Chapter 5 #2
“It’s fine.” The last time I walked up those creaky steps, the space was nothing more than a drafty attic of exposed beams, cluttered with boxes in storage.
But it’s been winterized into a rustic studio apartment with a little kitchen on one side and a seating area with a woodstove on the other, and a brand-new bathroom.
“The shower stall is a bit small, especially for someone your size.”
“I just took my first shower alone in twenty years, Sarah. It’s perfect. Seriously.”
She frowns, her eyes drifting to my scar again. “We got the laptop last week. Thomas can show you how to use it, if you want. He’s a whiz with all that tech stuff—”
“Can you tell Jon to bring in the sausages? We’re almost ready,” my mom hollers, interrupting us.
“Yeah, of course.” She takes a step and then falters. “You haven’t met my husband yet, have you?”
I shake my head. Saw him from afar earlier today, coming in on a tractor.
“Follow me.” She leads me toward the patio doors off the back.
Outside the sky is a murky gray. Dusk is around the corner. I was hoping to catch my first autumn sunset in two decades, but I guess it’ll have to wait for better weather and less chaos.
“How does it feel to be back here?” Sarah leads me across the grassy, flat stretch.
“Like I’m not really here.”
I feel her gaze on me. I know she has questions—hundreds of them. She likely still wonders what drove my rage the day I pummeled Travis Dorsey’s skull into the concrete floor and whether she has to worry about me doing it again.
She doesn’t know all the details. Nobody does, and that’s for the best.
Up ahead, my father stands with my uncles—Wyatt, who owns a cattle farm with Jill; Bobby who, together with Rhonda, supplies Christmas trees to half the surrounding area, and Mark, owner of a popular marina in Gore Bay—as well as four men I’ve never met.
They’re huddled around a smoker, beers in hand, the scent of hickory wood chips and smoked pork permeating the air, the collies hovering, waiting for a piece to fall.
A burn barrel glows nearby, charring the day’s waste and giving heat.
All of them are wearing cowboy hats and matching boots.
When did that become a thing around here?
“… and then Benoit dropped like a bag of potatoes,” a wiry guy in jeans and a camel suede jacket says between puffs of his cigarette, his voice raspy.
“Mom wants the meat inside. Dinner’s almost ready.” Sarah folds her arms to help cut the chill.
My father peers over his shoulder. “Oh, there you are. Logan, let me do some quick introductions.” He sounds more chipper than he was this morning. “This is Mak. He’s been with us goin’ on eighteen years.”
I nod at the guy who was speaking a moment ago. Mom’s mentioned the ranch hand in almost every letter, enough that I know he’s a staple.
Dad continues around the circle, pointing at a scruffy, young brown-haired guy.
“Robbie reports into Mak. He spends a lot of time with the herd too. And Jesse here is your cousin Danielle’s boyfriend.
” He gestures at a clean-cut guy in his late twenties before patting the shoulder of the man emptying the smoker’s contents into a silver foil tray.
“And this is Jon, my right hand around here.”
I can’t help the twinge of jealousy that stirs in my stomach as I regard the guy with the mustache and the broad-rimmed hat. Not because I expected my father to embrace me as his long-lost son. But it’s clear both Jay and I have been replaced.
Jon sets down his tongs. “Good to finally meet my brother-in-law.” Wiping his palm across his black apron, he offers it to me, his chest puffing out.
“We gave you the day off, but I hope you’re ready to work.
We have a lot of fences to mend ahead of us.
” His grip is firm and aggressive as his brown-eyed gaze is locked on mine.
This is the longest handshake I’ve ever partaken in. Is he trying to establish some sort of dominance? Set the pecking order around here? The fuck if I know, but this spectacle is going on far too long to not be intentional.
The corners of my mouth curve with amusement at the weird flex—he’s average sized and not the least bit threatening—and then I return the favor, squeezing.
Jon’s nostrils flare as he struggles to hide his discomfort.
“Dinner’s on!” Aunt Rhonda calls from the door.
With a smirk, I release my grip.
Jon grabs the tray of smoked sausages. “Better get these in before Mum starts hollerin’ about the food gettin’ cold.” He rushes for the patio door, Sarah following him, back to the warmth.
She’s not his fucking mother. She’s mine. At least, she was mine first.
My teeth clench as I breathe through my irritation. The prison counselors warned us long-timers that one of the hardest things would be seeing how everyone has moved on without you, as if you never existed.
“We were talkin’ about your neighbor over there.” Uncle Wyatt nods to the yellow house next door. It’s quiet and dim, all the more so in the waning daylight. “Mak was at the Bale House for a bite this afternoon and saw Emery take down one of the locals for having a few too many drinks.”
“He had more than a few drinks,” Mak counters. “And he’s been known to cause a ruckus. There’s a reason they call him Benny the Hulk when he’s into the hard stuff.”
“What would she have done to stop a guy like him before Tasers was my point,” my father says. “That guy is a giant.”
Mak shrugs. “What would any of ’em have done? It took two male officers to get the cuffs on him. And a threat from her to zap him again if he didn’t cooperate. If you ask me, those Tasers make a lot of sense.”
“Have you seen her, though? Damn. I’d let her Tase me,” Jesse says with a snort, veering the conversation off course.
“That’s because you’ve got shit for brains.” Uncle Wyatt shakes his head as he wanders toward the house, muttering something about his daughter’s taste in men. The others follow, leaving my father and me alone outside.
He flicks the tab of his beer can into the burn barrel. “What the hell was that about with Jon, huh?”
“What was what about?”
He levels me with a flat look.
“I don’t know. Ask your son-in-law. He started it.” I gulp a mouthful of my drink. For a guy who hasn’t had anything remotely beer-like in twenty years, it tastes like heaven, fake or not.
Dad sighs. “I’ll admit, Jon’s an acquired taste. He can overstep, and sometimes he’s a little too enthusiastic. But he works hard and he means well, and his opinion is valued around here.”
“Then we won’t have a problem.”
He opens his mouth but falters. “Good.”
Silence lingers as we each seem to search for a safe topic of conversation. Or an excuse to not continue one.
“Since when did this place turn into the Wild West?” I finally ask, jutting my chin toward his hat. “You used to say only fools wore those.”
“Did I?” Dad reaches up to touch the brim, a smile curving his lips.
It’s the first genuine one I’ve seen since he met me outside the prison gates.
“Turns out they’re practical. Keeps the sun and rain off my face.
Don’t have to listen to your mother yell at me about sunscreen much anymore.
Jon got us all hooked. You know he’s from Calgary, right? ”
“And he grew up on a massive bison ranch. Yeah, Mom filled me in.” He’s the youngest of four, all of whom are looking to get their hands on the family business. I guess he likes his odds better here.
“Boy came with tons of experience and he loves the industry. He’s educated, and he’s got good ideas. I count on him for a lot, and he hasn’t let me down.” He adds after a beat, “Sure as hell could never say that about your brother.”
That was my dad’s dream, to have his eldest son take over—something Jay had no interest in doing. “You always were impossible to please. That’s why he never bothered trying.”
“Damn it, Logan, I can’t believe you’re still defending him after what he dragged you into.” Dad shakes his head. “And don’t you dare try to pin any of that mess on me, all that psychobabble about your parents not loving you two enough, or me being too hard on you.”
I knew this was going to be a bumpy reunion, but I didn’t think he’d be taking every opportunity to make sure the past was front and center. “I’m not blaming anyone but myself, trust me.” And I’ve gotten pretty good at it.
My father takes a deep breath. “Listen, tomorrow, we’ll get you reacquainted with how things work around here. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starved and beat after all that driving.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” If I don’t run and hide first.
He looks back at the house as the roars of laughter carry through cracked windows. “I guess this might be a lot for you to handle.”
“Something like that.”
He nods. “Well … your mother sure is happy.”
I answer by chugging back a large gulp of my beer, my gaze on the horizon and the expanse of land and trees between me and the dimming sky.
Dad leaves me outside to the chilly air and the peaceful silence, and I quietly thank him for that much grace.
What would happen if I just left? Grabbed a sleeping bag and tent, hopped into one of the trucks, and headed north until the flatlands give way to dense wilderness. Vanish into the trees. I’d lift the burden of my presence from my family.
Would the authorities chase after me? Of course they would. I still have eight years left in my sentence and I practically wear a sign around my neck that says “Cop killer,” even though I never killed anyone. I never even aimed.
They’d never find me. At least, not alive.
A car door slams next door, drawing my focus. Movement stirs on the porch and a moment later, the house lights shine, punctuated by a dog’s bark.
An overwhelming urge goads me to walk there, to get this conversation over with so I know where Emery and I stand, and yet my feet are stuck to the earth beneath me.
For all the times in my life that I’ve run across that field as a boy, eager to see her, to share news, to touch her …
now I don’t have the stones to take a single step forward.
When she’s ready to face me, she’ll come around.
With one last lingering look, I reluctantly head inside.