Dead Reflections (23 page)

“Just sit tight while I give Mommy a quick call.” I gave Lenny a glass of chocolate milk and a cookie to occupy him. Honey stayed close to us, her big golden eyes wary as she, no doubt, picked up on our emotions. I plucked the receiver from the wall phone and punched in Jennifer’s cell phone number. A crack of lightning filled the house with an unnatural brilliance, followed by an ear-splitting cough of thunder that shook the cabin. Lenny dropped his glass of milk. The glass shattered on the floor, sending liquid and bits of glass in all directions. Honey barked, frantic.

“Daddy!”

“It’s okay, it’s all right, Len. I’m here,” I squeezed the receiver between my chin and shoulder as he ran to me. I scooped him up. “I’ll clean it up. It’s no big deal. It’s just thunder, scout. It can’t hurt you. It’s just a big noise. It’s just warm air and cool air coming together and—” I happened glance through our kitchen window at that moment, at a heavy bank of cloud rushing past. For a moment, just a terrifying moment, I’d swear I saw an unearthly face regarding me in the clouds, a part of the clouds themselves—this expression of intensity in the form of expanding cobalt eyes, a drawn out mouth of agony, a growing expression of horror. Then it was gone, as quickly as it had happened. The phone rang twice, three times, five times…

“Pick up, Jen,” I mumbled. Len gripped me, his small arms too tight around my neck and throat. Then I heard her cell phone connect, followed by her voice and a flood of relief swept through me. My wife and daughter were okay.

“Where are you both now?” I asked.

“We left Kingston fifteen minutes ago. We’ll hit Westport in another twenty. Quite the system that’s blowing in.”

“It’s forceful,” I said. “Be cautious driving with this wind and rain. Take your time. Stop somewhere, if you have to do it. Listen to the radio reports.”

She laughed, her infectious laugh that, sadly, failed to relieve me right now. “Sweetie, you worry too much. I’m a big girl. I’ve driven in a lot of storms over the years, the winter ones much worse than this. We’ll be fine. I’ll take my time. We may not get home until four-thirty or closer to five.”

“That’s okay,” I cut in. Our reception started to break up, turning her words into fragmented pieces that made little sense. “I’m losing reception!” I yelled into the phone and felt Lenny grip me tighter. “Len, you’re choking Daddy. Jen?”

Our line went dead. This could happen in the city, or within loops of hills in the country where signals became weak or nonexistent. I held the receiver to my ear and heard the solemnity of silence from the other end. Lightning flared overhead as the day darkened to the point of midnight and wind screamed around the cabin, hurling torn leaves, branches, bits of dead grass, wayward paper past the windows. Then, a huge crack that shook me to my core so deeply that I felt a buzzing inside my teeth. The receiver hummed in my hand. I dropped it as if it were hot. Lenny and I watched the telephone receiver dangle, oscillating back and forth like a pendulum from its cord, counting off the seconds as day turned to night and calm to turmoil.

“She can’t try to drive in this,” I thought aloud, then shut my mouth as I realized that Lenny would internalize everything I said.

“Is Mommy okay?”

“They’re fine, son. They’re on their way home.” They had thirty-five or more kilometers to travel, depending upon which route Jennifer chose to take. She could come up Highway 10 straight to Westport and cut through Sydenham, or she might go further west before heading north to Random Lake. All of it cottage country, all of it surrounded by water that would feed the storm, so much of it over bridges and through dips and hills. Then the power went out, shoving us into darkness, other than from lightening. Honey began to pace from room to room, moaning, frightened.

“Daddy,” Lenny cried.

“I’ll find our flashlights and lanterns,” I said. “You come help me, bud.”

We went through the cabin to the small storage closet in our bedroom where we kept emergency gear like candles, batteries, and such. I carried two glass candleholders with me into the kitchen, then went back to retrieve a flashlight and a small, battery-charged transistor radio. I plugged the radio in, lit the two candles, and Lenny and I sat down at the kitchen table, the room’s sliding patio doors overlooking our verandah and the lake, to listen for updates to the weather report. One came on within minutes.

A series of strong storm cells is currently making its way across the Great Lakes region and into Eastern Ontario. A severe thunderstorm warning is being advised. Areas currently being hit are—

Another flash of lightning. I happened to glance out at the lake, my mind drifting a little as I listened to the report, Lenny nestled into my lap, when I saw an image of Jennifer superimposed in the glass of our patio doors. It was a strange kind of image, one that lasted mere seconds in the flash, but which continued to show itself as an aftereffect upon my retinas. She’d been smiling and walking towards me, her hands extended out, her hair blowing in the wind. The image of Jennifer blinked out. Wishful thinking on my part, I reasoned. I just wanted them home.

This was followed by a series of resounding crashes as thunder broke directly over us. Lightning illuminated the sky again, highlighting the boiling clouds and I watched with horror as it hit an ancient maple across the shore from us, splitting the trunk and sending a volley of sparks up into the air. A cacophony of splintering wood, followed by a resounding shudder as half the tree fell to the ground, shook the house. Lenny screamed and clung to me. I felt my heart crawl up into my throat and my mouth came open in stupefied awe at the fury of the storm. I thought of the face I’d imagined seeing in the clouds just minutes ago, a malevolent face that had swept past, the heart of the storm. Honey took her position beneath the kitchen table, whining and shaking at my feet. I reached down with a trembling hand and gave her a weak pat. At this moment, I didn’t feel any more confident than my son or our dog, but I needed to be in control. The idea that Jennifer and Tia were out in this, fully into the lake region now, made me feel sick. On impulse, I found my cell phone on a nearby cabinet and tried her number again. It rang, endlessly.

“Come on…pick up,” I begged. My mind imagined everything in the next few seconds. A car crash, a plunge into a lake, hydroplaning into an opposite lane, a thick tree limb crashing down at the wrong moment…

The line picked up at the other end and I heard Jennifer’s voice. “Hello?”

“Hon? Are you both okay? Lenny and I just watched lightning ruin a large tree across from us. I’d rather you both pull over somewhere and wait this thing out.”

The line sounded odd, almost tenuous, the way a telephone connection can sound when calling somewhere to the other side of the world.

“I’m just fine,” she said, her voice light and airy. She didn’t sound the least bit phased.

“How’s Tia doing?”

A pause. I heard wind in the background then, a low, moaning wind that suggested they either had their windows open, or that the gale force was picking up around them. Then the wind screamed and through it, Tia’s voice came to me. “Daddy…daddy!” I heard Jennifer begin to sing to her, the way she had when Tia and Lenny had been babies and needed comforting, a kind of crooning lullaby with vaporous tones. Hush little baby, don’t you cry, Mama’s gonna sing you a lullaby…

“Tia?” My voice, urgent. Lenny looked up at me, his big brown eyes stark and full of question. “Jennifer?” Nothing. The connection had simply evaporated again, like mist sucked out by a cross-breeze. Terror seized me. I knew, instinctively, that something was wrong. Perhaps they’d encountered some kind of trouble and Jennifer was doing her best to remain calm and keep Tia mollified, but it wasn’t like her to make light of something with me. I’d been married to her for twelve years and I knew every nuance of this woman. I sensed a change in something for which I could not quite pinpoint, and this feeling bothered me more than the storm itself. I sensed she was riding it out, even though she knew she shouldn’t, determined to get home and be with us. I tried her number again and this time the phone rang without response. Frustrated, I clapped the phone shut and hurled it onto the counter.

“Where’s Mommy and Tia?” Lenny pressed.

“On their way home,” I said. “They should be home soon.” I glared at the clouds boiling past the window, the endless roiling of black condensation, the fury on the lake producing five-foot wave swells that moved docks around with the ease of a child slapping bath toys back and forth. Our stove clock read four-thirty PM. Soon it slipped into five PM, then five forty-six PM. I tried her number again, frantic, debating whether or not I should dial the local police and have a cruiser search for them. What might they find? What if they didn’t find anything and my family still didn’t come home? I wanted my wife and daughter here with me, safe, warm, dry, where we could sit and wait this thing out together. Desperate, I turned to the radio again, Lenny clinging to me like a young orangutan to its mother.

…tornado touched down just south of Westport. We’re awaiting damage reports at this time, but key witnesses say they saw an unusual funnel cloud move over Lake Echo, sucking up water before crossing land through forest and distant roadways. Police are advising travelers to postpone all travel through the Leeds and Thousand Island Region…

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “Oh my God, where are my girls?” I felt tears sting my eyes. I rationalized. I’d just spoken to them only minutes ago, and although I’d heard terror in Tia’s voice, she’d been alive and, thus, all right. She and Jen had been fine, Jen singing to Tia, trying to keep her calm inside the car. I ran for the phone and dialed the local Ontario Provincial Police precinct to try and gain more details about exactly where the tornado had landed. I got a dispatcher who asked me if I had a personal emergency at that time. I couldn’t think of a worse scenario than this.

“I don’t know where my wife and daughter are!” I yelled into the phone. “I was just talking to them minutes ago and our line got cut off. My daughter sounded frightened. They’re out on the roads, trying to come home. Where did the tornado touch down?”

“Calm down, sir. Your wife and daughter are most likely just fine and have probably pulled over to find shelter in a local business or otherwise. The tornado passed over Wolf Lake near Westport and into the northern section of Highway 10 before entering a section of woodlands. A few cars are off the highway, but our cruisers and other emergency personnel are just arriving now. We’re awaiting word on whether or not there have been any casualties. In the meantime, sir, try to stay calm. I’m sure everything will be fine with your family.”

“How can you be sure? How can I stay calm when I don’t know where they are?” I bellowed. Lenny began to cry. For a second, just a fleeting second, I thought I heard Jennifer’s voice singing again somewhere along the telephone wire…hush little baby, don’t you cry… It faded as soon as it began.

“Sir, if you’d like to check in with us in the next little while, perhaps we’ll have further details for you, but at this time, unless you’re experiencing a direct emergency yourself at this time, there isn’t much more I can do. I can assure you that we and other emergency crews are doing all we can.”

I felt my head drop so that my chin rested against the top of Lenny’s head. “I understand,” I said, although my gut screamed ‘No, you don’t! Nothing makes sense!’ I hung up and shut my eyes. “They’ll be all right,” I murmured. “They’ll be home any time now.” Honey began to moan beneath the table; she howled a melancholy note until I snapped at her to be quiet. Still, she growled, her nose tucked under her tail, her eyes alert to the room around her.

* * *

A knock on a front door during a time of duress has to be one of the most heartwarming and terrifying moments in a person’s life. On the one hand, you hope it is your loved ones, a neighbor, a friend, a helpful Samaritan offering blankets or some other form of aid. You don’t want to see a police officer at your door. The knock came at 6:01 PM. The worst of the storm had passed with pockets of blue sky beginning to show in the west. The lake had calmed down and the broken chunk of tree swelled softly up and down in diminished waves.

There were two of them standing on the step in their crisp, dark blue uniforms, their hats forming dark shadows over their faces, one young officer in his twenties, the other somewhat older like myself, in his mid-to-late thirties. From the expressions on their faces, I knew that things weren’t going to be all right. Lenny had fallen asleep on the sofa in the parlor, his favorite blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his thumb in his mouth. His sandbox lay filled with water in the distance, its toy trucks and cars half submerged in filth.

“Mr. Stirling?”

I swallowed hard. My Adam’s apple stuck in my throat like a lump of hard, dry bread.

“Yes?”

“Can we come in sir? We need to speak with you. Are you the husband of Jennifer Stirling of civic number 21117?”

“Where’s my wife and daughter?” I felt weakness begin somewhere in the ankles and move up into my knees, rendering my ability to stand almost obsolete. Somehow, we floated into the house and up into the kitchen where I took a seat at the kitchen table where Lenny and I had spent the bulk of the late afternoon, watching the storm move through.

“Your daughter, Tia, is in a hospital,” the older officer told me gently. Both had removed their hats and their faces were full of reserved empathy. I saw it in their eyes, the unspoken words that any spouse and father dreads to hear and which only come to him in his worst nightmares, or as the aftereffects of a particularly nasty storm front. I thought of the face in the clouds, the vehemence of the system, its mercilessness.

“She’s in serious, but stable, condition and has been airlifted to hospital with a broken hip, a broken arm, and numerous lacerations. She’s asking for you. She keeps saying your name. Their car…met the tornado almost head-on on Highway 10 and your wife tried to turn back. Witnesses, whose cabins were, miraculously, spared on the opposite side of the highway…who understands how these things work…said she did her best to outrun it, but it lifted them and hurled them over an embankment. Your wife died instantly upon impact. We are so sorry to have to bring you this terrible news. Mr. Stirling?”