Luke listened to Wilco on his iPod, driving into town with his mother, turned the music up so he couldn’t hear her, didn’t have to talk to her. He liked “Hummingbird” on disc two; it was his favorite. He listened to it three times in a row, reminding him of “Mr. Blue Sky” by ELO. He saw a couple of deer as they drove on their private drive through the woods-almost a mile to the county road, and then passing cherry orchards on the way to Northport, trees blossoming with white flowers giving off a sweet smell.
They split up in town. His mom had to run some errands and he walked the street, stopped in a video arcade for a while, played a few games of Mercenary Force and then walked down to the lake. He could see the dark shape of a freighter creeping on the horizon, hull pointing south, heading for Chicago or Milwaukee.
He started to go back into town and saw Del’s, an old log building with a sign on the front that said “Hunting Outfitters since 1955.” His dad used to take him there when he was younger.
Luke opened the door, went in, let it swing closed behind him and then it was quiet, not a sound. He stood looking at a wall of heads all staring at him-elk, caribou, whitetail, bighorn, pronghorn, antelope, boar, dik-dik, Kodiak blacktail-and more animals, their bodies stuffed and perched on the exposed log rafters: a fox, raccoon, badger. Across the room there was a seven-foot grizzly ready to attack, and next to it, a full-size polar bear with a king salmon in its claws.
From somewhere in the room, a voice said, “Dropped ever one of ’em with sticks and strings.”
Now Del Keane appeared from some unseen place, a big man with a dense gray beard and gray hair combed straight back and tied into a braided ponytail that went halfway down his back, like a hippie version of Santa Claus. He wore suspenders over a flannel shirt.
Luke was staring at a deer head with a twelve-point rack.
“That fine gentleman,” Del said, “was the Pope and Young world-record Kodiak black tail, November 1988. Put one through his wheelhouse, never knew what hit him. What’s your name, boy?”
“Luke.”
“You a hunter, Luke?”
“Not anymore.”
“I’m Del Keane at your service, what can I do for you?”
“I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.” He was nervous, uncomfortable all of a sudden. He took a step toward the door and Del moved with him.
“You’re Owen McCall’s boy, ain’t you?”
Del took a pipe out of his shirt pocket and lit it, blowing smoke that smelled like sweet cherrywood into the room.
“I better go,” Luke said.
“Awful thing that happened,” Del said. “Lost my own daddy when I was about your age.”
He took the pipe out of his mouth, holding the bowl. He looked off across the room and then back at Luke. “Ever talk to him?”
Luke didn’t know what to say.
“Your daddy,” Del said. “Ever talk to him?”
“Mr. Keane, he’s dead and buried.” Luke moved closer to the door. He wanted to get away from this crazy old man.
“You’ve got to tell him what’s on your mind.”
Luke said, “I keep seeing him with that broadhead sticking out of his chest.”
“Son, your daddy’s not feeling any pain where he’s at. Let me tell you something.” He drew on the pipe and blew out a cloud of gray smoke. “What happened was an accident. Like I told you, go out to the woods, talk at him. Square things. I guarantee he’s not blaming you. In fact, he’s watching us right now, I’ll bet. Up there with the likes of Art Young, Saxton Pope and my own daddy, Lester Keane.
“You tell him Del Keane says, hey. And get my room ready. I’ll be joining him before too long.”
“I’ve got to go,” Luke said. He wanted to get out of there. He went through the door and let it slam behind him, walking fast and then running into town.
On the way back to the lodge, Kate looked over at Luke and said, “I saw you coming out of Del’s. How’s he doing?”
“He’s weird,” Luke said. “How old is he?”
“At least seventy, probably older.” She went right, taking the highway out of Northport. There were cherry orchards on both sides of the road.
Luke said, “No wonder…”
Kate glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“He was talking about dying.”
“Something wrong with him?”
“He didn’t say,” Luke said.
“All I know is, he’s a strange old guy,” Kate said.
“And he doesn’t shower much,” Luke said, “I know that, too.” He grinned big.
“Your dad used to say every six months, whether he needed it or not.”
Luke grinned again. It had been a while since she’d seen him so relaxed, so animated, and it made her feel good, like he was his old self again. She wanted to hang on to this moment. Kate had always considered them close, good friends. He used to come home from school and tell her about something that happened in class-like the day they had a substitute teacher. Every time she turned her back to write on the board, everybody picked up their desk and moved it forward. Luke was laughing so hard he could barely tell it, describing the teacher’s reactions as she wondered what was going on. He told her about chanting “Ohh-eee-ah! Ee ohh — ah!” from The Wizard of Oz. You could do it with your mouth closed, looking right at the teacher, and he’d freak ’cause he didn’t know where it was coming from. He told her about Lauren, his first real girlfriend, admitting he liked her a lot and thought about her all the time and wondered if that was normal. They talked about music and movies and sports: tennis and the Detroit Tigers.
“Mr. Keane said his dad died when he was my age,” Luke said. “At first I thought he was crazy, but what he said makes sense.”
She glanced at him. “What did he say?”
They were passing Woolsey on the left, the world’s smallest airport. Luke was turned toward her in his seat.
“I should talk to Dad. Go out in the woods and tell him what I think, what’s on my mind.”
Hearing it bothered her a little. This old coot with his backwoods psychology got through to Luke, made a positive impression with one conversation. Something a trained psychiatrist hadn’t been able to do in almost seven months of sessions. Something she hadn’t been able to do either. But if Del Keane’s advice could help Luke, she was all for it.
When they pulled up in front of the lodge, Jack was there, leaning against the trunk of his car, a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. Luke looked over at her but didn’t say anything. She couldn’t read him, couldn’t tell if Jack showing up bothered him or not. “I didn’t invite him,” Kate said. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Luke said. He sounded normal, out of his funk for the first time in months. He got out of the Land Rover and went in the lodge.
“I decided I’d come up, take my chances,” Jack said. “I got a motel room down the road in case you’re worried.”
Kate said, “How’d you know I was up here?”
“I called Maureen.”
“That’s right, she gave you a card, didn’t she? She gives everyone her card. You want to come in and see the place?”
He followed her inside, standing in the main room that had to be fifty by fifty, varnished log walls, and a wood-plank floor partially covered by a large Oriental rug. There was a furniture grouping-couches and chairs and end tables and lamps-in front of a huge fieldstone fireplace you could walk into. There was a staircase that led up to
