Thin Ice (9 page)

“The area of the river where he drowned is one of the most dangerous spots,” she said. “It comes through the bridge with extra force because it’s been narrowed, then it rushes toward that lowhead dam. The riverbed is rocky, with plenty of snags and holes for entrapment. More than likely his body was forced by the current under the ice into one. That’s where it will stay until the water warms. Do you want me to go on?”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “Even just a few yards down from where they found the sled, it’s too dangerous for diving.”

“When it’s warmer?”

“Especially then. The current will be too strong from all the rain and melt. It’s hard to believe he tried crossing where he did. There’s always that open patch, and the surrounding ice seldom thickens. Scott didn’t know how treacherous it was, he wasn’t that experienced. I imagine he just thought it was the quickest way to get to my place. Or maybe he was trying to prove something.”

“I’ve had nightmares,” I confessed softly.

“About Scott in the river?”

“Yes. I see him slipping into the ice, then rolling in the water. Fish…”

“Close enough to the truth, come spring. For now—well, cold water preserves things. I have friends who dive wrecks in Lake Superior. A couple of times they’ve gone so deep they’re way below where any fish live and the water is dead still. They’ve seen bodies a hundred years old, still dressed. They said they looked like mannequins in a wax museum.”

We were silent again. “This is awful,” she said a moment later. “Hard not to think about.”

She tapped her water glass with her right index finger. “Arden, did he ever talk about me?”

Careful now. The wrong thing would crush the lady’s spirit more than any nightmarish image. I sure didn’t dare pass along that he’d said “I don’t love her.” What she felt was obvious. “We lived so closely,” I said, trying to figure out how to say more without hurting more, “that we were careful not to step on each other. Once I got older he really backed off and we didn’t share much. No more sitting on my bed to say good-night, that sort of thing,” Well, that worked. I could see I’d taken her mind off her relationship with Scott and got her thinking about mine.

“This is way out of line, but…how did he teach you about the more personal things?”

“Like girl stuff and sex? He didn’t; I’m totally ignorant.”

She relaxed, glad I’d joked. For a moment we were both relieved of the awful images. I rose and stacked dishes. “That’s where Mrs. D. stepped in.”

“Mrs. D.?”

“Jane Drummond, the Betty Crocker. My official guardian. She lives across the street. Her youngest kids are my best friends.”

Claire nodded. She swung her legs around and rested them on an empty chair. “The jugglers. Scott told me about them. I suppose I might know more about your life than you do of mine.”

“That’s a fat fact, all right. Until a few weeks ago I had no idea that my brother was even dating someone, let alone that she had a kid. It blew me away, when I first called and heard Hannah’s voice.”

She lifted her water glass and sipped. “Blew Scott away, too. I didn’t hear from him for quite a while after my motherhood was revealed.”

“I guess he adjusted.”

“Seemed to. And then…” Her head sank into her hand.

Two females on the verge of emotional dissolution. We’d both lost the same person, but no way I wanted to cry with her. We’d just met, after all.

Hurrah for television commercials.

“This is the best
Doug
ever.”

Claire and I turned with relief to the doorway. Hannah stood there, beaming, untouched by any nightmarish talk.

Claire held out her arms, but her daughter shook her head. “Why don’t you come watch?”

We shifted our bodies to the living room and shifted the conversation to mundane topics—Barbie dolls, new movies, kindergarten memories, whether we wanted popcorn. Even as I chatted, a million questions shot through my head. Who was Hannah’s father? How long had they lived around here? How did Claire meet Scott? Did she do her own hair color?

Doug
ended and Hannah sprang up. Time to go? No.

“Could I see where you work? Scott told me you make wood things. He said he’d give me one.”

“Then I’ll give you one, but they’re not toys, Hannah. I make mirrors and picture frames, things like that.” I brushed her hair away from her ear, and she jumped back and scowled. Dumb move—little kids don’t let people touch. “Sorry. Just checking for pierced ears. I make earring stands, too.”

“No piercing,” said Claire. “Not until she’s thirteen.”

“Tough mom, huh?” I asked the girl. She nodded and smiled again. “And I suppose she won’t let you date, either.”

“Yuck,” said Hannah.

The shop didn’t impress her. I hadn’t worked since the night of Scott’s accident, so everything was dusty. She looked pretty skeptical until I showed her the latest mirror design. She held the single finished one in her hands. “I love this,” she said. Claire peeked over her shoulder and laughed.

The eight-by-ten mirror was made of wide birch molding decorated with six of the red wax lips. “Think it will sell?” I asked. They both nodded. “A million,” said Hannah.

“I don’t have a million. Just one. You can have it.”

“You should make a million, you really should. I’d buy one. My friend Lindsey’s birthday is coming up; I’ll buy one to give her. Would you make me one to give?”

Simple request, but I couldn’t say yes. I looked around at the boxes of fake gems, the racks of molding, the jars of nails, and the pile of wax lips, and they all struck me as dusty artifacts of some past life. “I’m not sure Hannah. I guess I’m taking a vacation. Sorry.” Claire carefully pressed a thumb against the blade of a saber saw. “You’ve really invested in equipment.”

“Not much. It was all here. My father’s.”

“What did he like to make?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“Did Scott just let you experiment with these machines? Pretty dangerous.”

“Of course not. Before he let me loose with the power tools I had to take some woodworking classes with Community Ed. He made sure I was safe.”

“I love these lips,” said Hannah. She raised the mirror to her face and carefully kissed one of the red mouths. She clasped the gift to her chest. Her eyes slid around, checking her mother, then landing on me. “He was going to give me something else, too.”

“Hannah!”

“He was supposed to bring me a baseball card autographed by Frank Thomas. That night he disappeared he was bringing it.” Before her mother could gasp another reproof I held out my hand. “He didn’t take it! It’s still here. C’mon.” She and I raced up the stairs.

The cards were still on his dresser, of course. The album lay as before, opened at the center with a few loose cards scattered about, everything slightly dustier than when I’d noticed them a week ago. “This is it, I bet. He must have forgotten it.”

Hannah took the card and traced the signature with a stubby index finger.

“Do you like baseball?” I asked.

“Yes, but what I really love is collecting cards. This is a rookie card. He promised to give it to me. He really did.”

“It’s yours.”

“That might be worth some money, Arden.” Claire spoke from the hallway.

“Doesn’t matter, especially if he promised.”

“He did.” Hannah held it by the edges. “He said he was bringing it, he told me so that morning when he called.”

“He called!” Claire said sharply.

“Oh, yeah. You were in the shower. We talked a long rime. He promised to bring me this and he promised to take me to the Mall of America.” Hannah turned her back on her mother. “She won’t go there,” she said directly to me.

“The megamall is cool. Maybe I’ll take you someday.”

“Like Scott.”

“Yeah, like Scott.”

She had her trophies and was ready to go home. Claire made noises about the mess in the kitchen, but I waved her off. “I can clean up. I’m responsible.”

Hannah bolted out the front door, unzipped jacket flapping against the cold air.

“Arden, I’d like to talk more sometime, without…” She tipped her head toward her daughter.

“Sure.”

“Maybe someday after school you could come out to the park. I don’t pick her up at day care until five. In the late afternoon there aren’t usually many skiers or campers around the lodge and we could talk.”

“Fine.”

“Al visits. He’s out along the river nearly every afternoon and he drops by to warm up.”

“Why is he out there?’

“Searching. The ice changes daily. Holes open and close as the wind shifts. He wants…we all want…”

“To find it before an animal does.”

We locked eyes, both held still by the horror of a simple, single word.

It
.

CHAPTER 23

People were especially nice to me my first day back at school. Lots of kids didn’t know what to say, but most of them tried, which meant usually they’d sort of hunch their shoulders and maybe flutter their lips, as if they were saying something, but super-softly. And then some people, usually guys, said way too much, going on and on about how they once saw Scott at the c-store and he smiled and was joking with the clerk, or how Scott had done the brake job on an uncle’s car, or they remembered when he came for parents’ career day in fifth grade and showed everyone his mechanic’s tools. Cody stopped me to say Wow, Arden, too bad, and Man, what an awful way to die.

Yes, I agreed.

By Tuesday morning my life was no longer topic number one, not when it was Winter Carnival week in Penokee. Pep rallies, coronations, daily concerts in the cafeteria. How much gaiety can a grieving girl take? By Thursday I’d had enough, and I cut assembly. I just didn’t care which preschoolers hauled in from the Head Start were crowned junior king and queen. I slipped Jean a note telling her I wasn’t feeling well and that they should take the bus home or wait for their dad; then I ditched.

Lousy timing, though. Mr. Mills, the principal, spotted me in the hall just as the band started playing in the gym. “Arden?” he questioned. Funny how a principal can load so much into a single word.

I thought fast. Dentist? Doctor? Oh, yeah: “Seeing my lawyer,” I said. “Some things to sign.”

That satisfied him. “Of course, of course,” he said softly. “There must be so many things to do. Do you have a note?”

“Who’s supposed to write it?”

He looked around, as if to check for witnesses, then cupped my elbow and led me to a bench outside the office. We sat. “Mrs. Rutledge told me about the agreement to allow a trial emancipation,” he said.

“I’ll be living alone.”

“She is, of course, the high-school liaison to the county’s child-protection committee and is in the best position to judge these things. She recommended to me that the school cooperate with your emancipation.”

I knew what he wanted to hear.

“I appreciate the support and the trust.”

“Yes, trust.” He rose, claiming a power position. “Don’t abuse it.” I didn’t put it past him to check with my lawyer, so I drove downtown. When I walked into John’s office, the secretary slammed down the phone and shot to attention. She wasn’t that much older than me, and I thought I remembered her dating one of the Drummond boys, but I couldn’t remember her name. I announced myself, and she fluttered nervously.

“He’s at the courthouse,” she said. “He’ll be back soon. You didn’t have an appointment, but I know he wants to see you. Could you come back at one-thirty?”

“Would you cover for me if Mr. Mills calls from school?”

“Is old Mills on your case? Sure, I’ll cover anytime.”

Main Street, Penokee, had six empty storefronts, a Ben Franklin, one hardware store, two optometrists, a thrift shop, a dentist, and four cafes. Hard to shop for anything in town, but you can always eat. I picked Lena’s Homestyle Grill. Homestyle—they’d have to give me a spoon and let me eat out of Tupperware.

I slid into a booth in the rear, and sat with my back to the door. BREAKFAST ALL DAY
,
a wall sign boasted. A shadow hovered. I looked up at Lena herself. “What’s good today?” I asked.

She didn’t have to think. “Huevos rancheros. Always our best.”

“Perfect,” I said. “And coffee.”

“You don’t want coffee, honey,” she said firmly. “You need juice.” And that’s what she delivered with the eggs.

I was wiping up the plate with the last bit of tortilla when John appeared. He dropped his briefcase on the banquette and unwound a scarf from his neck. He hung his coat on a rack and sat down. “Care to join me?” I said. Lena appeared with coffee for him. “I’d love some of that,” I said. She hustled away, shaking her head. “No tip for her,” I said to John.

He nodded. “Some time ago she decided I should drink decaf and now that’s all she’ll serve me.”

“How did you find me, or is this an accidental meeting?”

“Britt told me you stopped in and had gone out for lunch.”

Britt, yes. Tyler Drummond’s senior-prom date,

“This was the second cafe I checked. Can’t go too far in Penokee.”