We threw some bales onto the cart and then I hitched up the horses, the mare first as always. She backs into place on her own, always on the right, and all that’s left for me to do is connect the harness traces and the centre shaft. The gelding goes second, and he’s just as quick. I can do it all now in less than ten minutes; Graham can do it in under five.
I stood and watched Sara as she spread a little loose hay around the box. She was dressed pretty light for the weather, but I’m not complaining; I could watch her forever.
There’s something different about beauty up here, in the landscape and in the women… they’re all more striking, I’d call it. You’ll notice the flow of the lines, soft and hard, angled and rounded, gentleness mixed with tough. For Sara, it’s pale blue eyes and coffee-coloured curls, and her sexy clenched-lip smile that makes me forget pretty much everything else.
She noticed me watching her and I could see her blush a little.
“Oh, and make sure you let Graham drive,” she said, as if we were right in the middle of the discussion. It might have been something we talked about twenty minutes ago; Sara just picks up where she left off, and I’m left without any clue of what she’s saying.
“You have a problem with how I drive?” I asked, not really sure if I should act playful or offended.
“I want you on the cart so I can throw you off. Isn’t that the whole point of a hayride?” There was a cheery sound to her voice that I’d longed for over the past few days.
“There’s no way you’ll be able to lift me over the railing,” I said. “You have weak little girl arms.”
“They’re not that weak,” she said with a smile. “And besides, I’ll have plenty of help. I’m not the only person around here who fantasizes about seeing you face-down in the dirt.”
“I think most people want to see me face-down in the Abitibi River.”
She chuckled. “Yeah… that or a toilet bowl. Maybe when we get back I’ll see if my little girl arms can hold your head under the yellow water long enough to make all our dreams come true.”
I laughed at that.
The hay in place and the horses hitched, I started to load up the waggon with everything we’d need for the trip. I threw in a couple thermoses of water, my binoculars and headlamp, and of course my constant companion, the defibrillator, charged from our battery bank and ready to go. I’d recommend it for anyone over fifty, but obviously for me it’s pretty much required; the only two reasons I’m still here at all are my trusty defib and the six months of heart pills I still have left.
There’s nothing like heart disease to remind you every goddamn day that you’re not invincible anymore. And there’s nothing like slowly running out of pills to make sure you never forget what’s coming.
I grabbed the shotgun too, checking to make sure it was loaded but that the chamber was still empty. I know this twelve gauge Mossberg pretty well, but I’m not always the last one to have carried it and I really don’t like the idea of an accidental discharge taking a chunk out of someone’s ass.
I have my service pistol too; at least it’s mine now, a SIG Sauer issued by the Ontario Provincial Police and definitely not issued to me. I have it holstered as always, along with my handheld transmitter, in the belt that I only take off for sleeping, showering and screwing.
I may also want to take it off when I’m being thrown from a hayride… I’m not sure on the procedure for something like that.
I placed the shotgun in the cart, up by the horses where the spotter sits. Where they “ride shotgun”, I guess you could say.
“You’re not on lookout, either,” Sara said.
I sighed and nodded. She knew all my tricks by now.
Sara gave a loud shout and people started to wander outside. Graham and Lisa came out first, and together, which was usually a sign that they’d agreed to another ceasefire. Lisa was dressed lightly, like Sara, with a knit hat hiding most of her short and nearly spiky dark hair, and wearing what I’d term a spring jacket. But Graham had his parka on, and while it looked like Lisa had talked him out of a scarf for plus five, he had his black toque pulled down as far as it could go, right down to the upper fringe of his close-cropped hipster beard.
“You guys don’t match,” Sara said. “And you’re going to die of heat, Graham.”
“I’m not used to this,” Graham said. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”
“He’s a pussy,” Lisa said.
Sara scowled at the word.
Lisa laughed. “But he’s my pussy.”
Matt and Kayla came out next. Together they looked almost too perfect, Matt with his dark hair and broad smile, wearing a navy blue peacoat, and Kayla dressed about the same style but in a colour closer to robin’s egg blue, with a pink scarf and a matching pink toque, with tufts of her pretty blond hair spilling out.
“Who’s driving?” she asked.
“Why does it matter?” I said.
Kayla gave me a mischievous grin. “Your presence is required in the rear.”
We all waited for the joke to come, probably something about Kayla’s rear and just how many invites it sent out per annum. But Ant wasn’t there to make it.
It took a good ten seconds for all of us to recover.
“Sara’s already made it clear that you all hate me,” I said.
“She’s sort of our spokesperson,” Kayla said, still with the grin.
Graham took his place on the front bench and Lisa found a spot beside him, gripping the shotgun as it rested on her leg like she was itching to use it.
Our inside dogs hopped up front with them, little Juju nestling at Lisa’s feet while Des stood up on the bench, his thick tongue hanging out as he stared at the back of the horses.
I always wonder if big old Carcassonne is jealous when we leave him behind with the chickens and goats. Somehow I doubt it. Some dogs were bred to live with the livestock.
Everyone else took a place near the back of the cart, leaving a nice big hole in the middle, open just for me; it’s great to feel wanted, even as a target.
“Just waiting for Fiona,” I said, still standing beside the cart. I rapped a fist against the railing, trying to appear impatient. The truth is, I kind of like it when Fiona takes a little longer… I’m not sure why.
“Fiona makes us wait again,” Lisa said, tapping her left hand on the forestock of the shotgun. “Big surprise.”
“I don’t think she’s coming,” Matt said.
“She can’t stay here alone,” I said.
“Well you’re not staying behind,” Sara said to me. “We have plans for you, Baptiste. Evil plans.” She hopped down from the cart. “I’ll go grab her.”
“She went out for a walk,” Matt said.
“By herself?” I asked, already feeling my control slipping.
“Yeah… so?”
I glared at him. “What the fuck are you thinking?”
“Hey… I told her not to.”
“You told her not to? What the hell good is that?”
He rolled his eyes at me and gave me one of his little smirks. “She doesn’t listen to me,” he said, like none of it was his problem, that it didn’t really matter that Fiona was out there alone.
That was the same goddamn attitude he’d had about Ant, like he wasn’t the least bit responsible for what happened, that he shouldn’t feel the least bit guilty that he’d made it back alive and Ant hadn’t.
I wanted to grab him by the throat and start twisting ’til something popped.
“Seriously…” I said, trying to slow my breathing. “You need to grow up and take some goddamn responsibility.”
He scowled at me. “If you don’t want me around I’ve got plenty of places to go.”
“Bullshit.”
I felt Sara’s hand gripping mine; she didn’t say anything, but I got the message. Losing my shit wasn’t going to help.
“Which way did she go?” I asked.
“South,” Matt said. “Along the lake.”
I ran around the cottage to where the path that traces around the lake begins, Des running in front of me like he knew just where we were headed.
I saw one set of fresh footprints in a patch of wet muck. I ran along the trail as it cut through the leafless trees, holding my right hand close to the handle of my pistol. I didn’t expect that I’d need to use it but I had to be prepared; you never know what’s hiding just beyond the bend out here.
“Fiona!” I called. I tried to conceal my panic, but I knew it was deep in my voice. “Fiona!”
I saw a red wool mitten floating on top of a pile of brown leaves. Fiona’s. I bent down and picked it up. I couldn’t see any tracks aside from hers, no signs of anything. She must’ve had it shoved in her pocket or something, not noticing when it fell out.
She had to be okay…
I kept running, all the way to where the creek drains into the lake, and up across the two logs that were lashed together to bridge the marshy stream. There were new tracks here, three sets of paws in the mud. They were narrower and sharper than what Des would make: coyote tracks. And they were fresh, in places landing on top of Fiona’s footprints.
Des was sniffing madly at the tracks and shuffling his feet; he could smell them, and I wondered if he could also smell Fiona through her boots.
She should have brought the dogs with her.
I called her name again, and picked up my pace even at the risk of tripping on loose rock or an upturned root. I was pretty sure she had no idea the coyotes were out there, stalking her.
I drew my SIG and without giving it a thought I asked God to help me.
I came to a low spot where I noticed the coyote tracks veering off into the woods; Fiona’s footsteps kept to the trail, steady and straight. There was no sign of violence, no change in her gait. The coyotes may have heard me and Des coming. They may have run off, or else they were watching us from just behind the trees.
It didn’t matter as long as they weren’t after Fiona anymore.
I caught a glimpse of her just beyond a bend, her scarlet red jacket poking through a small stand of birch trees. She was walking back toward me, her red-brown hair bouncing in a tight ponytail. I’d already warned her about wearing her hair like that.
Des met her halfway, jumping at her hips, his tail wagging.
“Fiona,” I said. My voice was hoarse, not from yelling but from trying to catch my breath; I’d pushed myself a little too hard to reach her.
She flashed me a quick little smile, but I could see that she’d been crying once again.
I tried to give Fiona a smile of my own, one just as fake, but I couldn’t make it stick; all I wanted to do was scream at her.
As much as I love her — and maybe I love her almost as much as Cassy — for that first few seconds, after I thought I might’ve lost her forever… it’s the rage that came first.
I managed to hold it in.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as she knelt down to scratch behind Desmond’s ears.
“It’s not safe,” I said. “You know that you shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“More double standards,” she said in classic sixteen-year-old, chock full of outrage and disgust. “Is it because I’m a woman, or because I’m the youngest?”
“It’s because it’s not safe.” I wrapped my right arm around her and used my left hand to brush a few stray strands of hair aside from her face. I gave her a kiss right next to the little mole on her left cheek, at that spot where her skin first starts to blush.
“Matt goes out by himself all the time.”
“Matt’s an idiot. Always travel in pairs… that’s the rule. Matt doesn’t listen but I expect more from you.”
“I know you do,” she said, her eyes meeting mine.
I think she understood what I was trying to say. Fiona understands me pretty well.
“Why were you out here by yourself?” I asked. “You didn’t even bring the dogs.”
I didn’t mention the coyotes.
“I’m always by myself. I just decided to be by myself out here for a change.”
I sighed; Fiona’s helped me remember just how melodramatic teenagers can be. But I know that she’s not putting on a show for me; there’s hurt in there, more than enough for someone that young.
I shot her a smile. “You’ll always have me, Fiona. I was put on this Earth simply to annoy you.”
“I know…”
“You know… but…”
She shook her head. “I just wish I fit in a little better… you know, with Kayla and Matt and everyone. Now that… now that Ant’s gone, I’m kinda on the outside of everything.”
“It’ll take some time,” I said. “But soon the day will come when you’ll have transformed into a godless alcoholic and you’ll fit in perfectly.”
I saw the start of another smile creeping onto her face. It looked real this time.
“Now there’s this hayride…” I said. “We’re going to go down to New Post and back.”
“I’m not really in the mood.”
“None of us are in the mood, Fiona. That’s why we need to do it. We need something good to happen.”
“Why bother? There’s no point.” She shook her head. “There’s no point to any of this… stuff.” Her smile was gone again.
“It’ll get better,” I said. “Today will be better than yesterday… and yesterday was a hell of a lot better than Sunday. And tomorrow―”
“Just don’t… nothing’s getting better for me. Tomorrow’s going to be just as bad.”
“Today, then… think about today, okay? Today I’m going to strut around like a rooster on the back of that cart, and that’s when your cue to throw my cocky ass into the mud. Multiple times. Until I cry like a small child. Have you ever seen me cry like a small child, Fiona?”
She gave a little smirk.
“You know you want to see that,” I said, hoping she’d give me a chance.
Her face softened a little. “Well obviously I can’t pass that up.”
“I know what you young people like.”
She nodded her head and smiled, but there were still tears in her eyes. I knew they wouldn’t just dry up and disappear in an instant.
We headed back toward the cottage where the cart was waiting, our feet crunching through the dried leaves along the path.
Des continued to sniff the air, keeping his gaze on the trees. I didn’t expect the coyotes to show themselves to the three of us; they only seem to attack when the numbers are on their side.
As we walked I kept my left hand on the small of Fiona’s back, and a couple of times on the way we’d glance at each other, and she’d smile gently, and I’d nod, and that would be it.
We didn’t need to talk.
Fiona was still hurting; I think Fiona will always be hurting. Our past gets carved into us, like markers in our genes.
Whoever Fiona was before The Fires… I never got a chance to know that girl.