Page 18 of Just Trouble

He looks at me and I shake my head, hoping like hell that Luke is good for it. I also hope that Mike won’t withdraw his support with that parcel of land removed from the proposal.

Would it really matter? It’s clear that Patrick makes all the decisions.

He and my father exchange a glance, my father shrugs, Patrick initials his changes and signs the document. “Take it or leave it,” he says. His gaze is as cold as ice and I hate that I have to fulfil his expectation.

I take it, just the way he knows I will. There’s the diner, which gives that chef her chance, and Una’s house, which is for Sylvia. It will make some of Luke’s agenda come right. I remind myself that this really is the heart of his suggestion, to make amends to Sylvia, and that’s been preserved. The prime mover is being addressed. I hate losing any of the plan, though I know that there’s no blood to be had from this stone.

“Thank you, Mr. Cavendish. I apologize for interrupting your game.”

“You’re making a mistake,” he warns. “That boy will lead you astray. You can count on it. He’s never been any good.”

I don’t answer. It seems to me that I’ve been talking to the trouble behind all of this. I walk away, reminding myself to be content with a partial victory.

I’m not.

Not even close.

I thought I was in before, but Patrick has redoubled my commitment. Now I’m determined to make Luke’s plan work.

Whatever it takes.

4

LUKE

I’m so full of lasagna that I go for a walk after dinner.

Actually, I go for a walk because I’m curious as to what Daph has discovered and/or done.

Can I find her?

I head back down Queen Street and immediately notice that the pewter Honda that was parked outside the law office earlier is gone. I decide immediately to do some detective work to figure out where Daph lives. Empire isn’t that big. I can walk it all inside of an hour, so I get started.

What can I tell you about my hometown?

The road from Havelock comes from the east. It twists around a bit then becomes Queen Street, straightening out at The Maple Leaf Motel. I leave the motel parking lot and walk past the Petro Canada gas station just west of the motel, a brand new place with very bright lighting and no service. I don’t even have to look to know that the chip truck beside it is open. I can smell the fat a hundred meters away. Across the street on the north side is the United Church, solid brick and a century old, the sign reminding us all that services are at 10 each Sunday morning.

On the left, the south side, is Weatherby & Bradshaw, the first building in Empire’s downtown. The lights are out and nobody is home there.

Queen Street runs roughly east-west. There’s one major intersection ahead at Erie Street, which heads north, past several streets of houses, ultimately finding its way to the Cavendish Greenhouses and Rhodes Vineyards a couple of clicks out of town. (That’s kilometers, in case you aren’t sure.) Erie Street also runs south to (surprise) Lake Erie and Empire’s sister town, Port Cavendish. Once Port Cavendish was the big town and Empire the offshoot. It was the other way around for a while, and now both are quiet.

The intersection of Erie and Queen is a roundabout, with a huge sugar maple planted in the island. Big Red is over a hundred years old and an absolute knock-out each fall. It’s bigger than I remember, its leaves now the bright green of springtime and new growth.

After I pass the law offices, I check out the current state of downtown retail. It’s bleak. Across the street is an antique store, which might be better called a junk store from the offerings in the window. There are more empty stores before the closed diner that I want to give a future.

There’s also a bunch of papered windows between the law offices and the old Odeon theatre, which shut down sometime after I left town. They used to playTheRocky Horror Picture Showat midnight on the last Friday of the month, even though that trend had been well over—just not in Empire. I smile in recollection of all of us doingThe Time Warp(again and again) and would bet there are still pieces of toast in the darker corners.

Next to it, on the southeast corner of the circle around Big Red is The Emporium, a department store of sorts from Empire’s early years, also closed and empty. The post office is across the street on the northeast corner.

It’s amazing how quiet it is. I can’t hear any cars or other traffic. There’s a bit of music floating through the air, like someone is listening to oldies in their kitchen with the window open, but otherwise, I could be out in the country. Or maybe in a ghost town. I hear an owl, which is enough to make me stop and try to spot it. (No joy.)

There aren’t many cars parked on Queen Street or any litter blowing down the street. Maybe Empireisa ghost town. Most of the buildings are two storeys, retail on the street level and residential units upstairs. The majority of that retail space is empty, too. I don’t see many lights, although there’s a television or computer on in the apartment over the antique store, casting blue light at a ceiling. No signs of movement, though.

I suppose some towns would have a war memorial in the middle of the roundabout, but Empire has that maple tree in pride of place. The town has always been small. Maybe there weren’t enough local sons who went to war. Maybe they had lucky charms in their pockets and all came home. I don’t know, but Big Red isn’t going anywhere soon.

I look up Erie Street to the library on the west side just a bit north of Queen Street. Like so many towns in the area, Empire has a Carnegie library. The Anglican Church is beside it, on the northwest corner, claiming the prime real estate, followed by a run of closed stores on Queen Street west, including one that I remember as a small grocery. The street looks sadder than I remember. There’s a thrift store at the very end, then the road narrows and turns to gravel. I know it carries on to the town cemetery, out of view, a site for a lot of late night shenanigans then and maybe now.

Are there even kids here? Teenagers? The silence is almost eerie.

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