guy toward a line of Ford trucks.

  ‘That fellow there has worked for me for five years now,’ Wilson offered. ‘He’s a good man. He wanted to apply for this job you’ve come about, but I told him the honest truth, which is that he isn’t right for it. The thing is, I’m looking for somebody with some fresh ideas, and I’m afraid that puts most people around here out of the running.’ He paused and then turned to Michael. ‘What kind of work did you do in Seattle?’

  ‘I was in advertising.’ He offered his resume. ‘It’s all in here.’ He’d put it together using the computer in the library at St Mathews. After a lot of thought he ended his career record at a point six years earlier without giving any explanation as to what he’d been doing since then. He decided it was best handled face to face.

  Wilson waved it away. ‘We can get to the paperwork later. I like to hear what a man has to say in his own words. So what brings you to a place like Little River?’

  ‘I grew up here actually. I moved to Seattle when I went to college.’

  ‘And now you’re moving back?’

  ‘I know it must seem unusual.’

  ‘I imagine you have your reasons,’ Wilson said. ‘We can talk more about that later. Right now let’s talk about why you want to apply for this job. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an important position. I never had a promotions manager here before, but I think we need one. Somehow I doubt it’s what you’re used to though.’

  ‘Advertising is what I know about, Mr Wilson. I understand Little River is a different environment from the one I’m used to, but selling is selling, just like people are people wherever you go.’

  He outlined the path his career had taken, mentioning the notable achievements without embellishment.

  Wilson nodded. ‘It sounds to me like you’ve done very well for yourself.’ He looked out of the window toward the mountains. ‘I’ve lived here all my life and I’m seventy-four years old now. I’ve done a bit of travelling in my time and I never found a place I liked better than here. I took this business over from my father and I’ve done all right here, and I’m thankful for it.’ He paused a moment and said, ‘You married, Mike? Can I call you Mike?’

  ‘Sure. I was married, I’m not now.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I’ve been married for nearly forty years. All of them to the same woman, too,’ he added and chuckled. ‘It’s a great thing, marriage. A family is important, don’t you think? Gives a man stability, something to work for. My only regret is that neither of my kids were interested in coming into the business. They’ve both done well by themselves though. One of them’s a lawyer and the other’s running an engineering firm. I’m proud of them. You have any kids, Mike?’

  ‘Just one,’ he said and as he thought of Holly a rage of conflicted emotions tore around inside him. ‘A girl.’

  Wilson considered this, then gestured that they should sit down. ‘Let me tell you more about the job, Mike,’ he said.

  He outlined what the position involved and it was about what Michael had expected. The business had done well enough over the years, but times were tougher. Competition from out of town meant that people were tempted by deals and all kinds of offers.

  ‘I’ve always believed if you treat people right they’ll do the same by you,’ Wilson said. ‘That’s it in a nutshell. We look after our customers and that’s why they come back. The vehicles we sell cost a few dollars more because we stand behind every one of them. It’s about trust. Trouble is, that isn’t enough anymore.’

  ‘I don’t think the values you’re talking about ever go out of fashion,’ Michael offered. ‘It’s the way you communicate them that has to change.’

  Wilson cocked an eyebrow. ‘Values. That is what I’m talking about I guess. It’s a word you don’t hear too often these days. I think you may have hit the nail on the head. Values are what we’re all about here. We stand for the way things used to be when it wasn’t all a fast buck and make it any way you can. Sometimes people forget about that when they sign up for a deal that gets them a fist full of Texaco vouchers and a free case of beer. Beer and gas won’t do them any good when the damn head blows a mile or two down the road.’

  He paused. ‘So what would you do to change things if the job was yours, Mike?
’

  ‘From what I’ve heard your issue is the image you project,’ he said. ‘Reputation can work for you, but just as easily it can work against you if it isn’t presented in the right way. What you have to do is make your philosophy of giving people a fair deal the very foundation of your marketing.’

  ‘We do that now.’

  “Yes, but it’s how you do it that makes a difference,’ Michael said. He’d seen the ads Wilson’s ran. They showed a photograph of the old man himself alongside the banner of the company name and a slogan that said, ‘You Can Trust Me’.

  ‘What that communicates, especially to younger people who’re getting bombarded by sophisticated messages all the time from TV and the internet, is that Wilson’s is old- fashioned,’ Michael explained. ‘People are cynical these days. They probably don’t believe you’re message because they don’t identify with your image.’ He paused, unsure how this would go down, especially the last part.

  ‘So how would you change that?’ Wilson asked after a moment.

  ‘Don’t use your picture for one thing. You need an image that appeals to young and old. And that would just be the start.’

  Wilson frowned. ‘So you’d take me out of the advertising?’

  ‘That would be my recommendation.’

  ‘And that would be just the start?’

  “I know how it must sound, but that’s how I’d approach it.

  The old man was thoughtful, but then he smiled. ‘I’m not so old and pig-headed I don’t appreciate the truth when I hear it. I think we could use somebody like you around here.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘Okay. So I better have a look at that resume now. And while I do you can tell why you really came to live in a town like this.’

  Michael handed the resume over and while Wilson flicked through it he told him he’d been in prison.

  Wilson looked up sharply. ‘Prison?’

  ‘For three years, then I was at a psychiatric unit. I was released a couple of weeks ago.’

  Wilson’s friendly expression dissolved and his brow furrowed. ‘Somers? Michael Somers?’ The name rang a bell but it took him a moment or two to place it. ‘Your dad was John Somers who ran the hardware store?’

  ‘That’s right. You might have heard about what happened. I had a kind of a breakdown, but I had therapy while I served my sentence. I’m fine now.’

  Wilson’s expression hardened. ‘This changes everything.’ He closed the resume abruptly and handed it back. ‘You should have told me about this right at the start.’

  ‘If I had told you at the beginning, would you have agreed to see me? You said you could use somebody like me. What happened in Seattle was because I was sick.’

  Wilson got up from his seat. ‘I’m sorry, it just isn’t possible.’

  Though the old man seemed to have made up his mind, Michael continued to argue his case. ‘What happened to those values you were talking about, Mister Wilson? Wouldn’t those values include giving somebody a chance?’

  ‘People around here know about you, they read the papers. I couldn’t have somebody like you working here. Even if I thought it wouldn’t affect business, I couldn’t have you here. It just wouldn’t sit right with me.’ Wilson came around his desk and crossed to the door.

  ‘Let me give you some advice,’ he said. ‘If you’ve got any sense you’ll go somewhere else. Somewhere people don’t know you.’

  It was clear that nothing Michael could say would change Wilson’s mind. Michael got up, but as he left he paused. He tried to think of some way to explain himself, to try to make the old man understand that he regretted what had happened, more than it was possible to express. He knew there was no chance he could persuade Wilson to reconsider, but Michael wanted him to know that during the years that he was locked up he had never stopped hating himself for what he’d done, that when he looked back on the events of that day, and the months leading up to it, it was like he was imagining the actions of a nightmarish stranger.

  I’m not that person anymore, Michael wanted to say.

  Wilson, however, met his look with an expression as hard and unmoving as flint, and Michael knew he would be wasting his time.

  ‘Thanks for seeing me,’ he said quietly.

  When he reached his car, Michael’s temples were throbbing. He took deep breaths, massaging with his knuckles until the pain faded to a dull ache. He used to get headaches years ago. They got so bad it was like his skull was going to shatter. He couldn’t think straight. Everything pressed down like a colossal weight until eventually he couldn’t take it anymore.

  CHAPTER 6

  An old footbridge spanned the river near the house. As Michael crossed over, it creaked and swayed above the dark water below. The air was filled with the muted roar of rapids where the banks narrowed between two black rocks, glistening in the weak sunlight. On the far bank he climbed through the woods of hemlock scattered through with aspen and poplar. When he came out beyond the trees, the snow was thick on the ground, and the air was still and quiet.

  When Holly was born life was full of promise. The one thing he wanted for her was that she should be happy, and her life free from the tensions he’d grown up with himself.

  When he married Louise he had been twenty-six and she was three years younger. He was already doing well, and they bought an apartment in a city neighborhood popular with other young professionals and couples just starting out. He wrote his dad a letter a month after the event to give him the news, and Michael sometimes wondered now what pain that must have caused him. Louise came from a happy family who welcomed him as one of their own. He never talked about his own family except to say that he was an only child and that his mother died when he was eighteen. He said he didn’t get on with his dad. He never tried to explain why, or that his mother had taken an overdose. Louise tried to persuade him to invite his dad to the wedding, a conversation that developed into a serious argument.

  A couple of weeks later a wedding present and a card arrived from his dad. He put the present unopened in the spare room, but one day Louise found it and when he came home from work a hand-blown glass vase was standing on the table.

  ‘Call him. Just do that, please,’ she said. ‘What harm can it do?’

  He refused and she let it go before it developed into another argument. It became a taboo subject between them and quietly festered inside him.

  The first years of their marriage were happy. Louise had honey blonde hair and serious grey eyes, but when she smiled they melted. He’d loved her. He was proud when she turned men’s heads in the street. He knew he was lucky to have her, but that knowledge bothered him. He had a beautiful wife, a career going places, but at the back of his mind there was a shadow lurking, a gloomy tendency to wonder when it would all go wrong.

  His dad got a computer and would send emails written like letters. They were full of the everyday comings and goings at the store and updates on what was happing in the town. Michael read them repeatedly, searching between the lines for a message that wasn’t there. His dad often mentioned in a casual way that he’d be happy to have them visit if they wanted. Periodically Louise tried to persuade Michael he should try to work out whatever had gone wrong between them, or at least talk about it, but he could never bring himself to do that. He knew she worried about him. He pretended everything was fine but she must have known it wasn’t.

  After Holly was born, Louise gave up her job, and about that time he was headhunted to a new agency. It should have been a perfect time, but the shadow in his mind grew longer and darkened his thoughts. From a vague feeling that he was undeserving of his existence he became convinced that disaster was just around the corner. He looked at his infant daughter and wondered how it was possible to feel so much love. She was helpless and vulnerable and he was responsible for her happiness. Everything she experienced when she was young would shape her and stay with her for all of her days, and he promised he would make her life perfect - the way his own
had never been.

  He could never remember when the vague notion that he was undeserving of his life metamorphosed into what, much later, he understood was paranoia. He started calling home at odd hours to check everything was okay. Sometimes he turned up unexpectedly at the apartment. At first Louise was touched by his concern, then one day it got to her. Maybe Holly had given her a bad time because she was teething or perhaps she was starting to understand he was driven by darker compulsions. When he came in the door early one afternoon she flew at him.

  ‘Michael, what are you doing here? Why are you doing this? You keep sneaking around as if you expect to find something!’

  ‘I just want to make sure you’re okay.’

  She took a breath. ‘We’re fine, Michael.’ She enunciated carefully, trying to maintain control. Then in a different tone she said, ‘You have to stop doing this. You’re smothering me.’

  He stopped, but not for long and eventually she suggested he ought to see a therapist.

  ‘For what, because I care about my family?’

  ‘This isn’t about us,’ she said. ‘It’s about you. It’s about whatever’s going on between you and your dad.’

  He remembered being surprised by her insight, though now he could see how obvious it must have been. Their relationship became strained. There were days when they hardly spoke and he began to suspect her of having an affair.

  When Holly was two he got a call from the police department in Little River. His dad’s car was travelling on the wrong side of the road when he came around a bend outside of town and hit a logging truck head on. The impact killed him instantly. The cop who called said his dad wouldn’t have known anything about it. Michael was numbed by the news. He didn’t know what he felt. The knowledge filtered through that now they would never be reconciled, which he found odd because he hadn’t ever thought reconciliation was something he wanted.

  Louise all but begged him to go to the funeral. She said they would all go. He could show her and Holly where he’d grown up. The break would do them good. He refused to even discuss it. He didn’t tell her about the grief that afflicted him with heaving sobs that wracked his body. He didn’t understand what he was grieving. A father he’d never really known. He remembered that he hadn’t even cried at his mother’s funeral.