The Urn Carrier (18 page)

Chapter 25

TESSA RETURNS FROM the river and puts her ankle up and ices it
with one of the two bags she bought at Saskatchewan Corners. She distracts
herself from the pain, with the photo albums. She finds the picture of the four
of them in 1968 at Lake Louise, Lake Agnes Tea House. The four of them. She
looks again. That can’t be . . . That can’t be.

Tessa finds Madeline at her camper.

Madeline smiles. “Honey? Did you cut your hair?”

Tessa touches her shortened locks. Nods.

“Mmmm. I used to be a hairdresser in a former life. Sit.”

Tessa obeys. She has a question she needs answered anyway.

Madeline returns from the rig with a drape and a pair of shears.
“Some folks actually pay me to do this on the road. This one is gratis. We’ll
just even up some of those layers you have going. My you cut it short. But you
have beautiful, thick hair. I bet it grows fast.”

The memory is flooding back: Her father taking the scissors and a
fist full of her long, little girl hair . . .
Tessa shoves it away
again.

“Why, darling, you have some natural body here, this is going to
be beautiful.”

“You know,” Tessa says carefully,” I found pictures of my Great
Aunt Sadie and Uncle Percy, when they were younger.”

“Did you?”

“Mmhmmm. And there’s another couple with them. Right here. In
Canada.”

“Is there?”

“That’s you, isn’t it?”

“Well, I’d have to see the picture.”

Without hesitation Tessa pulls out the color photo she has in her
pocket. It’s the two couples at the Tea House above Lake Louise.

Madeline glances at it. “Yes, that’s me.”

“You didn’t even look at it. You’ve been following me this whole
time, right?”

“Well, no, not exactly.”

“Mr. Forsythe send you? He paid you to follow me, right?”

“No one paid me to do anything.”

“Then why? Why are people following me? Why doesn’t anyone think I
can do this myself?”

“It’s not that, honey.” Madeline smiles, her arm bent at the
elbow, the scissors up in the air as she bends forward and looks Tessa in the
eyes. “It’s that your Uncle Chunk is such a dick.”

Tessa laughs, despite her focus on all this new information. “But
who are you? And who is this other guy in the picture?”

“I will be happy to answer every single one of your questions, but
frankly I’m famished. After I finish evening up some of these edges, why don’t
you return to your rig and make one of those fabulous salads you rave about and
I will tell you everything. Promise.”

And for a moment, Tessa realizes she hasn’t been feeling the
drowning, or drama of emotions involving Dina. For a brief moment, she’s
allowed herself the respite of being authentic in the moment. It’s going to
take practice. She needs to do this to heal.

“Okay.”

“I need protein, none of that vegan stuff for me. And bring that
fine ax you have in the camper, I need to split some wood for our campfire
tonight.”

Madeline makes a few more snips. She mousses Tessa’s hair with
some product and professionally hands her a mirror.

“Wow. You left most of the pink.”

“I like the pink. Are you happy?”

“You make me look hot.”

“That’s not hard to do, sweetie. So, you like?”

“Very much.”

“Good, now don’t dawdle making the salad, okay?”

Tessa obeys and makes her spinach, feta, tomato, hard-boiled egg,
avocado, and walnut salad.

Madeline insists on grilling.

Tessa is also dragging the ax behind her.
She can’t put her finger on it, but she hates axes. This one looks like it’s
been in the family for generations. It has an old sturdy wood handle with the
patina of human oils and rubbed-in varnish. Inscribed in neatly carved,
cursive, charcoal black letters is “Babe.”

Tessa believes it must be the name of the ax, or Uncle Percy’s
nickname, like on the back of the photograph.

Madeline picks up the ax and begins splitting wood. She catches
Tessa watching her, almost open mouthed.

Madeline grins, her beautiful dimples creasing the corner of her
mouth and without saying a word stacks a chunk on another big round piece of
wood and lifts the ax in the air. It slices smoothly through the wood like
butter.

“The trick is eyeballing that splinter piece you want and not
biting off more than you can chew.”

Thwack.

Another straight piece falls off like a fat pat of butter.

“It helps that it’s ash wood also.” Now Madeline is downplaying
her prowess. “And I’ve done it since I was a kid.” She thumbs the edge of the
ax. “Huh.”

That one movement triggers a freight train of barreling memories
for Tessa. While Madeline is absorbed with taking a rasp from her tools, filing
the burr off the axe head, Tessa is plunging into a series of picture memories
she can’t stop.

Thwack.

Blood.

She buries her hands in her face.

“Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.” She is keening and rocking back and
forth. Her face in her hands.

Alarmed, Madeline abandons her task and turns Tessa from her seat
at the picnic table toward the mountain. Murphy is sniffing at Tessa, whining.

“Ohgodohgodohgod.” Tessa is holding her stomach. Holding her
stomach so her guts won’t fall out. Holding her stomach where the deeply hidden
searing resides, and is now roaring to her forehead, unleashed. “I killed him!
I killed him!”

Madeline pulls her in and Tessa leans against her, against the
taller, stronger body, against her chest. She collapses within the surprisingly
strong arms and dissolves.

Her head is pounding and she’s gagging. Madeline insists she drink
water. She pours water on a dishcloth and puts it on Tessa’s neck, one arm
still holding her.

After the nausea passes, Madeline helps Tessa into her camper. She
leads Tessa back to the bed and puts the cool cloth over her forehead.

“Ever since Dina left, I’ve been having nightmares. Now I
understand them.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. Traumatic events can shift your sense
of what really happened.”

“My dad backhanded Eli and then he punched me.”

Tessa closes her eyes as it all comes rushing back.

It had been just that quick, her dad backhanding Eli and turning
with a closed fist to punch her, once, twice. She partially covered her face
and before he could hit her again, she could see Eli jump on her father’s back
and begin pounding him, howling.

Their father threw him off. “Is that all you got?”

He spat a stream of tobacco juice that landed near Eli’s head in
the snow.

Eli roared and ran at him again. Their
father was still holding the knife but it was behind his forearm as he shoved
Eli off with both hands. Eli went face first in the dirt and snow.

“You were always the slow one.”

Eli got up on all fours and was looking at Tessa, but not really.
Her head was exploding from her father’s fist but she could see Eli’s eyes.
They were fixed somewhere else and almost seemed to be turning into yellow cat
eye slits. Cold, pure hate, not at her, but at him.

Their father toed Eli’s behind with a boot. “Try again.”

Eli howled and turned. He grabbed their father around the knees.
He pulled them into the wet leaves and snow. They tussled and turned and
fought. Wrestling, sticks broke under their heaving bodies. Their father was on
top, his forearm against Eli’s throat, the knife still gripped in his right
hand, tucked away from Eli’s face.

He was choking Eli with a rage that was out of control. “I brought
you in and I can take you out!”

Eli’s feet were kicking and he was losing; Tessa heard horrible
rasping, choking sounds. She was up, the ax in her hands, and it was just that
quick. She closed her eyes and swung, connecting.

The side of her father’s face fell away as he rammed his right arm
back at whatever had attacked him and cut under the hem of Tessa’s green, wool
jacket. Her eyes fly open and their father’s momentum took him all the way
around, the disfigured monster.

Tessa fell.

Madeline is looking at her with large, brown eyes, absorbing this
story.

Tessa begins sobbing. Big, racking grief-stricken cries.

She remembers. She remembers all of it and hates herself. “I
killed my father, Madeline. I did it. Uncle Chuck is right. I’m no good. I’m a
bad seed. I murdered my father.”

“You know, honey. Memory can be a funny thing. This trauma with
your girlfriend . . .”

“Ex-girlfriend.” Tessa sobs.

”Yes. Ex-girlfriend . . .”

“I did it. Not Eli. All these years I was thinking it was him. And
he took the fall for me. He took the fall for me because he knew what it would
cost . . .” Tessa tears soak Madeline’s lap.

Madeline strokes her hair.

“I didn’t think this could get any worse.”

“Don’t you think the trauma with your gir . . . ex-girlfriend
provoked this?”

“Maybe.”

Madeline lets Tessa cry as long as she needs.

“Is there any possibility this might be what you think happened,
instead of what really happened?” Madeline asks.

Tessa searches inside her brain. She sees it all clearly. She
shakes her head no. “What now?”

“Well, I think a drink would be nice, don’t you?”

“I mean, do we go to the cops?”

Tessa hears Madeline chuckle.

“Why?”

“Well, ’cause . . .”

“Oh no, child. Whatever for? Land sakes, has civilization eroded
this far we have to depend on authorities more than our souls?”

“But if I . . .”

“Tessa,” Madeline takes both of Tessa’s hands in hers, “hear me
now. Whatever happened, whatever you did or think you’ve done . . . What was
your intent?”

“To save Eli.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“Then all else fall’s to the side. You need to wait some. And get
home and return to familiar. You’ve been on the road almost three months, doing
other’s work. And this fight with your girlfriend . . .”

“Ex-girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend hurt you. The first is always the hardest.”

Tessa’s eyes widen. “You mean this happens more than once? I can’t
go through this twice.”

“Then I suppose three or four times would be
out of the question?”

Tessa pulls her hands away and folds her arms over her face. “Oh
god, this sucks.”

“I agree, it does. Don’t hide your grief any more than you would
your love.”

“I’m not.”

“And when you’re done, I’ll tell you all the stories you want to
hear.”

Madeline hands Tessa a wad of Kleenex. Tessa blows her nose so
loudly it sounds like a goose honking as it takes flight and startles Murphy.

“Do you need a neti pot?”

“A what?”

“To irrigate your nose.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Honey. Just take a moment and breathe, can you do that for me?
Big, deep breaths.”

Tessa straightens and closes her eyes, listening to Madeline’s
breathing slow and sure, coaching her.

Madeline does three long breaths.

Tessa adds a fourth. Murphy leans against her. Tessa opens her
eyes and turns to him. She holds his long face in her hands. “You are my rock,
aren’t you?” She looks at Madeline. “I’m sorry to burden you with all of this.”

“It’s what friends do. I care about you, Tessa Marie.”

Tessa pauses. “How did you know my middle name is Marie?”

“Maybe I heard your friend say it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, well then . . . busted.”

“Busted?”

“That’s going to have to wait. I think you’ve been through quite
enough for one day.”

“Then tell me about you and the man, in the picture.”

“That man in the picture is my husband.”

“Where is he?” Tessa puts a hand over her mouth. “He’s not dead,
right?”

“No!” Madeline laughs. “My husband’s name is Dan.” A smile tugs at
the corner of her mouth. “His full name is Dan Forsythe.”

Tessa feels her mouth drop open. “But you said your last name is
Sweet.”

“It is. My maiden name. Dan and I are . . . separated.”

“Yeah. He’s in Michigan and you’re here.”

“No. I mean we haven’t lived together for a very long time.”

“Oh.”

“Like years.”

“So you sorta babysat me ’cause you’re on the road all the time?”