Some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you.
I turned and headed to the dock with Morrissey behind me at a safe distance.
He handed me over to the guy in the kiosk with the clipboard, who signed me out. Morrissey spoke quietly to the pilot of the launch, who eyed me and nodded. Morrissey cast us off and stayed on the island, while the pilot maneuvered through the shoals to open water, then hit the throttle, and we sped toward Thunder Bay.
My back ached, but I didn’t think Morrissey had done any permanent damage. Maybe a bruise that would bug me for a while, and the knowledge that if I ever encountered him again, he was a man I would keep in front of me.
At the marina, I disembarked. The pilot immediately swung around to return to Manitou Island.
“Beer?”
I turned in the direction of the voice and saw the woman standing on the deck of her sailboat, a bottle lifted in offering.
“Thanks.”
I walked to her sailboat and climbed aboard.
She handed me a Labatt Blue. “You actually got on the island?”
“Yeah.” I unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. It was ice cold. Perfect.
“What was it like?”
“Not a place I’d choose for a vacation,” I said.
“You actually talked with Wellington?”
“We conversed a bit.”
“What’s he like?”
“A man who wants his privacy. I think he’s entitled to it.”
“I saw them frisk you before you left. Careful people.”
“I didn’t catch your name,” I said.
“Trinky Pollard. Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Retired.”
“Cork O’Connor. Former sheriff of Tamarack County, Minnesota.”
“You told me earlier that you’re a PI now.”
“Part-time. Mostly I’m up here as a guy trying to do a friend a favor.”
We shook hands. Hers was impressively strong.
“You look too young to be a retired cop,” she said.
“Not retired. I quit.”
“What do you do when you’re not investigating privately?”
“Mostly I make hamburgers.”
She smiled at that, then glanced toward the island. “So you delivered a cheeseburger and fries to Wellington, eh.” She laughed. “Accomplish whatever it was you were after?”
“I guess you could say I got my man.”
I lifted my bottle, and we toasted.
I looked at my watch. “Thanks for the beer, Trinky. If I’m going to make it home tonight, I’d best be on my way.”
She saw me off her boat, still sipping her beer. When I looked back, she was staring toward Sleeping Giant.
Before I left the marina, I used my cell to call Jo.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she said. “Where are you?”
“Still in Thunder Bay. How are things there?”
She hesitated a moment, which worried me.
“How’s Meloux?” I asked, expecting the worst.
“Ernie Champoux called. Meloux’s left the hospital,” she said.
“Left?”
“Walked out. Against all advice. According to Ernie, he just sat up, told the doctor he was well and ready to leave. Ernie convinced him to let them run a few tests. It was amazing, Cork. They couldn’t find anything wrong. All the signs, everything, perfectly normal. The doctor can’t explain it.”
“Did Meloux say anything?”
“He told them the weight was off his heart, that he was at peace.”
“He believes he’s going to see his son. Damn.”
“Damn? What does that mean?”
I told her about Meloux’s son, a man I wasn’t certain any father would want to claim as the fruit of his loins.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“What can I do? I’ve got to tell him the truth.”
“When will you be home?”
“Well after dark. How’re the kids?”
Once again, she was quiet. And I realized that what I’d picked up in her voice earlier had nothing to do with Meloux.
“What is it, Jo? Is it Jenny? Did Sean finally pop the question?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Oh. How so?”
I heard her take a deep breath. “Cork, you were right to be worried. She’s pregnant.”
THIRTEEN
Long before I turned inland on the drive home to Aurora, the moon rose out of Lake Superior, full and yellow as a lemon. A long finger of light pushed across the surface of the dark water, pointing at me in what seemed an accusing way.
Jenny was pregnant. God, my little girl. If you’d tried to tell me at that moment that she was, in fact, a grown woman, I’d have grabbed you by the neck and wrung you like a mop. To me she wasn’t much more than a child. And now she had a child of her own on the way. How screwed was that? There went the University of Iowa and that writer’s workshop she was hot to get into. There went her future, everything she’d worked hard for over so many years down the drain, lost in a thoughtless moment, wiped away in a stupid spill of passion.
Though probably it wasn’t a moment. Probably they’d been having sex for a while. They’d gone together since Jenny was a sophomore. That was a long time to remain celibate against an onslaught of hormones. I understood that. But Jo had been so certain of Jenny’s sense of responsibility about sex. Why hadn’t my daughter been responsible enough to be safe?
And Sean. He sure as hell wasn’t innocent in all this. Him I wanted to use as a soccer ball.
With that finger of moonlight pointing at me, I wondered what I’d done or hadn’t done that had helped bring this situation about. What kind of father was I? What kind had I been?
Then there was Meloux. His health had apparently taken a remarkable turn after I told him I would go to Thunder Bay. The old Mide believed he would finally see his son. As nearly as I could tell, that belief alone had been enough to work a miracle.
Now what was I going to tell him? What kind of son was I offering him? I was afraid of what the truth might do to the old man. But if I hedged in any way, Meloux would know.
It was nearly midnight when I pulled onto Gooseberry Lane and turned into my driveway. Jo was waiting up. The kids had gone to bed. She kissed me and settled on the sofa beside me.
“You look tired,” she said.
“And sore.” I told her about Morrissey, the kidney punch and the kick.
“Let me see.”
I lifted my shirt, and she checked my back.
“Oh, Cork, there’s an ugly bruise forming. Do you think you should have it checked?”
