After The Fires Went Out: Coyote atfwo-1

by Regan Wolfrom

  “Katie Walker called Justin this morning,” she said. “There’s a memorial for Zach tomorrow. They expect you to be there.”

  “We can’t all just take off for a funeral.”

  She pointed at her ears. “Hold on.”

  She pulled her head out from the water.

  “I couldn’t hear you,” she said, “but I’m sure I can make an educated guess. And the answer is that you’re going. You and me, Baptiste.”

  “Just us?”

  “Just us. I doubt they’d want to see Justin and Graham, and I’m not sure anyone else had ever met Zach.”

  “Kayla knew him,” I said. And regretted. “Like an acquaintance or something.”

  “Oh. No surprise there. He did have a pulse and a penis, right?”

  “I don’t think she’d want to go.”

  “Good. And when we get back, we’ll stop off at the Tremblays’.”

  “Isn’t that enough for one day?”

  “Be a man, Baptiste. You’re acting like Alain’s going to bite your head off because you couldn’t save his brother from slipping on some ice.”

  “Fuck, Sara…you don’t know what happened out there. He didn’t slip…I hit him.”

  “What do you mean? You got into a fight with him?”

  “He was drunk…he was angry…I just wanted to stop him from going at Graham. I hit him the wrong way. Obviously I didn’t mean to kill him.”

  “ Mon dieu, Baptiste…”

  She looked down at her hands.

  I wanted to reach out and touch them, but it didn’t feel like the right moment.

  She shook her head. “I can’t believe you lied to me.”

  “I’m sorry, Sara. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

  “That doesn’t matter. You can’t be keeping secrets from me. That’s not allowed.”

  “Not allowed?”

  “I won’t accept that from you. Do you understand me?”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know.”

  She wrapped her arm around me. “Does Alain know what really happened?”

  “No…and I don’t think there’s a reason to tell him.”

  I gritted my teeth and waited for the argument.

  “You’re right,” she said. “There’s no reason. As long as you’re okay with him not knowing.”

  I nodded. “There’s a lot about Marc that I’ll bet he doesn’t know.”

  “Like what?”

  “I think Marc and Justin were at it again. They took supplies from the Lamarches.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “How did they know the Lamarches had left? How come they didn’t tell us?”

  “We all had a feeling they’d left.”

  “But Fiona’s had that breadmaker for how long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “They didn’t tell us about the Lamarches because they were involved.”

  “You think they made a deal.”

  “Those assholes cornered the market. The only guys north of Timmins who could sneak people across our territory. They were just using us.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “How can I give Alain my sympathy when his brother deserved what he got?”

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You will.” She leaned in and gave me a kiss.

  Then she turned off the water and grabbed a towel.

  5

  Today is Sunday, December 23rd.

  Zach Walker’s memorial service was today.

  Sara and I went, with our body armour stowed and my SIG and belt on; Fiona had wanted to go, but I told her it wasn’t worth the risk. She gave me a full dose of teenage indignation, but she eventually stormed off and let it drop.

  We took the gravel truck, even though we have less than a quarter tank left; I know there are three crews out there who want me dead, and their Toyotas would be tough to handle with a wooden cart and two tired horses.

  Sara and I arrived at the Walker’s rail bridge around a half hour early, which was later than she’d wanted and earlier than I’d hoped for; the last thing I need is awkward conversations with grieving Walkers.

  We parked the truck and got out, the two men at the bridgehead nodding as we walked by. I didn’t recognize either of them, and I was surprised that they hadn’t said anything about the gunbelt.

  “You’ll do the talking,” I said to Sara as we crossed the frozen Frederickhouse river; we’d never been allowed to cross the river before.

  “This isn’t that hard,” she said. “Just look sad and nod and be prepared to hug people you’d never hug in real life.”

  I groaned.

  “This is important,” she said.

  “I know.”

  There was a white tent set up on the West bank of the river, one of those tents you’d use for a wedding.

  Livingston was standing by the white plastic door. Sad country music was floating out from inside.

  “Ms. Vachon,” he said. “Baptiste…”

  “I’m sorry, Fisher,” Sara said. She reached out and gave him a hug.

  “Thank you.”

  “How are they?”

  “Not bad.”

  “That’s good.”

  Livingston turned to me and offered his hand.

  I shook it and gave my best sad and sympathetic face.

  “I appreciate you guys coming,” he said.

  I nodded.

  He motioned for us to walk inside.

  Sara took me by the hand and led me in.

  There were dozens of chairs set up, maybe over a hundred, and most were taken. Over half of the Marchands were there, as were Gerald Archibald and what looked like over a dozen people from New Post.

  I was starting to wonder if we should have brought a few more bodies.

  Eva Marchand waved us over, and the mass of her family shifted over to open two seats to her right. Sara sat next to her, and I took the next chair over.

  “It’s good to see you two,” she said. “ C’est terrible. Are you okay, Baptiste?”

  I nodded.

  “I heard it was an ambush.”

  “Not quite,” I said. “I made a series of bad decisions.”

  “It’s not your fault.” She said it in a way that made it clear that it was.

  “Are the Girards not here?” Sara asked.

  “Not yet,” Eva said. “No one’s been able to reach them.”

  “They might be out of fuel,” I said. “We’re certainly running low.”

  “We’ll swing by on our way home,” Sara said.

  I wasn’t going to argue with her in front of Eva Marchand and everyone else.

  I felt the draft of an open door.

  I turned to look, expecting to see a handful of Girards.

  Instead I saw Ryan Stems.

  I stood up and pulled my gun.

  “Baptiste,” Sara said. “Don’t…”

  “No guns,” Livingston called out. “Please.”

  Stems wasn’t holding a gun.

  I wasn’t even sure he was armed.

  I put my SIG back in its holster. “What’s he doing here?” I asked.

  “Apology accepted,” Stems said.

  The Marchands started shifting seats again. One for Stems, and one for his latest companion, a young native woman. Much too young for him.

  Stems sat down beside me.

  “Mr. Jeanbaptiste,” he said.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “To pay my respects. Like you.”

  “Do you have any respect to give?” I felt Sara’s elbow. I ignored it. “You’ve got some nerve coming here, Stems.”

  “No more than you.”

  Sara cupped a hand over my knee and leaned in. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Stems,” she said. She smiled at the young woman on the other side of him. “I’m Sara Vachon. From McCartney Lake.”

  “Sorry,” Stems said.
“This is my beautiful wife, Anna.”

  “How many ‘wives’ do you have?” I asked.

  “Baptiste,” Sara said. “Don’t…”

  “Just the one,” Stems said with a grin. “How ‘bout you?”

  “ Pardon, ” Eva Marchand said, “I did not invite you to sit with me so you can create a scene.”

  “Sorry,” Sara said.

  “I’m sorry as well,” Stems said.

  I groaned.

  “Are you still living over in Smooth Rock Falls?” Sara asked.

  “We are,” Stems said. “Anna’s family lives in Kapuskasing, so we try to visit them when we can.”

  “Taking any field trips to Silver Queen Lake?” I asked.

  “Come on, Baptiste,” he said, “you’re smarter than this.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know it wasn’t me. This is the first time this year I’ve crossed the Driftwood River.”

  “Sure…I’ll just start taking you at your word, then…like it’s worth anything.”

  “Robert, please,” Eva said. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  “I think we should find another place to sit,” I said.

  I stood up.

  Sara didn’t.

  I glared at her.

  “Find a place in the back,” Sara said. “Maybe stand with Livingston by the door.”

  As I walked away, the Marchands all shifted back a seat.

  The Walkers came in a few minutes later, sitting down in the empty rows at the front. Katie was walking with Sky, who had his arm around her.

  Dave Walker looked around after he sat, over to the back row where I was sitting, but I couldn’t tell if he noticed me. I’m not sure he was noticing anything, really.

  Once the family was seated, Livingston walked up the aisle.

  I expected him to sit with the Walkers.

  He walked up the front and turned to address us all.

  “There is nothing more heartbreaking than the loss of a loved one,” he said, “especially when that loss is sudden and the loved one has so much life left to live. Zach was a good guy. That’s the consensus. And all of us are a little less whole without him.”

  He kept on for a while, before inviting the family to speak. Katie went first, with Sky still draped around her, talking about growing up with her little brother and how he used to be so much stronger than he looked, how at age seven he’d picked her up, his fourteen-year-old sister, and carried her down two flights of stairs because he was playing fireman, and that’s what firemen are supposed to do.

  Then she told a story about Zach’s first date, when he’d been so nervous that he called her from the bathroom at the restaurant for advice.

  Funerals would be a hell of a lot easier to sit through if you didn’t have to start thinking of the dead guy as a real person.

  After Katie it was Dave Walker’s turn, and I was tempted to sneak out the back just in case he started talking about the day his son was killed.

  But he didn’t mention it; he just talked about how much he loved his son, and how he’s now lost two of his boys and that if it wasn’t for the children he still had left he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

  When Dave Walker started to cry…it was too much for me. I looked around, hoping no one would notice my tears.

  I’m not even supposed to like these people.

  The last person to stand up to talk was Zach’s girlfriend, a pretty blond girl with a cute french accent and everything good that goes with it.

  The one thing I remember about my father’s funeral was that it was the one and only time I’d forgotten to check girls out.

  “I love Zach,” she said. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe he lost his life for no good reason.” I think she was looking right at me. “I can’t believe that so many people are dying for no good reason. And the people responsible just sit here like there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  I wasn’t sure if she meant that for me. Me, or Stems, or both of us. Or every person in that tent.

  “We’re all the same people,” she said. “Five years ago we were friends and neighbours. Now we don’t trust each other. Now we shoot each other.”

  I noticed Katie inching toward her.

  “I’m not finished,” the blond girl said. “I have more to say…about Zach.”

  Katie put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Tell us about Zach,” she said.

  The blond girl tried to smile, and then she talked about her boyfriend, for long enough that she seemed to forget about assholes like me.

  After Katie helped Zach’s girlfriend back to her seat, Livingston came back up for a closing prayer.

  He started in English, but said every second line in French, like they sometimes used to do in elementary school. Livingston’s French is even worse than mine.

  Once he was done the prayer and invited us all to the table of refreshments, I heard what was a huge sigh of relief from pretty much everyone, in both official languages.

  And then I found my way to the coffee.

  And Katie Walker found her way to me.

  “Baptiste,” she said as she came in for a hug. “I’m so glad you came.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, the first time I’d said it. Because I’d meant it.

  “I wish you could have kept him safe. I know you did your best. You weren’t sitting with Sara…”

  “I wasn’t sitting with Ryan Stems. I’m not up for that.”

  She nodded. “I don’t like him, either. My youngest sister grew up with the Lamarche boys.”

  “He’s never made amends.”

  “Let’s not talk about that.”

  I nodded. “I don’t know what to talk about.”

  She smiled. “I don’t, either.”

  The pause was a little awkward.

  “So you and Sky…” I said.

  “Me and Sky. We’re engaged, actually.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since last Wednesday. Bad timing…but what else do you do when you’re snowed in?”

  “That or Scrabble.”

  “I’m awful at Scrabble. I keep making up words.”

  “That probably makes you good at it. You just need to find stupider opponents.”

  “I don’t have time to play against you right now,” she said. “Maybe later.”

  Sara found me then, putting on her fake smile as she approached. She was still pissed at me.

  “Did I hear you’re engaged?” Sara said as she gave Katie a hug. “Congratulations.”

  Katie held out her left hand for inspection.

  “What is this?” Sara said.

  “What?” I said.

  “That’s my ring.”

  I took a look at the ring on Katie’s finger. It wasn’t too big, just a diamond jutting out of a twisting gold band.

  “Are you sure?” Katie asked. “Maybe it’s just the same model.”

  “It was a custom design,” Sara said. “My ex-husband had it made in Montreal. Where did you get that?”

  “I…I’m sorry,” Katie said. “I didn’t know…you can have it back.”

  “No…but thank you. I don’t want it back. That’s why I gave it away in the first place.”

  “So you sold it?”

  “No…I gave it to one of my sisters.” Sara began to cry. “I told her to hold onto it in case I ever thought about getting married again.”

  “Your sister…”

  “She died at Carman Lake. Both of them did.”

  “So maybe she left the ring in town,” I said.

  “She used to wear it,” Sara said. “On her index finger.”

  “I’m sorry,” Katie said. She began wrenching on her ring finger.

  “No, please…keep it. I like the idea of someone being happy wearing it.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Think about it…don’t decide right now. But do you know where you got it?”

  “Sky found it…at Silver Queen Lake. In a j
ewelry box. I should go get it for you…in case you recognize anything else…”

  “Not right now,” Sara said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “We’ll be back at it after Christmas,” I said. “We’ll talk about it then.”

  “Okay,” Katie said. “Thanks, guys. I’m going to go check on my parents.”

  She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek before leaving.

  I turned to Sara. “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head. “No…”

  I gave her a hug.

  “Not here,” she said. “Not now…”

  “Okay.” I took a deep breath. “Guess we’d better talk to the rest of the Walkers.”

  We made our way to Dave and his wife.

  “Thanks for coming,” Dave Walker said. “I do appreciate it.”

  Sara gave him a hug, and then one to his wife. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  I shook Dave Walker’s hand.

  Then he turned away.

  I didn’t mind.

  I hated me a little bit, too.

  We left the tent after another twenty minutes of awkward mingling and solemn nodding, with Sara’s eyes so puffed out from emotion and exhaustion that I was worried she’d collapse.

  I felt a hand pull on my shoulder.

  It was Livingston.

  “There’s a problem,” he said. “You guys can’t leave.”

  “What are you talking about? I need to take her home.”

  “Our men have spotted three pickup trucks up the road. I think they’re waiting for you, Baptiste.”

  “Shit.”

  “You’re not prepared for them.”

  “I have stuff back at my truck.”

  “But is it enough?”

  “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not,” Livingston said. “Those are the men who killed Zach Walker.”

  “Then get your men and let’s take care of this.”

  “You’re expecting us to pick a fight before Zach’s even buried?”

  “I expect you to want some kind of revenge.”

  “They’re probably not after us.”

  “There we go,” I said. “There’s the Livingston I remember.”

  “Just stay here for now…they’ll give up eventually.”

  “That’s a joke, right?”

  “We should stay,” Sara said.

  “And then what? If they’re looking for me they won’t just give up.”