“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.