Gail Bowen - Burying Ariel

We walked back to the cabin in silence. Gert undid the padlock on a small toolshed and took out a shovel. Drew walked to a spot under a spruce tree and, in a lonely act of love, began to dig. After a few minutes, Fraser took the shovel from him and continued. Each of us took our turn. It was surprisingly hard work, but we managed, and when the hole was deep enough, Molly knelt and put in the box. Gert dropped to her knees, took a cigarette from the package in her breast pocket, broke it open, and placed the tobacco beside the pine box. “It’s tradition to give something back,” she said simply.

After that, it was over quickly. We handed the shovel around, replaced the earth, and knelt in a circle. Molly Warren smoothed the dirt and covered it with the midnight-blue cloth. “I’ve been trying all morning to think of the right words,” she said. She held out her hands, palms out, empty. “Does anyone have any?”

The sun picked up the gold- and silver-lame appliques of the moon and the stars, blossoms, flowers, fruit, fish, animals. Against the midnight blue, the figures that Ariel had cut out seemed to pulse with independent life.

“There’s a line from Dante,” I said. “ ‘Oh, the experience of this sweet life.’ ”

Every face in our circle betrayed a tightening of the throat, but the silence was absolute. We were enveloped in a moment as fragile and self-contained as a teardrop. And then – horribly – the sound of a plane’s motor sliced the silent air.

Mr. Birkbeck howled. Solange breathed a curse and a single name. “Naama.”

That was the name on my lips, too. As I watched the small plane descend and its pontoons slap the surface of the lake, I remembered Naama’s fury in Livia Brook’s office. You can’t keep us away. Ariel was a Red Riding Hood. We have every right to be there. We have every right to avenge her. As I waited for the plane’s door to open, I knew I had no resources left to deal with Naama and her unquenchable rage. Neither did anyone else. Faced with this new challenge, we stumbled to our feet. We were all running on empty.

Not surprisingly, it was Gert who made the first move. She snapped her fingers, brought Mr. Birkbeck to heel, and the two of them set off to meet the plane taxiing towards the old dock. When the motors cut, the door opened and a short, grey-haired man emerged. He and Gert pumped hands, then turned towards the open plane door. I steeled myself, waiting for the assault of Naama and her cohorts. But the passengers who stepped onto the dock were even more of a nightmare than Naama would have been.

Howard Dowhanuik and his son were both in full mourning: black suits, white shirts, dark ties. They looked like the Blues Brothers on vacation. Shocked, I almost laughed, but as they came closer the anguish on Charlie’s face killed the laugh in my throat.

It didn’t take Charlie long to read the situation. His eyes passed over the mourners and rested on the gravesite, then he went straight to Molly and Drew. “You can’t leave her there,” he said simply. “She shouldn’t be in the dark. Let me take the canoe out on the lake. I’ll scatter her ashes.”

Molly’s face was bloodless, her lips a line thin as a surgical scar. “It’s a bad idea, Charlie. Ashes from a human body are dense. If you try to scatter them, they get under your fingernails, into your skin. You can’t get them out.”

“I don’t want to get them out,” Charlie said.

Solange’s pupils were pinpoints of loathing. “Are you hoping her ashes will cover her blood?” she said.

“You were the one she was afraid of,” he said.

Solange’s mouth shaped itself into a cartoon-like O. “Never,” she said. “I never would have hurt her.”

Howard grabbed his son and pulled him away from Solange. “Coming here was a mistake, Charlie. Let’s just get back on the plane and go home.”

“Your father’s right.” Fraser Jackson’s voice was powerful and assured. “This has been a terrible day for all of us. None of us should do anything to make it worse.”

Charlie looked at Fraser without comprehension. “What are you doing here?”

Fraser didn’t flinch. “Like everyone here, I just came to say goodbye. It’s time to let Ariel rest in peace, Charlie.”

“Peace.” Charlie repeated the word as if it were a noun from an unknown language, then broke from his father’s arms and sprinted towards the plane.

Howard’s voice in my ear was urgent. “You gotta come back with us, Jo. I don’t know how to handle this.”

I didn’t hesitate. I walked over to Drew and Molly Warren. “I’m going to fly back with them,” I said. “I hope you understand.”

“Do what you need to do,” Drew said. And then, a prisoner of his immaculate manners, he patted my hand. “It was good of you to come all this way, Joanne. I hope it wasn’t too hard on you. Molly and I keep telling people we’re all right, but we’re not, you know. I don’t think we could have handled this alone.”

I embraced Molly. When Fraser Jackson kissed my cheek, I promised I’d call him later in the weekend. Gert was over on the old dock talking to the pilot of the other plane, so the only farewell left was to Solange. When I reached out to her, she spun away.

“Not so evolved after all,” she said. “A man asks, and Joanne Kilbourn scurries after him.”

“Not every encounter between a man and a woman is a power struggle,” I said.

I tried to walk away with a purposeful stride, but Howard had long legs and a determination to get the hell out. As usual, once he’d exacted the agreement he needed, he was dealing with the next problem. I could feel Solange’s eyes burning into my back as I ran along behind him. It was going to be a long flight home.

The plane we flew back to Prince Albert on was called the Silver Fox, after its owner, who on closer inspection turned out to be a banty rooster of a man with vulpine features, hair moussed into a silver sweep, and dentures that dazzled. Gert handed me over to Silver without any time-wasting sentimentalities.

“I noticed you’re a nervous flyer,” she said, “but Silver here has been in the business as long as I have.”

Silver took his comb and perfected his sweep-back. “Haven’t lost a passenger yet. At least not a good-looking one.”

Gert shot him a dismissive glance and held out her hand to me. “It’s been a pleasure,” she said. “Happy landings.”

Charlie was slumped against the window in the seat behind the pilot. He was wearing the earphones from a Discman and, as I walked past him, I could hear the tinny overflow of rhythm that comes when someone is listening to hard rock at full volume.

Except for the two seats opposite Charlie, the plane was filled with cargo. I sat down next to Howard, and I didn’t cut him any slack. “What in the name of God were you thinking of, bringing him up here?” I said.

“Jo, I’ve been a lousy father his whole life. He wanted to come. Marnie said it was my turn.”

“Marnie! Howard, you know Marnie’s judgement hasn’t exactly been reliable since her accident. Did she understand what she was saying?”

Howard balled his hands into fists. “Jesus, Jo. Will you lay off? I know I made a mistake. Do you want to see what I was dealing with? Here.” He reached into the inside pocket of his funeral suit, pulled out a hand full of photographs and thrust them at me.

“These are for you,” he said. “From Marnie. She liked the picture you sent from the old days so much she had me stick it up on the wall next to her bed.”

The image deflated me. “I’m glad she liked it,” I said weakly.

“She loved it,” Howard said, “and of course the sisters at Good Shepherd are getting a real kick out of those words of wisdom you wrote on the bottom of the picture.”