The Winter Place (15 page)

“Your brother, he swims?”

“He knows how to swim,” Tess said.

“Well?” Jaana kept her eyes on her work as she spoke. She might as well have been addressing the ax, or the wood.

“Well enough,” Tess said.

“The oars are in the front room of the sauna. Better grab a life jacket, too. We have a small one.” Jaana looked up briefly, to stare out at the lake.
The water was ice-flat, broken in the middle by a small, rocky island, just big enough to support a pair of stunted pines. There was something swimming around the island—a swan, lit pinkish by the autumn sun. “We've got some time. If you're quick, we can go out before dark.”

Jaana had said that the rowboat would be behind the sauna, up on blocks, but when Tess rounded the outbuilding she couldn't see it. The blocks were there—three rough hunks of wood jutting from the untended lawn—and beside them a balled-up tarp, but no boat. The grass had all been trampled, and a smooth trail indicated which direction the boat had been hauled. But if it was the work of thieves, they were at least lazy ones. The drag path led down to the Kivis' dock, where a small rowboat was already tied off.

Tess headed down to the dock, which was glimmering strangely in the late sunlight. As she got closer she realized that the shine was due to broken glass—whoever had borrowed the boat had enjoyed a drink or two at the water's edge. Actually, it was more than a few drinks—they'd put on a lakeside party. The bottom of the rowboat was littered with chicken bones, cigarette butts, and empty plastic bottles of hard cider. The borrowers had also failed to bail the boat, so that everything floated in a gross, inch-deep slurry.
There was a box in the stern, and Tess knelt down to open it, hoping to find a dipper in there. Otherwise she'd have to drag the rowboat onshore and tip it empty.

“Hey, you!” She was startled by the shouted Finnish, which came from a little farther down the water's edge. “Back off!”

Tess looked up and saw a guy about her age, approaching fast. He held a fishing rod in his hands, the bobber bouncing on the grass behind him. The guy was heavy, with bangs falling over his freckles, but he knew how to square himself to look more solid than fat.

Tess didn't answer or back off.

“That's the Kivis' boat,” he said, reaching the edge of the dock. His hook got stuck on a root, compelling him to stop and set the rod down, which dissipated his would-be bulldog energy just a tad.

“I know,” Tess said.

“So don't touch it!” Despite the chill, this kid was in shorts and barefoot. His shirt was a fitted, button-down plaid, and his shorts had creases. His fishing rod bore all the bright, boastful hallmarks of being overpriced.

“I'm sorry, but who the hell are you?” Her first full sentence gave her away as a foreigner, and that knocked the guy back a bit.

“That's my house,” he said, pointing a ways down the water, to the only other home visible on this side of the lake. It was a multilevel with big windows and a stilted deck stretching out over a boathouse. Tess and Axel had definitely lost the summer cottage lottery—that place no doubt had flush toilets and heated bathroom tiles. There was a gas grill out on the deck and pretty college-age kids sprawling on loungers.

“Okay.” Tess thumbed over her shoulder at Jaana and Otso's comparatively dinky summer place and said: “Well, I'm staying there. The Kivis are my grandparents.”

“Oh,” the guy said. He looked down at his feet, at the glass around his feet—it was a wonder he hadn't cut himself—and the stagnant filth inside the rowboat. “Crap,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

“You did that?”

Instead of answering, he stepped into the water, getting his nicely pressed shorts all wet. He steadied the boat with one hand, peered inside, and made a disgusted grunt. He reached in and started plucking out leg bones and cigarette filters, laying them out neatly on the edge of the dock like caught fish, washing his fingers in the lake between each pluck. “We have a boat, but it's not big enough to fit all of my brother's friends. Your grandparents never come here in the fall,
so . . .” He glanced at her, either shy or grossed out. “They promised they'd be careful with it.”

She watched him for a moment before squatting down on the dock to collect the larger shards of glass, adding them to the pile he was making. The guy leaned against the stern so that the standing water flowed down toward him, bringing with it the last of the mess. He grabbed at it daintily, revolted but determined.

“I'm Kari,” he said. “I didn't know the Kivis had grandkids.”

“I'm Tess,” she said. “And until last week, I didn't know who the Kivis were.”

Kari stared at her, maybe wondering if inflection was different where she came from. Was he misunderstanding a joke? He laughed, too late and too loud.

“My parents will be happy to hear they came up. Give me a hand?”

He'd untied the boat from the dock and started to pull it up out of the water. Tess came around to meet him, and together they heaved it onto the grass. There was indeed a dipper in the stern box, and Kari used it to add some clean water to the inside. They rocked the boat back and forth to rinse it out. It took both of them to tip and drain it.

“They're in Barcelona,” Kari said.

“Who is?”

“My mom and dad.”

Tess just blinked at him for a moment. “What are they doing in Barcelona?” she asked.

Kari looked at her like this was a dumb question. “Seeing Barcelona,” he said. “Dad hates the fall. And the winter. And besides . . . the architecture! We're having some work done on the house, so Kalle and I came up for the week to keep an eye on things.” Kari shoved his hands into his pockets and assumed a look of knowing, weary responsibility. “You know how it can be with contractors. Anyway, Kalle, that's my brother.” He pointed back at the deck over the boathouse, at a blond guy manning the grill. Like Kari, Kalle was dressed in stubborn disagreement with the season. But in Kalle's case, it was by no means a bad thing. Even from a distance Tess could tell that Kari's older brother cultivated the kind of glossy, tanned shirtlessness that you usually saw only on your computer screen. But the evidence at the bottom of the rowboat suggested that among his friends there was at least one jackass, and that made the prospects pretty dim for him as well.

“Where do you live, then?” Kari had switched languages, and Tess could tell right away that his English was better than her Finnish. Not that that was super hard.

“New York.”

Kari went a little bug-eyed. “I
love
New York.” No need to tell him that Tess lived farther away from the city than this sleepy little lake was from Helsinki. “So your parents,” he went on, “did they come too?”

“No. They're in Zanzibar.” The lie came out so unexpectedly, so very easily. This is everything that Tess knew about Zanzibar: It was a place.

“Awesome,” Kari said. “Do you want it on the blocks or back in the water?”

Jaana interrupted them before Tess had a chance to answer. “Mr. Hannula,” she called out in Finnish, “do you mean to steal my boat?” Tess's grandmother had rounded the sauna and approached with a pair of oars slung over her shoulders, making her look irritatingly intrepid. Axel was with her, already fastened tightly into one of the bulky life jackets, which jutted up around his collar like a dog's veterinary cone, making him look the precise opposite of intrepid. Jaana's sudden appearance seemed to scare Kari not in the least. In fact, he smiled wide.

“I wasn't stealing it,” he answered. Then, in English, he told Jaana that he'd only borrowed it. Tess couldn't tell if Kari had switched languages as a courtesy to her, or rather to keep showing off how good his English was. Either way, it saved her little lie from falling apart then and there.

“Well, I don't see any problem with that,” Jaana said, also in English. “As long as you took good care—” She caught herself when she saw the empty bottles and soggy cigarette butts. Jaana peered across the lakeshore at the stilted deck. Seeing Kalle and his friends, she sighed. “So young and so determined to hurt themselves. Tell me you didn't smoke any of these.”

“Of course not,” Kari said. “No, ma'am.”

“And look at you, no shoes in this weather. And with glass! Tarzan feet will get you only so far! You think there were broken bottles in the jungle?”
Tarzan feet
was clearly an inside joke between them, years past its expiration date by now. It made Kari blush. Tess blushed too.

“I suppose . . .” Jaana looked up at the deepening sky and back down at the messy dock. “We have all day tomorrow,” she said. “No need to be greedy. We'll finish tidying up and go rowing in the morning.” She leaned her oars against the sauna wall and popped back inside to get a bucket and a broom. It took only a few minutes for the four of them to sweep the dock clean, set the rowboat back in the water, and tie it off again.

“We cooked too much, if you'd like to join us for supper,” Jaana said.

“No thanks,” Kari said. “Kalle's grilling.”

Tess's grandmother nodded thoughtfully at this. “Well. Regards to your parents. And ask your brother to pay me a visit when he's got the time.”

Kari's expression darkened almost imperceptibly. “Yes, ma'am.”

Jaana turned back to the little cottage, leaving them. Axel hesitated for a moment, glancing furtively between Kari and Tess. Then, in his patented face-palm style, he said: “Am I interrupting anything? Do you two require privacy?”

Tess told her brother not to be stupid, and he grinned because that meant he could stay. The three of them sat at the end of the dock. Axel took his time unlacing his shoes and folding up his socks before letting his feet trail in the water. But it was way too cold, and seconds later he had them tucked under his thighs. He seemed to be in no hurry to take off that dumb orange vest.

“So, you know our grandmother,” Axel said.

“I do,” Kari said.

“What do you think of her?”

Sometimes Axel was great to have around—you never had to be the one to ask awkward questions. Kari glanced at Tess, as though for help, and when none came he said: “Your grandmother is one of the nicest people I know.”

“Fascinating. That doesn't match our own
experience, thus far.” Axel thrust a palm at Kari. “Axel Fortune,” he said.

Kari took a moment to see if he was for real before accepting the handshake. “Kari Hannula,” he said, his formality matching Axel's without mocking it. “Welcome to Talvijärvi.”

“Thank you kindly,” Axel said. “So, I'd like to pose a question to you. It's going to be weird. Is that okay? Can I ask you a weird question?”

“God, Axel,” Tess said. She'd only just met Kari, and already her kid brother was laying it on thick.

“It's all right,” Kari said. “Ask me whatever you want.”

“You've been coming here for a long time, yes?”

“I have. Every summer, since I was five.”

“Excellent,” Axel said. Then, looking suddenly worried, “But that's not the question. The question is: Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary lately? Has anything strange been happening in Talvijärvi?”

“What do you mean strange?”

“Supernatural.”

Kari didn't even blink; nor did he give Tess a chance to make her usual excuses. “That's so funny that you should ask,” he said, pointing out at the middle of the lake, where the twin pines loomed atop their tiny island. The swan was still
there, swimming a slow circuit around the rocks. The sun was almost down, and the swan was the color of blood. “You see that island?”

Axel nodded, obviously holding his breath.

“Totally haunted.”

“Shut up,” Axel said. His laugh hit bottom, bounced a bit, and skidded into what could only be called a squeal of delight. Tess hadn't heard anything like that escape him since the night of the brown bear. He turned to her. “Can we go?”

“Of course we can,” she said.

J
ust yesterday in Helsinki Axel had been right on the edge of a full-scale flip out. He'd felt dizzy enough to puke, giddy enough to shout as he tore through the suitcase, searching for his father's busted camera. He'd needed to see the picture he'd taken of the bear. Though, of course, she was more than just a bear; Axel was sure of that much already. He knew it in his legs and lungs, in his stomach and heart just as sure as he knew when a bad spell was coming over him. According to the Keeper, he and the bear had come to Baldwin in search of Sam Fortune. And now the bear was waiting for Axel up at Talvijärvi. A single word ran through his head on a loop—
Äiti
.
Äiti-Äiti-Äiti-Äiti.
It couldn't be her, and it couldn't be anyone else.

Axel switched on the camera, and the last shot he'd taken on that awful night flickered across the cracked display. And there she was—a youngish lady looming in the middle of the photograph, dressed like some kind of hippie art teacher. The image went fuzzy as Axel's eyes filled up with fat, frantic tears. He rubbed them away and scrolled back through the other shots, just to be sure that nobody was playing a trick on him. But everything else was exactly as it should have been. Axel saw the torn-up garden and overturned trash can; he saw the shadowed wells of bear tracks that had skirted his home. But the
bear
—the bear had disappeared from the photograph, and this young woman had taken her place.

The woman stood pale in the light of the flashbulb, jagged rows of black maples sinking into the velour nothing of the night around her. She wore denim overalls, paint-spattered and rolled up to the knees. There was a burst of color running up one of her legs that at first Axel mistook for a bright sock. But on closer inspection he saw that it was a tattoo, the ink curling above her calf, disappearing below the denim of her overalls. This was a photograph of Saara Kivi—Axel's mother. The fact that this was impossible made it no less true. Never mind that he'd seen the bear with his own eyes—smelled it, touched its matted fur
when the thing knocked him over with a careless haunch. The bear had reeked of earth and musk and reality. Never mind, also, that so many things about this woman were strange—not just unfamiliar, but
wrong
. Her tattoo, her ironical horn-rim glasses, the way she'd twisted her lips into a pissed-off grimace. But despite all of that, there was no question in Axel's mind. The bear was his mother. Or, rather, his mother's ghost.