William Krueger - Tamarack County

“If he’s back in time.”

Cork finished his coffee, rinsed out the mug, and put it in the dishwasher. He left the kitchen and headed for the stairs. He’d just started up when the front doorbell rang. He opened it to find a tall young woman standing on the porch, wearing what was clearly a newly purchased and expensive-looking down-filled parka. The parka hood, which was trimmed with some kind of animal fur, was up to protect her head from the cold. Her face, framed in the oval of the hood’s opening, was deeply tanned. Her eyes were large and dark and rather penetrating. Her smile was tentative but hopeful.

“Good morning,” Cork said to her.

“Hello. I’m looking for Anne O’Connor.”

“She’s not here at the moment. I’m her father. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I . . . uh . . . hmmm.” The young woman had clearly expected Anne to be there and was just as clearly at a loss about what to do now that she wasn’t.

“Why don’t you come in out of that cold?” Cork said and stood aside to let her pass.

In the living room, she swept the parka hood back off her head. Cork saw that her hair was sun-bleached.

“Can I take your coat?” he offered.

She unzipped and removed it. Without the down-filled bulk, she became lanky in addition to tall. Her face was lean and pleasant. She reminded Cork of photographs he’d seen of Amelia Earhart, who in those photos, seemed to him someone you’d be pleased to know.

“Most of Annie’s friends here, I know,” Cork said, as he hung the parka on the newel post of the stairs. “But you I don’t recognize.”

“I’m Skye Edwards,” she said and studied his face, as if to see whether the name meant anything to him. It didn’t.

“I’m Cork.” He shook her hand. Her grip was strong but restrained.

At that moment, Jenny and Waaboo came from the kitchen. Skye smiled broadly at the sight of the toddler and said, “ Boozhoo, anish na, Waaboo,” offering the little guy an Ojibwe greeting which meant “Hello, how are you?”

Around family, Waaboo was an exuberant handful, but around strangers his usual response was to hold himself back with a reasonable degree of wariness. When Skye spoke to him, however, he considered her only a moment before smiling broadly and lurching toward her as if he’d known her all his brief life. She bent as he came and swept him up in her arms.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she said.

“You speak Ojibwemowin?” Cork asked.

“Only what little Annie’s taught me.”

Jenny stood watching, puzzled. “I’m Jenny O’Connor.”

“Hi. Skye Edwards.” She freed a hand to reach out and shake Jenny’s. “I came looking for your sister.”

“She’s not here.”

“Cork told me. Do you have any idea when she’ll be back?”

Waaboo had his hands in Skye’s hair, and Cork was glad that Jenny had cleaned the blueberry preserves from his little fingers.

Jenny glanced at her father, and it was Cork who replied, “We don’t exactly know. She’s staying at a place called Crow Point. Was she expecting you?”

“No.” Waaboo had begun to squirm, and she put him down. He spotted Trixie exiting through the kitchen doorway and went in pursuit. “She didn’t know I was coming,” Skye went on. “I didn’t really know myself until last night.” She seemed to consider her next words carefully, then said, “The truth is I came to bring her back home.”

* * *

Cork made a new pot of coffee, and they sat at the dining room table. Jenny had made a big soft landing area with pillows and cushions, and Waaboo occupied himself happily by climbing onto the sofa and throwing himself there.

“You’re part of the order?” Cork asked.

“No,” Skye said. “I’m a teacher. Kids with learning disabilities. Annie and I met playing softball. We hit it off right away. She had her calling, I had mine. A mutual admiration.”

“So the sisters didn’t send you?” Jenny said.

Skye shook her head. “My idea to come. We all knew she was going home for Christmas, but she took off way early, without saying anything to anybody, her friends or the sisters. We’ve tried calling her cell phone, but she won’t answer. We’ve been worried sick. So I thought I’d come out, make sure she was here, and see if she’d talk to me in person.”

Cork thought it was an extremely caring thing to do, suspiciously caring, in fact, not to mention expensive. A flight during the Christmas season, a ticket bought on the spur of the moment.

Jenny whistled. “An expansive display of friendship. You could have just called us.”

“I know. But I thought it was important to talk to her face-to-face. And as for the cost, well, the truth is I’m pretty well off. My father is Colton Edwards.”

She said the name as if she expected them to recognize it. Cork didn’t. But Jenny said, “The Silicon Valley Colton Edwards? The Xtel Processor Colton Edwards?”

“Yeah. We call him Chip. Drives him crazy.” She hadn’t drunk much of her coffee, only enough to be polite. She swirled it in her mug and asked, “Do you think I could go out to this Crow Point and see her?”

“We’ll talk to Annie,” Cork promised. “Do you have a place to stay? You’re welcome here.”

“Thanks, but I’ve arranged for a room at the Four Seasons. I don’t want to put anyone out. I don’t know how long I’ll be staying and, honestly, I’m more comfortable in my own hotel room.” She smiled disarmingly. “I snore horribly. Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll leave you my cell phone number, and I’d appreciate it if you’d call me after you’ve spoken with Annie.”

They saw her to the door. She put on her new parka and went from a slender woman to a walrus. She thanked them and walked down the sidewalk to the Escalade, which she’d told them she’d rented at the Duluth airport. They waved good-bye as she drove off.

Cork closed the door against the cold pushing in from outside. “She’s very nice,” he said.

“Yes,” Jenny agreed.

“And clearly she cares about Annie.”

“Uh-huh. And?” Jenny arched a brow.

“I get the definite feeling that there’s something she’s not telling us.”

“Exactly.”

Cork looked at the door he’d just closed.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” he said.

Cork got the call from the hospital an hour later, but it didn’t come from Stella Daychild.

“Dad, it’s Stephen. Marlee’s ready to go home.”

“You’re going to take them?”

“No. Marlee doesn’t want to see me.”

Stephen’s tone was flat, unemotional, not like him at all.

“Okay,” Cork said. “I’ll be right over.”

He found Stephen in the hospital lobby, alone, sitting on an orange plastic chair, one in a long bank of orange plastic chairs. His son was staring at a far wall that was strung with sparkly holiday garland in a wavy line that reminded Cork of the readout on a heart monitor. He took the chair next to his son. “So. What’s the story?”

“I don’t know.” Stephen didn’t look at him, just kept his eyes on the wall. “I tried to see her, but her mom said not today.”

“Was that because Stella preferred it that way?”

Stephen shook his head. “Pretty sure it was Marlee’s idea.”

Cork let a couple of quiet moments slide by, then said, “She’s been through hell. She’s got a lot to process.”

“I was there in hell with her.”

“I know. Maybe she doesn’t want you to see her looking the way she probably looks today. Those bruises of hers are only going to get uglier.”

“I don’t care how she looks.”

“But she does. Give her time.”