and everyone. A quick stop at the convenience store in Rapid River, then north on 41.
“You sure about this?” Puppa asked as we neared our destination.
“Very.”
“You don’t know anyone there. How are you going to get along? How will you get a job? Where will you live?” Puppa asked.
“Come on,” I said, swatting his arm. “You’re taking all the adventure out of it. It’s not fun if you’ve got everything planned ahead.” I stole a glance his way. “Have you even heard of Churchill Falls before now?”
To my surprise, he nodded. “Once. A long time ago.” I gave him a questioning look.
“Jake, your dad, was looking into it when he was young,” Puppa said. “Thought he’d like working at a power plant. A lot like the paper mill, he figured. But, I never heard of it again.”
My brain churned. “Do you think…”
“No,” Puppa cut me off. “I already looked into it. No Jacob Russo in Churchill Falls.”
The snap in his voice shut down the topic.
I stared at the snow-covered pines flying past and tried to swallow the lump in my throat. Why did I even get my hopes up when it came to my father? Couldn’t I just accept the fact the guy had dropped off the face of the planet, or more likely was dead? But it seemed the fairy-tale princess inside me wanted to believe in magic. Wanted to believe she had a father out there somewhere who wasn’t a penniless frog, but a king in disguise, ready to throw a banquet for his long-lost daughter the moment of their reunion.
My knuckle caught an escaping tear. I slouched in my seat, afraid to say anything more in case my voice came out a pathetic
We followed the signs to the airport. Puppa parked the truck and came inside the clean, modern facility, visiting with me as I printed my boarding pass at the kiosk, then brought my suitcase to the small-town baggage checkpoint where my luggage was inspected on a table while I watched. The guard rubbed circular white pads on the inside surfaces, in case I was some terrorist with bomb-making residue on my clothing. Other passengers scrutinized the process as they waited in line, leaving me glad I packed my undies on the bottom. The security officer put the chemical pads under a sensor, then gave me the green light.
Puppa and I headed toward the waiting area, where he could sit with me until the boarding call. At that point, airline passengers would go through security screening to a separate waiting area that had everything but a restroom.
“There’s no guarantee you’ll be safe from Majestic and his goons even in Churchill Falls, you know,” Puppa said.
“I know. But I figure if anyone gives me trouble, law enforcement can step in.”
“I don’t know if you’re faithful or foolish, Patricia. Sometimes you ask God to perform a miracle to cover your back, when you’re someplace you shouldn’t be to begin with.”
I gave a nervous chuckle, remembering my bargain with God on the cliff that day. God had certainly held up his end of the deal and got me out of my tight spot. But here I was, about to do something else stupid. Was God obligated to rescue me from this whopper of a mission, or had he already done his part and could now just sit back and laugh as I dangled from the next tricky spot? With revenge my prime directive, I resolved it was too much to ask of God to go with me anyway. I’d have to leave God here at Sawyer International and hope he’d be waiting for me when I returned.
The call for my flight came over the loudspeaker.
Puppa stood. “Well, Patricia. I’m going to miss you. I wish you could have stayed put awhile. I sure enjoy your company.”
“I’ll be back. Don’t worry. You’ll see me again, maybe sooner than you think.” Yeah, but would he ever speak to me again after what I had planned for his girlfriend? Maybe that “friend’s” apartment in Havana was waiting for the possibility of Puppa reconciling with Candice.
If that were the case, Puppa might not appreciate my quest for justice.
We hugged.
“Take care, Patricia. I love you,” Puppa said, walking me to the security line.
“I love you too. I’ll be fine. Now go.” I gave him a playful swat and watched him leave the building, wishing I could have my revenge and still keep my grandfather. But somehow, I knew I couldn’t have both.
32
A night in an airport lounge chair and a night in a Goose Bay hotel room. I was convinced there was no difference between them when it came to quality of sleep. Maybe it was my nerves that had kept me awake, or maybe second thoughts. Either way, I felt caged sitting in the commuter plane on the last leg of my journey, a bundle of pent-up energy ready to explode or expire. I looked through the scratched-up Plexiglas window as the noisy Provincial liner circled the Churchill Falls field.
From my seat in the air, the town looked like a wheel with two sides lopped off. An extension of long, straight roads ran off in one direction, ruining any symmetry that might have pleased visitors from outer space. To the south, hills rose on the horizon. And to the north, there was nothing but a flat expanse of snow and water.
With a final turn, the plane landed and the sparse array of occupants disembarked. Inside the terminal, I claimed my oversized suitcase and hooked up with a local woman heading to town.
The middle-aged brunette gave me a running commentary on the company-owned settlement as we headed to the inn, where Koby, my thoughtful travel planner, had booked a room for me.
The car traveled east on Churchill Falls Road and hung a right toward the lopped-off wheel part of town. We turned on a street that began with an
According to my hostess, the Churchill Falls power plant and the community that served it had been built in the early seventies. My hotel room confirmed the story, the architecture and amenities testimony that no updates had been made since then.
But beds were beds, and within moments of bolting the door to my room, I climbed under the covers and fell asleep. I must have been dreaming, but I could have sworn I heard the doorknob jiggle, and the door creak open. A man entered the room. It was Brad. He’d found me and come to take me home. He snuck over to the bed and leaned over me. I could feel his hot breath on my cheek, the heat of his skin where his hand touched my neck, the brush of his lips to mine… Still dreaming, I jerked open my eyes. Brad dissolved like a vapor, gone. I sat up in bed, checking the room. Empty.
Disappointed, I flopped back to my pillow and tried to shut down my brain.
A few hours later, I woke to the squawk of hunger pangs. I sat up, throwing off the green and yellow floral bedspread, and yawned. When we’d pulled up to the inn, my driver had called the building the Town Center, mentioning that the complex also housed the school, theater, library, bank, post office, and most importantly, a restaurant.
I freshened up in the mirror, running a brush through the hair I’d managed to save from Maize’s scissors. The California summer had bleached the ends to a straw color now topped by dark winter roots. With my daily wardrobe consisting of a sweatshirt, jeans, and a ponytail, it was easy to forget there was such a thing as style. I threw on a dab of makeup, hoping to perk up my still-sleepy eyes. A fresh coat of lipstick, a cardigan over a turtleneck, and I was headed down the hall toward food.
But when the restaurant appeared dark and closed, I walked to the front desk instead.
I cleared my throat hoping for the clerk’s attention.
“Excuse me, where would I get something to eat?” I asked.
The woman laid the novel she’d been reading facedown on the desk and stood, walking to the counter.
“Sorry. Restaurant’s closed. Chef quit last week.”
My stomach gurgled. “What about the grocery store? Isn’t there one in this building?”
“Grocery store, bank, post office, school, you name it, it’s in here. But you can’t shop until Thursday. It’s closed for the holiday.”
A squeak from my intestines. “But Christmas was yesterday.”
