Authors: Peter Geye
“How are you? How was the trip home?”
“I’m fine. The necklace is beautiful. Thank you. Whatever possessed you?”
“Sheepishness, I guess.”
“I mean it. It’s beautiful. I’m wearing it now.” She paused, he could picture her caressing the glassy stone around her neck. “How’s your father?”
“We’re a stopover for damsels in distress now. Solveig came yesterday, the two of them are off somewhere.”
“How is she?”
“A complete wreck. So is my dad. It’s like he’s worse for her company.”
“I’m sure it’s hard for both of them.”
“Anyway, I don’t get it.”
Natalie took an audible breath. “I missed you this morning. It’s not the same around here without you.” She filled him in on several details. Her travel plans for the week. A conversation she’d had with Ed about the shop. He was fine. She was going to go to her parents’ house to watch the Patriots on
Monday Night Football
after work. “But no beer for this one,” she said. “I really feel like I’m pregnant.”
“It was just yesterday, Nat.”
“I don’t mean physically feel, I mean I have a
feeling
.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“When are you coming home?”
“I didn’t tell you this, but the day you got here, my father asked me to bury him in the lake when he dies.”
“What do you mean, bury him in the lake?”
He replayed the conversation in the shed. He described as well as he could the anchor his father was fashioning from the barrel. “And he told me about the wreck, most of it anyway.”
“About his ship? What did he say?”
“It would take me all day to tell you everything.”
“Tell me
something
.”
“Let’s just say I’m wiser now. Still, I have no idea what to do with him, no idea at all. No idea when I’ll be home, that’s what I was getting at.”
“Well, I talked to Ed this morning, and he’s fine. Completely fine. He might not want you to come home, the way he tells it.” She paused. “Take as long as you need, Noah. I’m fine here, and I know you need to be with your father now. Just keep me posted. And say hello to Solveig.”
“I will,” Noah said. He felt light. “I’ll call you when I know anything.”
H
E HADN’T NOTICED
, standing outside the Landing talking to Nat, but by the time he got back to the cabin the day had become frigid. Ice had formed along the edges of the shallow pools atop the splitting stumps. Solveig’s car was still gone. Vikar lay curled atop the steps, the stink of his wet coat noticeable as Noah stepped over him. Only the dog’s eyes moved to check Noah.
He ate the rest of the smoked salmon and stale crackers for an early dinner and lay sprawled on the sofa afterward, the walls and all they held becoming familiar now. He thought of grabbing a book from one of the shelves but fell asleep instead. He woke much later to darkness and the sound of Olaf and Solveig returning.
When they came inside—his father first, held at the elbow by Solveig, the old man swaddled in full winter wear again—Noah sat up to meet them. Olaf looked at Noah with blank eyes. Solveig appeared drained, her eyes swollen, her face splotchy.
“Where have you been?” Noah asked. “I’ve been worried.”
Solveig helped Olaf out of his coat, she led him to the chair. “I left you a note,” she said.
“Where?” Noah looked under the magazines and mess on the table.
“I didn’t want to wake you this morning.”
Olaf sat down heavily.
“Are you all right?” Noah said.
Olaf looked at Solveig.
“We went to the hospital in Duluth. That’s where we’ve been, that’s why we’ve been gone so long.”
“You went to the hospital?” Noah asked his father.
Solveig spoke for Olaf. “We talked about it yesterday, Noah. While you were outside, I guess.” Solveig had found the note under the table. She handed it to Noah. “Don’t be mad.”
Noah read,
Took Dad to St. Mary’s. Be gone all day. Wanted to tell you but he wouldn’t let me. Sorry. Love, Sol.
He read the note again, folded it, put it in his shirt pocket. “Well?” he said, at a loss for words but suddenly filled with a kind of hope. “What did you find out?”
“Let’s get Dad to bed. We can talk later.”
“Good idea,” Olaf said, his first words since arriving. “I can get to bed myself.”
While Olaf tended to his dentures, Solveig took several small plastic bottles from a white paper bag. She sorted a half-dozen prescriptions. After Olaf stashed his teeth and poured himself a glass of water, he kissed Solveig good-night.
Solveig caught Olaf by the arm. “Take these, Dad,” she said.
Olaf looked at the pills in the palm of her hand. He took them from her and went into his bedroom.
“How did you . . . all those pills . . . he looked so . . .”
“Come sit over here,” she said, patting the couch. She straightened up, wiped her eyes dry with the heels of her hands.
“I’ll stand,” Noah said.
“Don’t be upset, Noah.”
“I’m not upset,” he assured her. “I just don’t understand how you got him to the hospital. What did they say?”
“They did tests. They took a lot of blood. They did a proctology exam and took tissue samples. X-rays. They wanted him to stay, naturally.”
“Of course he wouldn’t.”
“No.” She trembled visibly. “I’m so sorry we went without you. I wanted you to come, but Dad wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Don’t worry. Just tell me what they said.”
“The prescriptions, they’re mainly to help with pain. The doctor said he must have a lot of discomfort. The proctology exam showed advanced signs. She said the first test results would be ready on Wednesday. You’re to call her at noon.” She handed Noah the doctor’s business card. “She said she’d be surprised—very surprised, she said—if they don’t confirm what she suspects, that the cancer is beyond treatment, that it has probably spread to his liver and lungs, that it’s probably only a matter of time. She said he was a big, strong man. That doesn’t mean anything, but it doesn’t hurt.”
“How was Dad?” Noah motioned to the bedroom door.
“He hasn’t heard any of this. He told the doctor to tell me, said he didn’t want to know. I wish we hadn’t gone. I just thought maybe there was something they could do.” She began to tear up.
Noah sat down. “Hey, they gave you prescriptions for the pain, that’s something at least. It’s good you took him. He should have gone sooner. Listen, we knew, like you said. You seem surprised.”
“I’m not surprised, Noah. I’m sad. My father—our father—he’s dying. We should be sad. I should be allowed to cry.”
Noah put his arm around her shoulders.
Soon she gathered herself. She asked for a glass of water, which Noah poured and brought her. She drank it all at once. She wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt. “I only got him to go because he wanted to see the old house.”
“In Duluth? The house on High Street?”
She nodded. “We went first thing, before the hospital. We were sitting there idling in front of it. The man who lived there, who must have lived there, was cleaning his gutters. He was up on a ladder. Dad just stared out the window. God, it was weird. It looked the same, just exactly the same. I felt ten years old again.” She handed Noah the glass as if to ask for more water. Again he filled it and brought it to her.
“After five minutes Dad said, ‘Okay.’ Halfway to the hospital he said, just out of the blue he said, ‘A lot of times I couldn’t remember what our house looked like. Not lately, I mean when I was gone, out on the Lakes. I’d try to picture it but couldn’t. I should have taken that for a bad sign.’
“God, it was sad, Noah. I told him how I used to wait for him to get home. I’d sit in the window in the living room and watch the harbor entrance.”
“I’d do the same thing. Before the wreck.” Noah paused. “Maybe we were waiting for two different people.”
Solveig looked at him. “He loved us the same before and after. He just didn’t know how to feel about himself.”
“It’s not so simple,” Noah said.
“What’s not simple?”
“There’s a long list of things that aren’t simple about it.”
“Maybe. Anyway, I could use a drink.”
“There’s nothing here. Amazing but true.”
“It’s not amazing, Noah.”
“He told me about quitting. He should have had his epiphany about twenty years earlier. Things might have been different.” Even as he spoke he realized that the rancor was all but gone. “But better late than never, I guess.”
“That’s just what I was going to say.”
They talked long into the night and were exhausted in the end. At midnight they turned in, Noah to a sleep absent of rest.
“Y
OU BAKING A
pie?” Noah said, one eye closed, the other squinting at the dull shimmer of the kitchen light.
“You could say that,” Olaf said.
There were eight or ten Mason jars sitting on the kitchen counter, each fuzzy with freezer burn. Olaf had two more under his arm. He was already dressed.
“Seriously, what is all that?”
Olaf set the last jars on the counter. “This is for you and your sister.”
Noah had rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He stood and stretched. He yawned. He walked to the counter, picked up one of the jars, and held it to the light.
Olaf took it from him and put it back on the counter. “Wait until your sister gets up.”
Noah’s jeans hung on the chair. He hiked them on and sat back down. “Want to tell me about the trip to Duluth yesterday?”
Olaf rearranged the jars into neat rows on the counter. “Your sister didn’t tell you about it?”
“She told me some.”
“I went for her.”
“Those prescriptions they gave you, are they making any difference?”
“Will you grab that box and put it on the coffee table?” Olaf said, pointing at a wooden whiskey crate.
Noah picked it up and moved it to the table. “The prescriptions?”
“I didn’t take them.”
“Of course not.”
Olaf finally sat down on the sofa. “Solveig drove me by the old house,” he said.
“She told me.”
“It’s a nice house. Someone’s taking care of it.”
“I give up, Dad.”
“You give up?”
“The doctor, the prescriptions, everything.”
Olaf smiled. “You promise?”
Together they reminisced about the old house. Memories like photographs. Olaf told Noah about the night of his birth, Noah in turn about his forays into the old man’s office and how he’d pretend to be his father while the elder sailed the Great Lakes. After the sun rose Solveig emerged from her bedroom.
“What’s all this?” Solveig asked.
“Noah,” Olaf said, “there’s a box on the dresser in my room. Would you grab it for me?”
Noah did. He placed it before his father.
“This,” Olaf said, making a wide gesture that encompassed the room, the jars on the counter, the two boxes on the table, the house in general, “this stuff all belongs to you two. We have some business
to take care of.” He unscrewed a Mason jar. “This is your inheritance,” he said, pulling a block of frozen hundred-dollar bills from the jar. “Round about two hundred thousand dollars. You split it. On top of that, there’s another fifty grand, plus or minus, in the bank. This is all in a file marked ‘Lake Superior Savings and Loan.’ The bank is in Gunflint. You’re both on the account.”
“Jesus, Dad,” Noah said, looking at Solveig, whose face was frozen in shock. “That’s an awful lot of cash to have in the freezer.”
Olaf nodded as if in agreement. “A lifetime of savings,” he said. “I don’t know how it works in terms of claiming the inheritance—tax-wise, I mean—but you two can figure it out. You’re both beneficiaries on a small life insurance policy, too. By small I mean small, probably not worth a bag of bread crumbs.” He furnished another file marked “Life Insurance Policy.”
“Aside from the cash, all I have is the house and the land. People say property values up here are booming, but I have no idea what it’s worth. Anyway, don’t sell it. Your grandpa built this house and it belongs in the family.”
“Slow down a minute,” Noah said. He stood up, looked at the Mason jars lining the counter. He counted them. There were ten. “Hold on.”
“Dad,” Solveig said, her voice uncertain, “this is all very surprising.”
Olaf looked back and forth between them. “What? I’m executing my will. This is something we have to do. Bear up, will you?”
Solveig buried her face in her hands. Noah stood in the middle of the room, equidistant from the two of them. He felt his pulse quickening.
“Sit down, would you, Noah? And stop moping, Solveig. You’ve moped enough, there’s no need for it.”
Solveig persisted. Noah could not move.
“Please,” Olaf said without kindness, “sit down.”
Noah stepped to the chair and sat down beside Solveig.
Olaf cleared his throat. “Listen, you two, there are things you need to know about. Business, all right?” Without waiting for a reply he continued, “This is the deed for the house. Taxes are paid through next year. They were twenty-eight hundred dollars this year. I’m putting all this information in a file labeled ‘Estate.’ ” He held up a brown accordion file, then tied it shut.
“The rest of this stuff is all yours.” He removed from the box something wrapped in newspaper. He tore it away. It was a ski jumping trophy. “
CLASS FIVE, FIRST PLACE
, 1966,” he read from the engraved brass plate. “
CLOQUET SKI CLUB JUNIOR INVITATIONAL
.”
It was, Noah remembered, the first trophy he’d ever won. A brass-plated ski jumper in flight sat on a white marble base. He took it from his father. “I remember this. I remember the day. Before I got the trophy you told me I had to shake the man’s hand.”
“There’s a box of these things out in the shed. I pulled this one. I remembered it, too.” He searched the box for a red folder. “This is yours,” he said to Solveig, handing her the folder. Inside was a Chopin score with a pink ribbon stapled to it.
She clearly recognized it.
“You were a freshman in high school,” Olaf said. “Nineteen seventy-nine, third prize at the city competition. I loved to listen to you play.”
He presented each of them with relics of their youth. Old report cards and school projects, acceptance letters to colleges, pictures of prom dates, newspaper articles from the
Herald
about ski jumping tournaments, piano recitals, commendations for planting trees on Arbor Day. The right person might have fashioned a biography for either of them
from the miscellany that now sat spread out on the coffee table. By the time he’d finished unpacking the folders and boxes, his energy was flagging. He had one box left.