Cheryl Tardif - Children of the Fog

Sady,

Here’s some stuff to cleen with. If you need more just holler. The flashlight has new battries. The maps new, shows the root to Hinton and Edson. Hinton’s closer. Best place for grocries is the Sobeys store. Ed’s Pub has got the best liver and onions, fried chicken and fish and chips in town.

P.S. On account of the mess and you cleening it, just pay half of May.

Irma

Almost two hours later, Sadie fell into the armchair, exhausted but satisfied. The interior of the cabin glistened, the reek of decay replaced by a fresh orange scent.

“You can’t stop now, though,” she said with a sigh.

It took two trips to the Mercedes to get the suitcases and duffle bag. She debated on leaving the gun behind in the car, but had visions of Irma hotwiring the Mercedes and taking it for a joyride, police in tow.

The gun box found a home under the double bed.

For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to think of its purpose. She examined the floor, envisioning it splattered with—

Her head snapped up. “Don’t go there.”

She was famished. The only thing she’d eaten all day was a stale donut and coffee from a gas station. She opened a cupboard, inspecting the three cans—two tuna and one kidney bean. Her stomach rumbled and she glanced at the wall above the sink. The floral clock read 6:10 . Lots of time to get to town and back.

Securing the cabin door, she trekked through the woods, climbed into the Mercedes and headed for Hinton. Following Irma’s map, she gripped the steering wheel, eyes dead ahead on the narrow gravel road. Thankfully, nobody tried to run her off this time.

She geared down to take a blind corner. The road unexpectedly dipped low, running parallel to the river. As she crossed a rickety wood bridge, she slowed the car to a crawl to admire the view. The river trickled a few feet below, cutting a path through the still-frozen ground, around a bend and out of sight. To her right, a gray roof protruded between the trees.

She squinted. It was her cabin. She was sure of it.

A sudden movement on the opposite bank caught her eye.

A man in a black cowboy hat and knee-length black jacket stepped from the woods. He made his way toward the river, crouched down—to wash his hands, maybe—then stood and stretched leisurely.

She was sure he was the owner of the black truck.

Sarge, Irma had called him.

The man’s head jerked toward the bridge. Toward her . He was too far away to make out his face, but she got the impression he wasn’t smiling. Then he darted off into the bushes.

“Great!” she muttered as she sped away. “He’ll think I’m a nosy neighbor. Oh, wait, Sadie, you are.”

She left the bridge behind, thankful that the man lived on the other side of the river. The last thing she needed was visitors.

Ed’s Pub was quiet, except for the flamboyant ’50’s style jukebox that belted out Johnny Cash’s Walk the Line and the handful of customers—some just out of high school—who played pool on the three billiard tables at the far end. At a table near the door, two primitive-looking men dressed in soil stained coveralls were drinking beer, their shaggy gray beards brushing the wet surface of the table. They looked like gold diggers from the Klondike era.

When they noticed Sadie in the doorway, their mouths dropped and the whispering began. She ignored them and headed for the bar, where a man stood with his back to her, rearranging bottles against a mirrored wall. When he turned, she knew without a doubt that he was Irma’s brother.

“What can I get you, young lady?” he asked.

“Ice tea, please.”

The man’s mouth curled into a wrinkled smile. “What’s a pretty gal like you doing in a place like this?”

She laughed. “I see originality isn’t one of your strong suits.”

“Hard to be original when you’re a twin.”

The man was a carbon copy of his sister, right down to the thin build, short gray hair and dark eyes. But where Irma’s eyes were serious and knowing, his did a dangerous two-step with flirtation as he leaned down, grabbed a glass from under the counter and filled it with ice tea.

He slid it down the bar toward her. “So what are you doing here, ’sides making my heart race?”

“I’m finishing a project. I needed a peaceful place to do it, so I’m staying in one of your sister’s cabins.” As an afterthought she added, “And if I’m making your heart race, perhaps you forgot to take your medication this morning.”

“Tsk, tsk,” he said, chuckling. “You’re a sharp one.”

“That’s what my husband says.”

Ed’s face fell and she nearly burst out laughing.

“Dang. You’re married?”

She wasn’t about to tell him about the pending divorce, so she held out a hand. “Sadie O’Connell.”

“Ed Panych.” He smiled. “Well, Sadie O’Connell, you just dashed away all my hopes.”

She grinned and patted his liver-spotted hand, the one with the plain gold band on his ring finger. “I’m sure your wife will be relieved.”

A hoot erupted from behind her. The men at the table were brazenly listening to every word.

“Yeah, Martha’s gonna be very happy, Ed,” one of them shouted. “Don’t think she’ll wanna share ya. ’Specially since you just celebrated your fiftieth.”

Ed waved his hand in the air. “Ah, shut it, Bugsy. I was just teasing the lady.”

Bugsy muttered something to his companion. The other man let out a thunderous laugh that echoed in the small pub.

“Sorry,” Ed told her quietly.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” She grinned, raised her voice. “If you weren’t married, Ed…”

“Ah, I’m way too old for a pretty gal like you,” he mumbled, embarrassed. He hobbled into the back room.

Sadie sat at the bar, lost in her thoughts as a nostalgic sadness swept over her. She’d always thought she and Philip would grow old together, celebrate their fiftieth and sixtieth anniversaries, and sit in matching rockers on the back porch.

She took a long swig of her tea, draining the glass.

None of that was going to happen now.

Ed reappeared. “Another?”

“No thanks.” She rifled through her purse and dropped some coins on the bar. “Irma said you wouldn’t mind if I plugged in my laptop once in a while. To charge the batteries. Is that okay?”

“You can charge my battery anytime!” Bugsy shouted.

“Hey!” Ed bellowed. “None of that, you mangy mutt. Or I’ll cut you off.”

Bugsy clamped his mustached mouth shut.

“You need electricity, you come see me,” Ed told her. “Tell Irma I’ll drop off more ice in the morning.”

She nodded, then stepped outside. Above her, the sun shone brightly, glaring off the pavement and anything metal, but the air still held a chill.

There wasn’t much activity in Hinton. Traffic was light, only a few cars. The Sobeys grocery store was right across the street, down a block, so she decided to leave the Mercedes in the pub parking lot. The walk would do her good.

She strolled across the street in no hurry, enjoying the quiet, when a childish laugh made her look over her shoulder. A group of teens walked toward her, the girls giggling, while the boys tried to look cool. One young man—a punked-out kid with black and violet streaked hair—walked with a swagger that would’ve put John Travolta to shame. His arm was thrown over the shoulders of an anorexic blond waif who looked destined for a stint at a rehab center.

“You gotta problem, lady?” the boy asked as they passed by.

“No,” she mumbled, wondering if Sam would’ve talked like that.

She hurried into Sobeys.

Half an hour later, she headed back to the car with four bags of groceries and a bag from the nearby liquor store. Setting them on the ground, she unlocked the passenger door and maneuvered the bags onto the seat and floor.