The Way Back from Broken (25 page)

She stared at him for a long time. He knew that look. She'd leveled it at him the first time they met in the front hall of Promise House. She'd seen something in him then that he didn't even know was there.

“And you know what?” he said, leaning in close. “We're a good team.”

She touched her forehead to his. “Like brother and sister?”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “Exactly like that. Brother and sister.”

CHAPTER 33

“This is it,” said Rakmen. “The last portage.”

After the accident, they'd made camp, both of them too drained to go any farther that day. They'd tossed and turned through a mostly sleepless night in their still-damp sleeping bags. Waking early, they'd broken camp and travelled fast all day. On the portages, Rakmen had to remind himself to be careful. He couldn't get hurt now.

By late afternoon, they were almost there. Vesper Lake was so close that Rakmen imagined he could smell the moose muck in the sludgy little bay. He couldn't wait for a nose full.

Uncle Leroy's fall-apart cabin waited for them.

Edna would know what to do.

Rakmen could rest.

Jacey laid her paddle across her knees as he guided them into shore at the end of Wren Lake. Sand scratched against the bottom of the canoe as the bow slid into the shallows. He patted the gunnels on either side. She was a good boat.

“Look,” said Jacey, pointing down the shore into a patch of fragrant water lilies as she swung her pack on. A great blue heron, tall and long-legged, picked its way through the shallows without a ripple. Its plumage was a fluid glimmer of silver, but as the bird turned sideways, Rakmen noticed the unnatural hump above the bird's left shoulder and the odd angle of its wing.

“There's something wrong with it,” he said. “It's deformed.”

The bird lifted one leg in the air and took another step forward, swinging its long bill side to side. The glare of the sun had turned the water into a mirror. It jabbed its bill at the unseen bottom and pulled it up again, empty.

The heron retracted its neck, cocking its head to look for prey again. The light was wrong. After a moment, the bird raised its wings, the right outstretched in a graceful arc, the left a bent twist of splayed feathers.

“What's it doing?” Jacey asked.

Everything about the way the bird moved looked painful, an ache matching the one in Rakmen's own shoulders. Maintaining the awkward stance, the heron stepped forward. In the shadow of the bird's body, the bottom of the lake was visible.

Rakmen understood all at once. “Smart bird. It's making shade with its wings so it can see the fish.”

Jacey headed down the trail.

He needed to follow her. Rakmen knew it. The faster they got to Edna, the sooner Leah would be safe, but he was filled with a fierce desire to see the mangled bird succeed in the hunt.

Rakmen kept watching.

After a frozen minute, its head and neck shot forward like an arrow. The crippled wing contorted violently, but when the bird settled, Rakmen saw a minnow twitching in its bill.

The heron flipped the fish head-down and swallowed. With a reverberant, gurgling croak, it rose into the air, held aloft by that twisted wing, and sailed over the trees toward Vesper. Rakmen grabbed his pack, threw the canoe to his shoulders, and followed it home.

. . .

When they entered the main portion of Vesper Lake, they could see Edna in overalls and an old fishing hat, casting a bobber into the weeds. Jacey tucked her paddle into the canoe, cupped her hands around her mouth, and screamed her name.

“Keep paddling,” said Rakmen. “We're too far away.”

Jacey yelled again, and this time, the squat woman turned toward them.

“We need a plane,” Jacey called.

Edna squinted at the sky. “It's not going to rain.”

“A plane!” Jacey, a ball of nervous energy, bounced up and down in her seat, sending ripples out from either side of the canoe. Rakmen paddled harder, sending them skimming into the dock. Milled lumber, metal nails, motorboat tied to one side—civilization. They had made it back from the middle of nowhere. Rakmen forced himself to release his grip on the paddle shaft. No more J-stroke. No more portaging. No more sleeping on the ground.

“Where's your mom?” Edna asked, catching the bow and pulling them alongside the warped dock.

“Hurt bad. There was a storm and rapids and we gotta go. Now, now, now.” Jacey was breathless with hurry.

“Whoa, horsey,” said Edna, helping Jacey out of the canoe and fixing an eye on Rakmen. “Tell me normal.”

“It's true. Leah's stranded on Allard Lake with a broken ankle. She sent us to get help.”

Edna frowned. “Allard is four days' hard travel from here.”

“Yeah,” said Rakmen, flexing his stiff fingers. “We know.”

“You've been on the trail alone for four days?”

He nodded.

Jacey clutched at Edna. “Mom said you could get a plane.”

Shock washed over Edna's face. Then she jumped into action. “Get the canoe on the dock and come up to the cabin. I'll get Coop on the radio. He's been flying fire patrol all day.” She checked her watch. “It's nearly six. He may be at the hangar already. I hope he hasn't gone home.”

Worry exploded in Rakmen's stomach. They had to get to Leah tonight. He couldn't bear knowing she was out there alone. Not when there were beds to sleep in. Not when he and Jacey were safe.

The crackling static of a CB radio filled Edna's tidy cabin. She waved them in and pointed toward a box of Nilla wafers on the counter as she established a connection. “Hey Coop,” she said, “where you at?”

“Just heading in for the night. What's up?”

“We need an airlift. There's a woman hurt on Allard. Her kids trekked in to get help.”

“That's at least four days out. You say they're kids?” The pilot's disbelief echoed through the radio.

“That's what I said. Can you pick them up at my place on Vesper? Her boy can lead you in.”

“Will do.”

“Good. See you in a few.” Edna ended transmission with a stubby finger and turned toward them. “You kids—” she began, shaking her head. “Look what you've done.” Her wrinkled face crinkled into a grin. She beamed at Rakmen. “Look at what you've chosen.”

. . .

They heard the drone of the plane before they saw it, and went down to the dock to wait. The bright yellow float plane circled once and landed in a spray of water, coasting toward Edna's dock.

The pilot opened the door, counting heads. “Edna, I've only got room for three besides me. If we're bringing the woman back, one of you has to stay.”

“Take the kids. I'll get an ambulance to meet you at the hangar.” Edna nudged Rakmen and Jacey toward the plane.

They strapped in, and Coop took off down the lake in a roar, skimming the treetops and turning north. Rakmen pressed his forehead against the cool glass. Below, the rolling hills and shiny lakes looked more like the greens and blues on his well-worn map than the terrain they'd actually covered step by step and stroke by stroke.

He rubbed his calloused hands, proof that they had crossed all those miles by themselves, by sweat and tears. The distance that had taken them four days to traverse melted away in minutes. He could hear Jacey in the copilot's seat naming every lake, and Coop, stunned that a little girl would know the landscape so well, saying
yeah
to everything.

When Allard Lake came into view, Rakmen leaned forward. He could see the rocky point where they'd left Leah. From the air, her tent looked like a pumpkin amid all the green. Sunlight glittered on the surface of the water.

They were close now.

Coop would land the plane.

They'd get Leah and get out.

“Alright,” Coop said. “I'm setting her down.”

Only a few minutes more and he could walk away from being brave and being strong. As the plane descended, Rakmen could see the fire pit, a gray circle of ashes.

There was no smoke.

Nausea swept over him.

There should be smoke.

Rakmen had pushed himself past every challenge. He'd pulled Jacey from the water. All Leah had to do was keep putting sticks on the fire.

There should be smoke.

The plane touched the surface of the lake and skimmed toward the campsite. Coop shut off the engine, and the plane slid to a stop a hundred feet from shore. He opened the door and climbed down on the float to untie the canoe lashed there. Jacey leaned out of the open plane, peering at the shore. Rakmen unbuckled and stood beside her, scanning for movement.

A breeze rippled across the tent.

Behind them a loon wailed, its loud tremolo piercing him.

“Mom?” Jacey called.

Nothing.

Coop lowered the canoe to the water.

Jacey's call rose to a shriek. “MOM!”

An icy, electric current snapped through Rakmen. His pulse stuttered. Breath caught in his lungs. He closed his eyes against the blackness coming. Jacey dug her nails in his arm, gulping air. They had come so far together.

To have it end like this was more than he could bear.

He wanted to die.

No, that wasn't right.

What Rakmen wanted was to live. Not to forget or walk away or even heal. He wanted to keep going, wounds and all. Beside him, Jacey trembled and pressed closer. She sobbed, and the sound penetrated to the very center of his own throbbing wound. Rakmen slowed his breathing, preparing himself to open his eyes and face what they would find at the campsite, but before he could, Rakmen felt the change in Jacey. The tense current of her body shifted.

“Mom—” Jacey whispered.

But this time—

This time, her voice was buoyant.

He opened his eyes as Leah unzipped the tent door and waved at them.

Rakmen's every sense exploded outward. The stretching sky. The glimmering lake. The humming air. The world was expansive, vibrating, pulsing. And Dora was there, entwined around his heart. Her absence aching. And it was all connected.

Everything.

A unexpected longing filled Rakmen to stay right here. He knew the song of the wood thrush and the way a moose grazes on lilies. He could tell the difference between an otter and a beaver from the ripples they left in the water. When a loon rose to the surface beside his canoe, he knew to rest his paddle across his knees and watch in silence until it dove again.

He had found his way along these trails and lakes.

This place was where all the pieces had come together.

He wanted to stay, but he couldn't.

Up ahead, Rakmen could see the start of the next portage.

It was time to load up and go.

EPILOGUE

When they got back to Portland, it took Rakmen a week to get used to light switches and flush toilets and his dad being gone. His parents were working on things. That was good. They hadn't fixed things yet, but they were trying.

Rakmen turned sixteen and got his driver's license the same week. Also good. He drove to Ray's to see his dad, and he took Molly to the Alberta Street Fair. When they stopped to watch men on tall bikes juggling fire, she slipped her arm around his waist and leaned close, smelling like strawberries and the best parts of summer.

After dinner on the second Saturday in September, Rakmen asked his mom if he could borrow the car. “I need to go to Promise House.”

“One last time,
mijo
?” she said, handing him the keys.

“Yeah,” he said. “One last time.”

“If you need the Kleenex—”

“—it's on the top shelf. I know Mom.”

She smiled at him, a real smile, and he thought she was beautiful, like a piece of sea glass with the sharp edges worn away. “Take your time and drive safe. I'll be right here.”

. . .

A low hum of conversation came from the parlor. Rakmen didn't know what group met on Saturday nights, maybe Alcoholics Anonymous. It didn't really matter, as long as the basement was empty. As he crossed the foyer, his sneakers squeaked on the wood floor, and Rakmen knew that, for him, the terrain of grief would always smell like lemon polish and sound like the whoosh of a tissue being pulled from a box.

At the top of the stairs, Rakmen flicked on the light. The long fluorescent bulbs flickered and clicked, slowly coming to full brightness. Nothing here had changed—same shag carpet, same ugly couch. Hand-me-down toys were piled in one corner. Cheerios were crushed into the rug. The smell of mildew filled his nose.

Rakmen opened the cupboard on the far wall and pushed aside stacks of colored construction paper and watercolor boxes. When he found the memory book, he set it gently on a battered card table and very slowly turned the pages, studying the faces of the dead.

When he reached the page Jacey had made for her brother, Rakmen paused, taking in the baby's closed eyes and unnaturally dark lips. When he'd last looked at Jordan's picture, he'd seen only the absence of life. Now he saw Jacey's features in the newborn nose and round cheeks. A rush of love and loss for the tiny boy filled Rakmen.

Leaving the binder open, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph of Dora that he had chosen. In it, Rakmen held her so that they were almost nose to nose. Her downy head filled his palms and the curve of her body pressed against his forearms. He could smell her milky breath and loved the way she watched him with eyes full of stars. Her skin was whisper soft as he brushed his lips against her cheeks.

“I don't know where to start,” he said, as he pasted the picture on the last page of the memory book. “A lot happened this summer. But maybe you know that. Leah's ankle is healing up. Jacey is as wacky as ever. Some of the photos she took this summer are on display at a coffee shop, if you can believe that.”

Rakmen reached into his pocket again.

He held up a smooth, heart-shaped rock the color of cinnamon.