Saltwater Cowboys (21 page)

“How will he get past security?”

“We move it the same way, slowly, over a longer period of time. That way we'll always have a supply — our very own private pot o' gold,” Peter said and laughed.

Jack raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“We've been getting hundreds of dollars for the stuff we can pull from the muck machine. We'll rake in thousands more for the refined gold we can snitch from the mill.”

“Is your friend trustworthy?”

“He's greedy. Greed is predictable. He'll keep a bit for himself, no doubt. But he won't want to cross the cowboys.”

Jack nodded. “Who is he?”

“A miner from Thompson, Manitoba. He's not married. Johnson.”

“Malcolm?”

Peter nodded.

Jack had met him once at the Chinook Tavern. He had a short temper and stuttered. He drank his weight in beer almost every evening.

“You sure about this guy?” Jack asked.

“Trust me. In a few short months we'll be living the high life.”

J
ack had gotten up early on a Saturday morning to take the girls to the pond beyond Peace River to teach them how to fish for pickerel and northern pike. Angela had the day to herself. She'd call her mother, relax, and do some baking. She'd try to form a plan to make this all stop before it was too late.

She was tired, though, and not thinking straight. So she'd relax today, put her feet up, and wait. She'd wait to see what would happen. As she settled in with a cup of tea, Lily asleep for a few good hours in her crib, she heard a clipped knock at the front door.

She opened to see Wanda, her chin jutted forward proudly on the front doorstep. She invited Wanda in for a cup of tea. “I can't stay long,” Wanda said.

Angela held the door open but Wanda did not come in.

“About that Olive,” Wanda said.

Angela tilted her head to the side.

“She's not one of us, and if we are going to make it on the mainland we'd need to stay away from families like that.”

“Make it on the mainland? What are you on about, woman? We've got food, clothes, and shelter,” Angela said.

“We can have much more than stylish homes — we can have
position
if we associate with the right people.”

“I can't believe this is coming from your mouth,” Angela said.

“A year — six months — ago, Peter's windfall would have bothered me,” Wanda said.

Angela held the door open wider and Wanda finally came in. They settled on the sofa, a pot of tea on the coffee table. Angela folded Jack's undershirts while Wanda nursed Susie.

“My husband — with god only knows how much money,” Wanda sighed and wiped dribble from Susie's cheeks. The pale milk quickly dried and Wanda searched for some place to wipe her starchy hands. “At this point, I hate to admit it,” she said and wiped her nose with her palm, “but I don't care where the money came from.”

“They are up to something illegal.”

“And so what?”

“Wanda, think of what you're saying,” Angela said and turned to face her.

“I'm sick of living here, Angela. I'm sick of the dirt road, of people walking all over us as if we were filth. I'm tired of being made fun of; I'm tired of worrying and working at that store. You'd feel the same way if it were offered to you, don't tell me you wouldn't. You would jump at the chance to live well here, with the hope of someday going back home with enough to retire on.”

“I'm fighting with him almost every day. I want no part of this,” Angela said.

“Suit yourself,” Wanda said, “but I'm going to surround myself with the right kind of people, for our children's benefit if nothing else. The realtor from Calgary was over last night. He will help Peter with our cash from now on, put it in an account, and make it look legal.”

The pond was north of the civic centre, on the way to the town dump. The shoreline was charming and colourful, dotted with evergreens and pale, chunky rocks. The water was a cool navy blue — almost black — and as still as the night sky. Glimmers of sunlight on the surface were white and small as stars. The north side of the pond's unbroken surface was visible in one glance, and the scent of smoke from a summer forest fire was thick in the air.

Jack and Peter sat on tree stumps — Peter's large, strong stump supported his girth with ease, while Jack's stump, delicate with rot, flaked under his weight. Both of their fishing rods were in the dirt beside them. The children played at the shoreline with their feet in the water.

Peter reached into the bait can and wrested a fat pink worm free from the curling clump. He pierced it on his sharp hook with all the thoughtlessness and ease of a woman putting on her favourite earring. Jack looked into the can of worms and gulped, grabbed one with a shaking hand, and held it in front of his face. He hated killing them. He hated fishing. But Peter had made plans.

“Remember that fish I caught that summer we was fifteen?” Peter said.

Jack nodded.

“That was some fish, what was she? Five feet?”

Jack smiled as he undid the line that had gotten wound up in his loose shoelace.

“I was a big fish in a little pond back then, wah?”

“We all were. These ponds and rivers are after swallowin' us up,” Jack said.

“Not to mention the
lake
,” Peter said and laughed as he cast his line. “A river plows everything in its path, the ocean, she carries sand all day long, and she works hard. But a lake? She's steady and still on the surface, but tangled up and dirty underneath. You wouldn't want to spend too much time knee deep in a
lake
, eh?” Peter said and laughed again.

“What foolishness are you on about?”

“Your dip in the lake. I should say your dip in Bobbi Lake,” Peter said and winked.

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew. I don't blame you. But watch out for her, though, she's a pretty one, but nothing but pure slag is all she is. One of the boys at work knew her from Thunder Bay. She causes nothing but trouble for the married men she has a go at.”

Jack reddened and rammed the worm's head clear through his rusted hook. He shuddered as it dangled and twirled in front of him. Peter laughed as Jack shifted. Rust-coloured bits of tree stump had gathered on his ankles.

“'Bout the size of what you offered Bobbi?” he said, pointing to the worm as he whacked Jack on the inner thigh with his free hand. Peter reeled in his line as a trout flopped from his hook. It was his fifth fish of the day. He grinned, satisfied by his luck with luring them to his hook. He looked at Jack's line, stuck to the bottom, and sighed. “We'll have a fry-up when we get home. Come on, let's make our way back.”

Bobbi sat quietly by the pond. Her husky pup scuffled with butterflies and dragonflies at her feet. It yelped and growled as a butterfly gently descended upon a moss-covered rock, paperthin wings beating delicately and churning the thick warm air. It veered off suddenly and the pup was confused. It couldn't seem to follow the trajectory of the insect, so it howled at Bobbi for help.

She laughed at the plump little ball of black-and-white fur, paws the size of nickels, with misty blue eyes. It had been dumped at her animal shelter by a young mother with four small children.

“Winnie,” she scolded lovingly, “here's a bone instead. You'll have more luck conquering this.” Bobbi chucked a ragged rawhide at her, and Winnie pounced on the bone. She tussled with it then abandoned it at the first sight of another wandering monarch.

Bobbi heard the squeaky voices of children. Two girls were coming toward her from around the corner. Two sets of innocent robin's egg blue eyes shone with excitement as they came closer to Winnie.

“Can we pet her?” the fair-haired one asked.

“Sure,” Bobbi said. She recognized them. They were Jack's. The children were like little pixies in soft cotton dresses that had appeared from out of the woods. She couldn't help but smile at them. She suddenly realized that this probably meant Jack was close by. She fluffed her hair and hoped she might see him.

“Girls!” Jack called out.

“Over here!” Bobbi said and stood up to wave, her tank top rising to reveal her trim abdomen.

Jack reddened at the sight of her standing there like that with her navel exposed. He fumbled awkwardly through the underbrush. “Thanks. They ran off.”

“Don't worry, they've found my pup,” she said and looked down at the children and the puppy dancing between them, jumping up to lick their palms, spry, light on its feet, tongue lolling with glee, ears perking up then flattening back like lazy butterfly wings.

“Are you and the children having a picnic? Can I join you?” Bobbi asked hopefully.

“I don't think so,” Jack said and grimaced.

“Is everything alright?” Bobbi asked.

“Fine — look, you've gotta stop this,” he said.

“What?”

“This — there's no ‘us.' There never was. There never will be.”

“There is —”

“No. I love my wife, I always will. I want you to stop thinking there could be something between us. I told you before I made a mistake. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen,” Jack said and looked at his feet.

He shuffled and watched her, his arms crossed so tightly his flesh pinched white. Winnie and the children bounded up the little foothill toward them, back from the edge of the pond, the tip of the dog's tail wet, the girls' hands and hemlines soggy and dirty with sand.

Bobbi backed away slowly and Jack felt a pang of guilt. He stood shaking by himself as she turned her back, angry for ever getting involved with her in the first place, helpless and angry for hurting her.

W
hen Jack came home from the pond, Angela wouldn't speak to him.
She knows
, he thought,
she knows about Bobbi
. He avoided her, content to play along in silence — if they were all silent and pretended nothing happened, nothing would be revealed and he could pretend that nothing had actually happened. Couldn't he?

“Would you like your fish fried or broiled?” he asked pleasantly.

“Strung up by the neck,” she mumbled.

“What, love?”

“The pair of you stealing, somehow, some way, you are stealing,” she said.

He watched her pace the length of the room, scratching her head and hugging her elbow as she worked it out in her mind. She threw her hands up and covered her face. She cried softly and warned him that he was going to get found out one way or the other. This couldn't continue for much longer.

“Stealing,”
she whispered.

Jack threw the fish in the sink, got in his new car, and drove off by himself. The late Saturday afternoon sun refracted through the glass, reflected off the mirrors, and danced along telephone wires. It hit the treetops, and the trunks and branches covered the earth below with heavy shadows — wise opaque voids that hid wildlife and men's secrets in their folds.

Angela's warnings had angered him. Who and what did she think he was? Incapable? Lazy? Stupid?
I can do this, I can pull this off. I'm way too clever to be found out and way too smart to lose. I've got money stored away all over the mobile home. If these cowboys cut me loose, I'll still have enough, my kids won't suffer, and I won't get caught.

That was what his teachers had always said. “Jack McCarthy, he's a clever one, sure he's some good at math and problem solving. He'll find a way, sure, he could find his way out of a forest fire in smoke as thick as gravy. He'll make a fine teacher one day,” Brother Thomas had said. Sister Eunice, the history teacher, had marvelled at his memory. “Jackie McCarthy can relate every single incident and aspect of the First World War in exact order,” she'd said.

Jack was suddenly overcome by a strong sense of loss at the memory of his school days. What had happened to the time? Where did that young boy go? How did he get here? A stranger amongst strangers: a man who lied to his wife, a man who stole from the workplace — a man who'd been with another woman.

Did that young man disappear once he was free from the safety and order of Brighton's Catholic School, The Holy Sacred Heart of Mary? Or did that boy leave him the minute the green tips and rocky black shores of Newfoundland left him and he was on his own, adrift in the Atlantic, moving toward a new territory with rules and values so unlike his own?

Jack had no answer. He listened only to the incessant desire for more. It made him want all he could get so he could fill this nameless void that craved something solid, rock to build a life on, a way to regain a sense of dignity, to fill up this blasted sense of being adrift, alone, weak, and wrong.

He drove the length of town and came back. His neighbour Barry pulled his red baseball cap down farther over his grizzled face, in awe and respect for Jack's new car. Jack grinned, honked the horn, and lifted his arm casually in a confident wave.

The neighbour grabbed one of his kids by the scruff of the neck and pulled him from a mound of black dirt that he was playing in. “It's just been seeded,” he said and smashed the boy's face into the side of his own crumbling white pick-up truck. The boy screamed.

Angela and Maggie stood on the doorstep and watched him quietly. “I feel funny, Daddy,” Maggie whispered and held her belly with both hands.

Jack tried to keep his voice steady. “Don't worry, Maggie, we'll be out of this neighbourhood soon, I promise you.”

Through a bedroom window they watched the girls in the small pool. Jack had set it up in the backyard on top of a green tarp. Grass poked through the soil in spots, fresh, pale, weak, yet virile.

“A pool will kill the grass,” Jack had protested earlier that morning.

“It's hot. The girls need to cool off. This is the hottest and driest heat they've ever experienced. I can't have them lying around indoors all day,” Angela said.

Jack had given in, driven to the Bay, and picked up a two-foot-deep pool. He'd set it up on the tarp and they'd dumped Katie and Maggie in it, all before noon.

“They've been swimming for hours, they need more sunscreen,” Angela said irritably.

Suddenly the girls jumped out of the pool and ran toward the front lawn out of Jack and Angela's sight.

“What's going on?” Jack said and pushed aside the curtain to watch the kids scamper away.

“Are they coming inside?” Angela asked. They both paused but the aluminum door didn't squeak open.

They walked the length of the mobile home. They picked their way through toys, towels, flip-flops, and sundresses from one end to the other and opened the door. At the end of the driveway the two girls were bent over, tickling, rubbing, and fawning over a black-and-white puppy with sharp yet smoky blue eyes.

Maggie turned and called for her parents to come see the puppy.

Jack turned from pink to red as Bobbi yanked her pup's chain. The girls scratched Winnie's ears and let her lick their wet toes. Her little white milk teeth nipped at the yellow and green plastic flowers on their flip-flops.

“Mommy, this is the puppy we met in the woods last weekend,” Maggie said.

“Hello, I'm Jack's wife, Angela,” she said tightly.

“Yes,” Bobbi said and her smile withered. “I'm Bobbi Lake. I work with Jack.”

“We're having barbecue for supper. Want to stay?” Maggie asked.

“No, thank you,” Bobbi said and stuttered, “I — I better get going, I've been walking her for a while now, and she's bound to be hot and thirsty.”

“Please, stay for our barbecue with the puppy,” Maggie said.

“No, really, I have so much to do today,” Bobbi said and watched Angela with hard eyes.
She's beautiful. She looks so kind
. Bobbi's heart hardened as she realized what a mistake she'd made. Of course he would never leave Angela for her; it wasn't because she was sick and he was staying out of obligation, it was because he loved her. Exactly what he had told Bobbi last weekend at the pond. Anyone with two eyes could see that.
How could I have thought otherwise? Why did I think he'd leave her? How could I have deluded myself again?
Bobbi pushed thoughts of the other men away.
I can't deal with this now. I'll die if I have to face this right now
.

The girls protested as the puppy yelped and slid along the gravel. Its tail batted the ground as it tried to crawl back on its haunches toward the girls. “Come on, Winnie,” Bobbi growled tightly. “Bye-bye,” she said sweetly to the children and smiled weakly at Angela.

She walked away and clamped her teeth to hold back tears.
My father and brothers knew I'd amount to nothing, that all I could ever be is a village whore. That's what they said I was, and look what I've become
, she thought as Winnie trotted beside her.

The dog's ears rose and fell as she looked at Bobbi for attention. Bobbi leaned down and unhooked the dog chain to let Winnie run free. The dog nipped at her leather collar and ran around on the spot, her back and tail curling like a snail. Bobbi lunged forward, muscles bulging underneath her shorts, and ran all the way to Peace River. She took a seat on a small rock under a towering evergreen. She hitched Winnie to an exposed root and the puppy lay flat on her belly. Her tail thumped as her tongue lolled like a yo-yo in the heat, ears pricking and falling as children passed. Bobbi lowered her head and curled her torso over her legs, her chest concave as she rested her chin in her bent arms. Stray hairs wisped around her face, getting caught in her mouth and nose as she sobbed.

After supper Jack fussed with the water hose, sprinkling water over his freshly planted lawn.
Is she going to tell Angela? Will she trot on back here with that saucy look on her face and spoil everything for me? She might. The likes of that is not to be trusted. I'll call her a liar if she tells Angela. Peter will back me up. I'll say she's been pursuing me and I've been letting her down. I'll say it's all in her head.

Angela won't believe a word.

Try as he might, Jack would not be able to pull it off, not with Angela.
She'd see through me in the dark
.
I'll just have to face it. If she tries to destroy my marriage. I'll just have to come clean and hope Angela will let me off the hook.

He slapped at a mosquito and the smashed bits were black and red in his palm. He continued to water the lawn. Little pinpricks of grass shot through the black earth in scattered clumps and patches.
Whatever is under the tarp and pool will die
, he thought. There would be a giant circle in his back yard, a giant, round, dead hole, yellowed and dry.

His father would have had his grass ready by now. A pool covering a spot for a few weeks wouldn't have been a matter of dying grass and dead spots; he would have found a way to preserve it so it flattened only a little and could be fluffed up in late August with a rake. In late August Jack's lawn would exhibit evidence of lack of savvy, know-how, and care. There would be a gaping hole in the greenery that he'd have no idea how to manage.

Dad won gardening contests every year in Brighton, and here I am, his son, with a disaster for a lawn. I was too busy stealing. Here's your failure of a son, standing here with a house full of money and an untended lawn with dead holes. I've got all the money in the world, and you, a plumber in a province full of ghosts, had the best gardens I'd ever seen.

The sun hung red and ripe as a pomegranate. It had been up until midnight last night. The Arctic has twenty-four hours of sunlight, Katie had told him. “It's winter in Australia right now,” she'd said. He smiled at the thought of Katie and her love of knowledge.

He knelt to pick up a few pastel-pink sweet-tart candy wrappers the girls had dropped at the edge of the backyard. The forest began at the foot of his yard; a clump of rocks crushed the smaller weeds, followed by a blackish-green army of pine trees with engorged craggy moss on the trunks. It was full of hungry foxes and wolves in the winter, skunks, bears, blackflies, and mosquitoes in the summer.

Barry hadn't taken very good care of his garden this summer. His children had made caves, little ponds, and bridges for their Dinky cars on his meagre plot. Olive's husband Eugene had planted his garden, but he'd neglected to water it, so the scruff of grass lay dying under children's toys and discarded pop cans.

Jack shook the hose vigorously, turned off the water, and wound the hose around the reel. He sat on a lawn chair and watched the sunset. A clam-grey sky crept in and sealed the light of day in its shell, night's blue-black void in tow, ready to smother all light.

That night Angela flicked on the little black plastic lamp on the night table. The alarm clock ticked loudly. The first and second hand passed the twelve. It monitored the activities of the world: the sun and its routines, the rotation, and the revolution of the Earth. Time, tangible to the human eye by three little sticks that rotated on a never-ending wheel, the concept captured and earthbound as it foreshadowed days, weeks, months, and years. Whole lives. She numbly stared at the clock and stopped musing. She sat up and turned to Jack.

“I
know
,” she said.

“What?” Jack whispered.

“Don't play dumb,” she said hotly.

He turned over in bed toward her. Angela stared at him, her lower lip trembling.

“Oh, honey,” he said softly and reached up to touch her lip.

She lowered her head and a tear welled up. “How could you do this to me after all I've been through?”

She thinks it happened after her miscarriage
, Jack thought.

“We were drinking and it was only the once. She reminded me of you before we left home.”

“What about in the woods last week?”

“We just stumbled upon her, my love, walking her dog, I swear. I don't talk to her anymore. I'm sorry,” he said and tried to hold her. She roughly pushed his hand away.

“We're through. I've had enough.”

“You don't —”

“I mean it, alright. Now get out,” she said and threw a pillow at him.

Jack curled up on the sofa with the pillow rammed between his shoulder and forearm. He lay numb with shock.
It can't have come to this
, he thought.
There must be a way to talk her out of this. She's just tired, she's just thinking about home. She's homesick. She's scared. She'll see that it was nothing but a mistake with Bobbi. I'll stop this with Peter. I will. I'll do whatever it takes. She's all I could ever want. She's everything to me, and if I don't have her and the girls, I have nothing.

Jack lay awake most of the night, agitated, angry, and full of remorse. He knew now that he'd have to stop. He'd have to do something to get back his wife and restore his family.

We once thought we had nothing. Now I know what it feels like to have nothing
, he thought and rammed his foot in the back of the sofa, where it stopped short due to the pillowcases full of money he had put there last month, sewn the neatly torn cloth back into place while the girls and Angela were returning their library books, lingering, Maggie told him later, because the air conditioner cooled their backs and stopped their shirts from sticking to them wetly.

He'd filled the cavity at the back of the sofa with two pillowcases full of money, and now here he lay on top of it, uncomfortable and alone, while his wife turned him away.

At work on Monday, Bobbi planned to avoid all contact with Jack.
Getting over someone who doesn't love you should be easy, right?
All she had to do was ignore him. It would go away eventually. She opened the door to the fridge in the lunchroom and placed her lunch tin on the shelf. The shelf gave out, and all the tins fell open on the floor.
Great
, she thought,
another reason for these jerks to pick on me
. She got down on her knees to pick up the sandwiches, cans of pop, and bags of chips the miners had brought to work. Jack's lunch tin was ajar; she picked it up tenderly and opened it to repack his food. A small hinge had given at the back to reveal a cloth bag filled with lumpy rocks. She opened it, and when she saw the ore, it all made sense.
No, Jack, say you're not involved with this — you can't be.