William Krueger: Boundary waters

“Don’t let him fool you, Annie. I’m sure he’s made a fortune sounding like a hayseed.”

Cork cleaned up outside, pulling the big trash bag from the barrel by the picnic table and hauling it to the Dumpster near the road. As he headed back toward Sam’s Place, he noticed that the fisherman also appeared to be packing up his gear and calling it a day. Cork considered him a moment. Charlie Aalto’s question had been a good one. Why would a fisherman, even a goddamn dumb one, spend the whole day in a place where the fish weren’t biting?

Although it was the best fall anyone could remember in years, the town of Aurora was prepared for the worst. In that far north country, winter was always on the mind. Cords of split wood were stacked against garages and porch walls. In the evening, the air was heavily scented with the smell of wood smoke. A sign in the window of Mayfair’s Clothing on Center Street warned, DON’T BE FOOLED! IT’S COMING. WINTER COATS 20% OFF! Rows of snowblowers flanked the bin of Halloween pumpkins outside Nelson’s Hardware Hank. Heading down Oak Street as he took Annie home, Cork spotted Ned Overby up on his extension ladder affixing Christmas lights to his gutters.

Cork pulled onto Gooseberry Lane and into the driveway of the two-story house where he’d been raised. Stepping from his Bronco, he considered the porch swing, empty now in the shadows. For Cork, the approach of winter wasn’t palpable until he’d taken down the swing and stored it in the garage for the season. He stood on the lawn, considered the brilliant red of the maple tree against the clear blue afternoon sky, and took in with long, deep breaths the warm autumn air. He decided that despite Charlie Aalto’s warning of heavy snow by Halloween, it would still be a long time before he put that swing away.

Annie sprinted through the side door into the kitchen. Cork followed and found himself in a house that, except for Annie and him, seemed empty.

He hadn’t lived in the house on Gooseberry Lane for nearly a year and a half. He’d grown used to living alone at Sam’s Place, but it wasn’t the way he’d choose to live if the choice were his alone.

Annie had the television on, tuned to highlights of the Notre Dame game. Cork passed through the living room and called up the stairs, “Anybody home?”

“In here.” Jo’s voice came from her office just down the hall.

Nancy Jo O’Connor sat at her desk, papers spread out before her, a pen in her hand. She was dressed in faded jeans and a denim blouse with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her blond hair was short and a little disheveled as if she’d run her hand through it in frustration. She wore her glasses, which made her ice-blue eyes big and startled looking. She smiled at her husband as he stepped in.

Jo wasn’t alone. Near her at the desk sat a tall man with the black hair, almond eyes, and light bronze skin of the Ojibwe Anishinaabe. He sat back a little from Jo as soon as Cork stepped in.

Jo took off her glasses. Her eyes grew smaller but no less blue. “I didn’t expect anyone for a while.”

“No customers,” Cork explained. “We shut down early.” He nodded toward the tall Shinnob. “Afternoon, Dan.”

“Hello, Cork.” Daniel Wadena offered him a cordial smile. Wadena was the manager of the Chippewa Grand Casino, an enterprise operated by the Iron Lake Band of Ojibwe. He wore a red T-shirt that read CASH IN AT THE GRAND across the front in black letters.

“Business on Saturday?” Cork shook his head.

“We’re trying to get the contracts together so we can actually break ground for the casino hotel before winter sets in,” Jo said. She’d been counsel for Iron Lake Anishinaabe for years.

“Better hurry,” Cork cautioned. “Word is, snow by Halloween.”

Wadena glanced outside. “Did you get that from the weather service?”

“Muskrats,” Cork said.

Jo stretched. “I think that’s it for me today, Dan.”

“A good day’s work,” Wadena concluded and stood up. He carefully placed a number of documents in his briefcase, clicked the latch, and stepped away from the desk. “Monday?” he asked Jo.

“I’m in court most of the morning. After lunch?” she suggested.

“Fine. I’ll see myself out. Take ’er easy, Cork,” he said as he exited.

Cork walked to the chair Wadena had vacated and plopped himself down. He watched Jo as she arranged the papers on her desk.

“He’s taken with you, you know.”

“I know.” She opened her desk drawer and put away her pens. “I don’t encourage him.”

“He’s what I believe they call a catch.”

“Like a mackerel?” She looked at him directly. “The last thing I need in my life right now is another man.” She put her glasses back on and made a notation on her calendar.

Cork heard the front door open, and a moment later, his sister-in-law Rose slumped against the doorway of Jo’s office, a small sack of groceries in her arms. Rose was a large, plain woman with hair the color of road dust and a heart as big as Gibraltar. She was unlike her sister Jo in almost all respects except for the way she loved the children. She’d helped raise them from the beginning, and although they hadn’t come from her body, a great deal of who they were had been born from the goodness of her spirit. Cork had never felt anything but love and an overwhelming gratitude toward the lumbering woman who stood puffing in the doorway.

“Stevie ran practically the whole way,” Rose said, breathless. Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead and temples and followed the plump contours of her cheeks. “This weather has him crazy.”

“Where is he?” Cork asked.

“I’m right here!” Six-year-old Stevie squeezed through the doorway past his aunt. Of Cork’s children, Stevie most clearly carried the signs of his Anishinaabe heritage. His hair was straight and dark, his cheeks high, his eyes thick lidded. He smiled eagerly at his father. “Annie said she’d play some football with me if you will. Will you?”

“Sure,” Cork agreed. “For a little while. Meet you guys in the front yard.”

Stevie cried, “Yippee!” and vanished back through the doorway.

“I’m going to start dinner,” Rose said. “Cork, will you join us? Just burgers on the grill.”

“Thanks, but I haven’t had a chance to shower after my run this afternoon. I’ll just toss the ball a bit with Stevie then head back to Sam’s Place and get myself cleaned up.”

“We’ve rented a video,” she tried again. “ The Lion King. Stevie’s favorite, you know.”

He glanced at Jo, who gave him a nod. “Maybe I’ll make it for that. But don’t wait for me.”

Rose turned and carried the groceries away.

“Didn’t Jenny come home with you?” Jo asked.

Cork shook his head. “Went for a walk; never came back.”

“She went to see Sean, I’ll bet,” Jo said.

“Speak of the devil.”

Jo’s eyes shifted to the window where Cork’s attention had been drawn. Jenny and a teenaged boy had stepped into the backyard from the alley. They stood together near the end of the lilac hedge and they kissed. Cork moved closer to the screen.

“Don’t spy,” Jo said.

“I’m not spying. I’m assessing the quality of their relationship.”

Every year. Jenny grew to resemble her mother more: slender, blond, bright, independent. At fourteen, she’d been keen on piercing her nose, had dyed her hair purple, and had chosen most of her wardrobe from the Salvation Army. Now almost sixteen, she spoke no more of nose studs, had washed the dye from her hair, and bought her clothing at mall shops. She’d stumbled onto The Diary of Ana’s Nin and was saving all her money to move to Paris just as soon as she graduated from high school. Jo said she’d change her mind about that, but Cork wasn’t so sure. Like Jo, once Jenny had decided a thing, it was as good as done. The boy with her, Sean Murray, was a tall, lanky kid with long black hair and a lot of dark fuzz along his cheekbones. Whenever Cork saw him, Sean was dressed entirely in black.