Giles Blunt - Forty Words for Sorrow

"You mean Steve? Steve was from Stratford, dear."

"No, no. I'm talking about someone else altogether. I'm talking about a different boy."

"Well, the one with the mismatched sneakers was Steve, and he was from Stratford. You know my memory's better than yours. It always has been."

"I guess that's true. I guess your memory was always better than mine."

Once in Algonquin Bay, Cardinal had been at the scene where a gas line had exploded, removing the whole front of an apartment building and collapsing three floors. Husbands and wives had drifted through the smoke and ashes like souls in purgatory. Now, their family having been exploded by grief, Mr. and Mrs. Curry were trying to recognize each other through the smoke and ashes.

"Did Todd have any other reason to stop at Algonquin Bay that you know of?"

"No. None. Boyish curiosity. Maybe someone he met on the train. Todd's an impulsive boy. Was." Mrs. Curry's hand drifted up to her mouth as if it would push the past tense back. Her face was a picture of confusion.

Then Mr. Curry was at her side, his arm around her shoulder. "There, there, girl," he said in a low voice. "Why don't you come sit down on the couch?"

"I can't sit down. I haven't even offered them any tea. Would you like some tea?"

"No, thanks," Delorme said gently. "Mrs. Curry, we know Todd got into trouble with drugs at least once. Do you remember anything to do with drugs- maybe a name that came out in his court hearing- that might have led him to Algonquin Bay?"

"Todd was over his drug problem. He didn't use drugs anymore. There, I said it: was, didn't- they're just words, aren't they." She managed a ghastly smile. "Are you sure you won't have some tea? It's no trouble."

It was a new art form for Delorme, picking shards of fact from the exposed hearts of the bereaved. She looked to Cardinal for help, but he said nothing. He thought, Get used to it.

"I didn't know Todd at all, Mrs. Curry, but- well, let me put it another way, I mean- the thing is…" Delorme bit her lip, then said, "You know. A cup of tea would be very nice. Can I help you make it?"

Cardinal said to the father, "You mind if I look at Todd's room, meanwhile?"

"What? Todd's room?" Mr. Curry scratched the top of his head. In another context, the cartoonlike gesture would have been comical. He gave a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry. I just don't know how to act. Todd's room, yes, that makes sense I guess. You need to know more about him, yes, I can see how you do. All right, you go ahead, Detective, you do your work and don't let me get in your way."

"It's this way?"

"Oh. Yes. Sorry. Second on the right. Well, I'll show you." He led Cardinal down a short hall. There were two bedrooms on the left, closets on the right, bathroom at the end; that was the whole apartment. Mr. Curry opened the door and gestured for Cardinal to enter, then stood leaning against the door frame, as if his son's bedroom were located on an exalted plane he was not worthy to enter. His eyes flicked nervously back and forth, death having infused the most mundane objects- the half-deflated basketball in the corner, a broken skateboard on a shelf- with the power to utterly undo him in front of this intruder.

"Mr. Curry, you don't have to watch, if you don't want."

"I'm all right, Detective. You just go ahead and do what you have to do."

Cardinal stood in the middle of the room and said nothing, just absorbed the relationships of various objects. There was an elaborate boom box on top of the dresser and small towers of tapes. Posters of pop stars were tacked to the wall: Backstreet Boys, Tupac Shakur, Puff Daddy. There was a small desk, the surface of which was a map of the world. A small Macintosh computer sat on top of Africa. Bookshelves were neatly fitted into either end of the desk. Cardinal was certain Mr. Curry had built them. He ran his hand along the edge of Antarctica. "Nice desk," he said, and knelt to examine Todd's books.

"Yes, I built that. It was easy really. Still, you know, a project like that takes more than a few hours. Todd hated it, of course."

"Oh, they're hard to please, teenagers."

"Todd and I didn't get along very well, that's the truth of it. I didn't know how to handle him, I guess. Tried being lenient, tried being tough. Nothing seemed to work. Now, I just wish he was here."

"I'm sure the two of you would have made it up," Cardinal said. "Most families do." The titles on the shelves: Treasure Island, Catcher in the Rye, several Hardy Boys installments, all dusty. The rest of Todd's library consisted of science fiction paperbacks with garish covers. He was tempted to tell Mr. Curry about his own daughter, how in her teens she used to tell him regularly she hated him and now they got along just great. Wrong tack to take, though.

"Todd and I won't ever get the chance to make it up, now. That's the terrible thing." Mr. Curry took a sudden step into the room, pushed by the urgency of his thought. His grip on Cardinal's forearm felt like a claw. "Detective, whatever you do in this world, don't postpone your life. Anything important that you keep putting off? Anything you keep telling yourself you'll just wait for the right moment? I mean, anything important you've been meaning to tell some loved one, or anyone- don't put it off, you hear me? Don't postpone your life. Say the words, whatever they are. Do the thing, whatever it is. All that stuff you hear on the news- I don't care if it's tornadoes or the so-called Windigo Killer- any kind of disaster, you never think it applies. But the fact of the matter is, you never know. You never know when people are just going to get up and go out that door and never come back. You just don't know. I'm sorry. This is terrible. I'm babbling."

"You're just fine, Mr. Curry."

"I'm not. I don't have much experience with this kind of thing," he said, then added as if pleading a handicap, "I'm in reinsurance."

"Tell me, Mr. Curry, did Todd use that machine a lot?" Cardinal pointed at the Macintosh. There were software manuals and video games piled under the desk, and he had noticed the line connecting the computer to a phone jack in the wall.

"Todd wasn't a hacker, if that's what you mean. He used it for homework, mostly. When he did his homework. Thing's a mystery to me. We use IBMs where I work."

Cardinal opened the closet and looked at the clothes. There was one suit, one blazer, two pairs of dress pants, not the things a boy like Todd would wear often. On the shelf above, there were stacks of board games: Monopoly, Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit.

In the dresser, Cardinal found- besides the usual torn jeans and ripped T-shirts- a tangle of copper and tin bracelets, bits of chain, studded leather collars and cuffs. It didn't mean anything; a lot of kids wore them now.

"My wife's in pieces," Mr. Curry said. He had retreated to the doorway again. "That's the worst thing. It's hard to see someone you love in so much pain and not be able to-" He had spoken of grief, and now, like a demon hearing its name, it burst its bonds and pounced, possessing him utterly. Mr. Curry was transformed from robust father into a pale, crooked figure shrinking in a doorway, crying.

Cardinal didn't ignore him, exactly, but he didn't say anything, either. He looked at him briefly, then looked away out the window at the high-rise next door. From the parking lot between them came the mechanical hysteria of a car alarm. In the distance, Toronto's CN Tower glittered in the morning sun.

After a few minutes, the sobbing behind him eased, and he handed Mr. Curry a twenty-cent pack of Kleenex he had bought at the Pharma-City on Queensway. He opened Todd's dresser drawers one by one, feeling the undersides.

"Sorry about the wailing. Must feel like you've walked into a soap opera."

"No, Mr. Curry. It doesn't feel like that at all."