William Krueger - Northwest Angle

Mal said to Cork, “You got this covered?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. I’m inside if you need me.”

Mal left the dock to Cork and his daughter.

Cork stood looking out at the lake. It was early afternoon, hot and windy. Gulls rose and spun and dove above the channel, as if dodging the silver bullets of sunlight that shot from the waves. Everything appeared normal. The destruction that had been visited on so much of the lake had missed the islands nearest the Angle. Although he knew it wasn’t so, Cork felt as if a great deal of time had passed between the storm and this current moment. Changes unforeseen and momentous had occurred. And, once again, he was reminded that life was no more predictable than the flight of a dragonfly.

“Do you think they’re watching?” Jenny asked.

“I hope so,” Cork said.

She was quiet. Then she turned her face up to him. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“It’ll work,” he said, although the truth was that nothing was certain. “Are you scared?”

“No. Well, yes, but not for me.”

He understood what she meant, even though he wasn’t comfortable with it. He was a father, and his fear—he could feel the worm of it in his stomach—was for Jenny, not for himself. In her own mind, Jenny was a mother, and her concern was for her child, a concern that put her in terrible danger. And placed the rest of his children in jeopardy as well, though Cork wouldn’t say that to her. Decisions had been made, and they’d all agreed, and now they needed to be together in their intent and their actions.

He went back to watching the lake, to looking at the wall of vegetation across the channel on Birch Island for any sign that someone there was keeping them under surveillance. It was probably too much to hope for the flash of sunlight off the lenses of field glasses, but if it was there, he didn’t want to miss it.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you think this is crazy.”

He glanced down at her as she cradled the baby, and he didn’t have to ask what she meant. “Children are important,” he said. “That’s one of the reasons I took you out to see the pictographs. I sensed that it was an issue between you and Aaron. I haven’t had a chance to get to know him. I imagine he’s a fine man in a lot of ways, but I get the feeling that being a father isn’t big on his agenda. I wanted to let you know that I was on your side. I want you to have children. I just didn’t figure it would be this way.” He looked at the unsettled surface of the lake and heard himself sigh. “We’ve all suffered a lot of loss. You especially. It makes a certain sense to me, how you feel about this baby. And who knows? Maybe it would be good to have a strong breath of life come back into our family.”

“He’s not really family,” she said. “I’ll have to give him up eventually.”

And that, too, had been a part of his objection all along. Even if they all got out of this okay, Jenny, in the end, would be hurt. And her hurt would be his, because that’s what it was to be a parent. Still, he had to admit that it felt strangely right, the child there in Jenny’s arms. And from the way the baby’s dark eyes so often held on her face and his little mouth formed the odd-shaped smile when she spoke to him, it was clear to anyone with half a brain that something powerful bound these two.

She touched his nose with the tip of her finger, and he responded with a sound that seemed to Cork damn near a giggle. “I’ve been imagining what it would be like if somehow I was able to keep him,” she went on.

Cork shifted the rifle, cradling it in his arms in much the way Jenny held the baby in hers. “And how would that work?”

“Aaron wouldn’t want to be a part of it,” she said.

“Maybe we both underestimate him.”

“I don’t think so.” She glanced up at the sky, where clouds hurried across the immense blue in a race without apparent purpose, then she looked at Cork. “I remember a long time ago, when you and Mom were having that really bad patch in your marriage.”

“I wish you didn’t remember that,” he said.

“No, it’s a good thing. What I remember is how, through all that hard time, I never felt that you’d leave us. I knew that, no matter what, you’d always be there. I don’t feel that way about Aaron. I don’t trust him.”

“Okay, if Aaron is out of the picture, what do you imagine with the little guy?”

Her eyes skated away from Cork’s face, as if she was a little embarrassed by what she was about to say. “When I imagine raising him, I imagine it in the house in Aurora. I see him growing up on Gooseberry Lane, just like I did.”

“It was a good place to grow up. I ought to know. I grew up there, too.”

“It’s silly,” she said. “It’s crazy. Impossible.”

Cork said, “In my fifty-two years on this earth, the one thing I’ve learned absolutely is that nothing is impossible, Jenny. Especially where love is involved.”

“Maybe so,” she said. “But my life has taught me that you should always be prepared to have your heart broken.”

Probably wise, Cork thought, though he didn’t say so.

Bascombe returned first. Kretsch wasn’t far behind him in his own boat, and then Stephen and Aaron, in a rented launch. One after the other, they eased up to the dock and Cork helped them tie up. When they’d all disembarked, they headed with Jenny and the baby to Bascombe’s lodge, where Mal and Rose and Anne were waiting.

“Any trouble?” Mal asked.

“Nope,” Bascombe said. “And plenty of folks know about the extra boats, so word’ll spread quick.”

Cork shot a glance at the clock on the wall. It was set into a polished piece of driftwood.

“How long should we wait?” he asked.

Bascombe said, “Give it another hour. If they’re watching and keeping their ears to the ground, they’ll know by then.”

“I wish to God I knew who ‘they’ was,” Kretsch said.

Cork lifted a hand, as if volunteering. “That’s something I intend to find out when Jenny and the baby are safe.”

“You’re not a cop anymore, Dad,” Anne reminded him.

Cork replied coldly, “This is personal.”

“I’m with you on that,” Kretsch said.

“Me, too,” Bascombe threw in with a thumbs-up. “I haven’t had this much excitement since I left ATF.”

Rose looked unhappy at that. “Seth, this isn’t a game or some kind of military exercise.”

“Sorry,” he said, clearly chagrined. “Didn’t mean it that way.”

“We ought to eat,” Rose suggested. “For some of you, it’ll be quite a while before your next meal.”

“I’ll help,” Anne volunteered.

“And the rest of us still have things to do,” Cork said.

They all stood up, separated, and headed to their duties.

At four o’clock, Mal’s plan was set in motion.

They gathered around the table of the lodge. From a back room, Bascombe brought a large, red plastic ice chest. He’d softened the bottom with a pillow and folded blankets. He held it out toward Jenny.

“Think this’ll do?” he asked.

Jenny pressed the blankets, felt the softness of the pillow beneath, and smiled. “It’s fine, Seth. Thank you.”

She’d changed her clothes. She wore jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. Anne was now the one dressed in the purple Vikings jersey and green capris and crowned with the bright red ball cap. She did a little turn for everyone. “How do I look?”

Jenny saw her father nod seriously. “If you keep your back to the lake and the brim of that cap pulled down low over your face, even if they have binoculars, you ought to fool them, kiddo. Good job.”

Bascombe said, “I still think we ought to use my boat.”