Page 7 of Dark Roads
I’d come over a few times since the funeral, once with Lana for more clothes, a couple of times with Jonny. We sat in silence, played video games,Fortnite,Call of Duty. When I couldn’t see the screen because I was crying too hard, he pulled my head down onto his shoulder.
Dad’s red plaid coat was on the hook by the door. The one he wore when he was burning brush or splitting cedar. I slid my arms through the sleeves, breathed in the smoky smell, his Old Spice cologne. His coffee mug was on the sink. I wrapped my hand around the mug, placing my fingers exactly where his would have rested, and carried it with me as I walked around the house.
My favorite photo of me and Dad was still on his dresser. The two of us standing on a pebbled shore, our canoe behind us, bright red against the blue-green northern lake. Our old hunting dog, Boomer, spent most of the time snoozing while we reeled in fish. We were unstoppable that day. Dad said it was almost unfair to everyone else, we were such a good team. He let me hold the biggest of our catch, a rainbow trout, and leaned down with his arm slung over my shoulder, our heads pressed together. Same strawberry blond hair, same green eyes, same freckles. He liked to say we had the same heart too, but his had stopped beating, and now mine ached all the time.
Beside the photo of me and Dad, there was one of my parents on their wedding day, the silver frame engraved with their names and the date.Finn & Rachel McBride. Two Become One.Dad looked young in his suit, only twenty-three, his usually wild hair neatly trimmed and slicked back, my mom smiling up at him, all raven tresses and white skin, her dress with belled sleeves. An ethereal fairy creature who had somehow fallen in love with an awkward Irish lumberjack.
I glanced at my mom’s paintings displayed around the room, pretty landscapes, all local scenery. When I was ready, I’d ask Lana if we could put my mom’s artwork and some of the household stuff in storage. It was hard to think of a day when I’d have my own place. What would it be like with no parents? My future was a long bridge hanging over a dark hole.
I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace, where I used to sprawl with my iPad or watch TV while I waited for Dad to come home, listening for the crunch of his tires on the gravel, the slam of his truck door. I closed my eyes, imagined him walking in, excited to tell me about something he’d seen in the woods, a black bear, a new trail, a good fishing spot.
Why were you driving so fast on the logging road, Dad? You knew it was dangerous. We had plans. You and me against the world. That’s what you said. Losing Mom to cancer was supposed to be the worst thing I ever had to go through, but now you’re gone too, and I don’t know how I am going to make it. Why didn’t you get the will changed? How could you leave me with him?
I waited. Maybe there’d be a knock, a mysterious cold breeze. People talked about that. How they got messages from family or friends after they died. But the house stayed silent.
The shop was behind the house, in what used to be a storage building for the orchard. Dad had put windows in and insulated it, added a workbench. He’d said that every man needed a wolf den. His throwing knives, four of them, were still stuckin the target. I tugged them out and got into position. I was wearing a tank top, so my biceps were able to flex smoothly. I held my breath, then released the knife. My goal was to cut a piece of twine. I’d nicked a corner. Not good enough. Back in position, I raised my arm, but a knock on the side window startled me and the throw went wild. The knife hit the wall. Jonny made a face at me through the glass.
I opened the door. “Took you long enough.”
“Had to make a stop.” He pulled up a stool beside the workbench and reached down for the glasses and the whiskey we’d hidden behind the old paint cans. He poured us each a splash and we clinked our glasses. Dad’s last bottle.
I leaned against the bench and studied the target, the frayed piece of twine.
Jonny followed my gaze. “Your ninja moves need some work.”
“You’re just jealous because your aim is shit.” I swished some of the whiskey through my teeth like I’d seen Dad do sometimes. I felt him even more in the shop. His tools were still on the bench, his crossbow and fishing rods hanging over the gun safe, his hip waders and outdoor coats on their hooks by the door. His quad was still caked with mud from his last ride.
“Did you sign up for the race?”
“Yeah.”
“That track has a lot of sand on it, so keep your weight back.” Jonny was fast and daring—the bike floated when he came off a jump, his legs in the air behind him, one hand gripping his seat. He just needed to win a few more events, get a sponsor, and he could turn pro.
He nodded. “Let’s go to the pit next weekend.”
“Okay.” I looked at my dirt bike leaning on its kickstand. “I want to ride up to the silver mine one day too, but I can’t go anywhere until we fix my bike.” Dad knew everything aboutthe mountains around there, but he never showed anyone except me how to find the old miner’s cabin. So deep in the forest, so hushed and quiet, it was like being in another world.
“Your wish is my command.” Jonny pulled a newspaper-wrapped bundle from his backpack, lifted it into the air like a trophy.
“You got the carburetor! Was anyone at the farm?”
“Just the dogs. I almost got bit!” He laughed.
“I told you to use smoked salmon. Did you see the puppies?” I took the carburetor from him, checked it over. For months I’d been slipping into Cooper’s barn at night, visiting with the dogs and playing with the mom, a pretty border collie. She was due a couple of weeks ago. I’d wanted to buy one of the puppies for Dad’s birthday, but Cooper kept raising the price.
“They’re cute. You want to sneak over and look?”
I shook my head. “We need to lie low. Vaughn busted me last night. He pulled right up beside me and just about gave me a heart attack.”
“Holy shit.” His eyes widened, pools of blue in his tanned face.
“Yeah, and he knows about the thefts. He was talking about you.”
We hadn’t meant to become thieves, but bikes were expensive. It took me two summers working with Dad to pay for half of my Honda CRF 150, and Jonny fixed everyone’s bikes and lawn mowers to get his 250. We were always needing parts and gas. We hit the rich people, the people we didn’t like. We weren’t short of targets. There were a lot of jerks in Cold Creek.
“The Iceman.” Jonny drew the words out long and slow. He was thinking about last fall, when Vaughn caught him riding his dirt bike on the paved roads. He was only crossing a short section, but Vaughn still impounded his bike, and made him walk home carrying all his gear.
“If you have anything on the property, get rid of it.”
