North Country(8)

They warn you that being on the outside will shock your system, but you don’t truly understand what that means until it’s happening.

“I wanted to drive, but your father’s pride wouldn’t let me. You know how he can be. Anyway, I figured you two could use some time together. Do you both good.” She hesitates. “Did it?”

I arch an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

She sighs with resignation. “He’s happy you’re home, even if he doesn’t know how to show it. And he’s changed a lot. Relaxed over the years. You’ll see. But enough about him. Why don’t we get your things, and I’ll help you settle in your new place. We’re gonna have a family dinner tonight. Everyone’s coming. ”

Unease stirs. “Who’s everyone?”

“Oh, you know. Sarah and Jon and the kids, your uncle Wyatt and his clan, Bobby and Rhonda and their kids, except for Morgan’s oldest. He’s away at a tournament …”

My head’s already shaking. My family has multiplied like rabbits. I haven’t even met half of them. “I don’t know if I’m up for—”

“Nonsense! I’ve been prepping for days. We’ve got a nice big roast from last year’s harvest.”

My objections die on my tongue. I don’t have the heart to disappoint her, even if my father hadn’t threatened me.

The faint sound of an engine draws my attention next door, to the vehicle moving down the lengthy driveway. I can’t see the driver inside but that must be Emery.

The last time I saw her was at my hearing, her eyes vacant as she watched the judge deliver a sentence few expected. If I hadn’t been so numb from this everlasting nightmare, that version of her might have broken me. Still, it haunted me for years after.

How long before I have to face her again?

What will her first words be to me?

“I invited them,” my mom says, as if reading my thoughts. “But Emery’s covering for one of her sergeants today, and Isla has a hockey game.” After a pause, she adds, “I would expect her to keep her distance for a while, given her position in the community.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Still, disappointment pricks me as I reach into the truck and grab the plastic bag that holds my belongings—a faded wallet with my expired driver’s license, a dog-eared copy of The Outsiders, socks and underwear, and a check for thirteen thousand dollars, the money I saved over the years of folding laundry and mopping floors, after deductions and inflated commissary costs.

Mom stares wordlessly at the bag.

“Light traveling, right?” I chuckle, shrugging off the sad state of my life.

My voice seems to snap her out of her daze. “I’ve stocked your bathroom with toiletries and filled the dresser with clothes Jon thought you might like. Even got you a pair of jeans, but if they don’t suit, we can go shopping on Monday to pick out a pair you do like.”

“I have to meet my parole officer on Monday. ”

“Perfect. We’ll go after your meeting. There’s a new outfitter. Better prices than Mark’s! But if they don’t have what you like, we’ll drive to North Bay. Make a day of it.” Her words are frenetic as she slides open the garage doors to reveal the tan-colored 1983 Ford F-150.

A wave of nostalgia hits me. That’s Jay’s truck. It was ready for a scrapyard when he got hold of it. A natural with engines, he spent a year rebuilding it while I stood in the wings, playing tool lackey, learning all I could. I was his first passenger in this thing.

And, as it turned out, his last.

“I can’t believe you kept this.”

“Of course I did! I kept everything.” She gestures to the other side of the garage, where mounds of boxes and other clutter fill the space.

“That’s a lot of stuff.” I dismiss it for the moment, refocusing on the truck. “It still works?”

“It could.” Mom smooths her palm over the hood. “We used it around the property for a few years. It needs some love and a cleaning, but I figured it’d be a good project for you to work on. You can bring it back to life, just like your brother did.”

My stomach is in my throat as I move in to get a closer look, popping open the driver-side door. It still smells faintly the same—like motor oil and tobacco. Jay smoked like his life depended on it, sometimes burning through two packs a day.

The interior looks like I remember it too, right down to the strip of silver duct tape sealing a tear in the tan leather seat. I run my fingertip over it now as memories flood back and grief I’d thought long since faded strikes me.

Jay and I left this truck in a coffee shop parking lot before we hopped into that weasel Ian Murphy’s pickup. It was after we’d driven across the Quebec border to some hole-in-the-wall house turned bar so I could order my first legal beer. I had no idea what we were doing, right up until we pulled into the small regional airport down the road as a bush plane was landing. Jay said all we had to do was unload some boxes and drive them to a self-storage warehouse a half hour away. He’d done it several times before.

I was too stupid to ask questions—like why the plane was landing at midnight, why we had to move quick, and what the fuck was in the boxes. Never would I have imagined what Ian and Jay had roped me into, on my birthday, no less.

The gun he slapped into my hand as the police lights started flashing should have woken me up. Everything that happened after that … that’s on me.