The Urn Carrier (5 page)

An ache in her gut tells her it’s time to return. As they cut back
through the trails, the dwindling light, the singing solitary flute bird, the trees
just beginning to bud leaves, all of it is stirring a memory. It’s a vague
thought, an uneasy sense, churning.

Churling.

All of a sudden, despite her growling, hungry stomach, she vomits
.
Murphy looks at her unsurprised as he chews on grass, as if,
Yeah, what else
ya got?

“Wow.” Tessa takes a swig of water and rinses
her mouth out.

TESSA SITS IN the truck, looking at the camper, bordering
somewhere between rage and disgust. A small campfire is dying out at her
campsite, and a light is on in the camper, which is now rocking and rolling
unceremoniously with fuck sounds coming from it.

Joe and Marissa.

A half-empty Jaeger fifth is propped in the
seat of a camp chair.

Are you fucking serious?

Before she knows it, she is at the camper, yanking the door open,
and without looking, shouts, “Get the fuck out!”

“Oh shit.”

“Now!”

She fumes. Murphy is still in the truck, his head cocked,
carefully watching her.

A series of scrambling noises, a giggle, which just infuriates her
more, the steps creak under Joe’s weight. His flannel shirt is open, showing
his muscled chest and flat abs. He’s holding something in his hands. Marissa
scrambles out behind him, her big lens glasses on, and a throwback hippie shirt
over shorts. Neither one of them are wearing anything on their feet. Their feet
are filthy from tromping around in the dirt all day.

Oh joy.

“Hey, we were worried about you. You didn’t come home for dinner,
nothing.”

“How the fuck did you get in the camper?”

“You left it open.”

“No. Try again.”

Joe opens his hand—a set of keys. “Dad used the camper for hunting
trips. He still had a set.”

Tessa holds out her hand. “Now.”

“But Dad will kill me.”

Tessa is unmoved. “Look, if this is going to
work, it’s my rules.”

Joe’s face changes.  “Really?” He drops the keys in her open palm.

“Yeah, send Marissa on her way tomorrow.”

“Wow, cuz, that’s cool. That’s really great. I’m glad you thought
it over.”

After rinsing Murphy down, and stripping the bed, and wiping the
floor of all the dirt footprints, Tessa finally pulls out some cheeses and
homemade bread. After a few bites, her head droops, once, twice, and exhausted,
she locks the door, pulls a chair over in front of it, and slumps into the
unmade bed. Fully clothed, she pulls a blanket over her. Still no text from
Dina, but she has twenty from Billy.

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, after convincing Joe to buy another bottle of
Jaeger, Tessa sits at the campfire while he grills steaks. He’s got his iPhone
playing Bob Marley . . . and he’s full of ideas for the trip.

“So I figure when we go up to Pictured Rocks, we can catch up with
some old buds of mine from Marquette. That sound cool?”

“Sure.”

“That’s great, because they have some contacts for going over to
Grand Island and stuff. It’s too bad we don’t have more time, because it would
be nice to go to the Porcupine Mountains and do a little hiking, right?”

“Yeah, that would be awesome.”

Tessa hands him the Jägermeister. He takes a hefty swing and hands
it back to her. She lifts it to her lips.

Joe turns what he calls hobo fries, wrapped in tinfoil over some
coals in the fire. He is being totally solicitous, cooking dinner, offering to
clean up. He already helped Tessa hook the truck up for their anticipated
departure in the morning.

“This is such a perfect night. I think I’ll sleep right here by
the fire.” He smiles.

Tessa smiles back and hands him the Jaeger again. “I’d like to
stop at the Cut River on our way. I hear there’s some great fishing.”

“Dude! How awesome would that be, catch our own dinner? I’m great
at cleaning fish.”

As the night wears on and dinner turns into dessert, Joe is quite
the culinary hero at campfires, he’s made a peach cobbler. He’s clueless when
the rufee hits him.

Yawning, stretching out before the fire, a full tummy and all of
the Jaeger gone, Joe’s face is upturned toward the stars, his snoring a
resounding echo through the campground. Then and only then, does Tessa fire up
the cherry bombers, pulls from the site, and leaves Joe behind.

Chapter 6

TESSA ROUSES HERSELF early from the roadside park. After a quick
jog with Murphy, a cup of piping hot cocoa, and a dash of cheese and bread, she
pulls into the parking lot lined with vehicles of varying shapes and sizes, all
waiting for the doors to open for visiting day.

Even among the eclectic gathering of cars, trucks, and a few
Harleys, Tessa’s camper and truck stand out. It’s not too long before a handful
of men and maybe one or two women glance over.

Tessa slides out and sure as shit three or four guys in muscle
shirts and tats meander over and ask if they can look under the hood.

She obliges them and they whistle at how beautiful the engine is
and is it a ’68?

“They don’t make metal like this anymore,” one guy with a
handlebar moustache says. He is opening and closing the passenger door with a
satisfactory whump. When he notices Murphy staring at him from the day bed, he
quits.

“Are those cherry bombers on the exhaust?” another asks.

One even drops to the pavement and exclaims, “Not a leak
anywhere!”

“Damn! A 4 barrel Holley carb!”

Sighing with visions of the engine dancing in their heads the guys
wander off to check in for visitor’s day. Tessa could see these guys as if they
were ten years old waiting for their first car. Funnier yet is once she’s
inside waiting for Eli, the tat guys are all macho and business, their huge
biceps flexing on their respective tables, impassive as they speak with their
relatives, or friends. They don’t really acknowledge each other either, as if
they hadn’t just spoken outside.

When they catch Tessa’s eye, they smile and nod and she hears
snatches of, “Cherry ’68 out in the lot. 390.”

“Pristine.”

“No rust, nothing. Metal as heavy as shit.”

Eli bursts in, hugs her fiercely, then holds her at arm’s length
and smiles. “The pink is a nice touch.”

Their features are identical, the high cheek bones, the dark brown
eyes. Tessa is almost looking in a mirror but Eli has a pronounced Adam’s apple
and he is easily six inches taller than her. That, and he has a moustache.

“You look great.”

“So do you.”

“Where are you staying?” He motions for them to sit.

“I was at DH Day, but I’m on the road now. How
are you, really?”

They hold hands and it isn’t strange to Tessa at all.

“I am psyched I’m getting out this year. It could be as soon as
three months.”

“Seriously? I know Mom said Forsythe hooked her up with a
different lawyer for you . . .”

“Yeah. I don’t know who Forsythe is, but he’s an angel in my book.
I have a shark on my side now. They still want to get me for . . .” 

“Dad.”

He nods. “But no one knows where he went.”

Eli is staring straight at the table. In their twin speak energy
Tessa knows he’s lying. She knows he knows exactly what happened to Dad but a
steely part has come down between them and he is unreadable.

Neither speak. Tessa is frozen like in the snow that day. Eli,
still staring at the table with their hands clasped even tighter now, whispers,
“Don’t go back there, Tessa.”

“I can’t remember any of it.”

“Good.” Then he looks into her eyes with his own soul back inside
him. “Tell me where you’ve been and where you go next . . .”

AFTER VISITING ELI, Tessa turns the rig toward Ludington.
Wisconsin is not in the plans and it’s not on the itinerary but she is changing
things up fast.

Forsythe finally calls back and she fills him in on the visit from
Joe.

“Is it possible to do Lake Superior at the end of the trip instead
of now?”

“Yes, by all means. I’ll have a talk with your relatives. Make
sure that they understand collecting any inheritance will hinge on them letting
you proceed unfettered.”

Forsythe is pissed, Tessa can hear it in his voice. He might be a
creepy dude, but he’s showing her he has her back.

“I’d like time to re-think the itinerary because they obviously
have a copy of it.”

“That’s fine, but the route was made for the time of year and the
way it made the most sense.”

“I’ll get as far as Prairie du Chien,
Wisconsin in the next couple of days, as long as I hit somewhere on the
Mississippi, that will be okay, right?”

“Yes. I trust you implicitly, Tessa. You’re doing the right thing.
Get back with me on the changeups any time this week. By then I should have the
rest of the family on board.”

“Thanks, Mr. Forsythe.”

As Tessa drives, her memories are triggered by little steeples of
rural churches along the road.

The few times they went to church Tessa was so bored she counted
bricks on the top of the wall to the right of the altar. If she made it all the
way through without Eli interrupting her to play paper, scissors, rock, she
began counting all the bricks on the top line to the left of the altar, to make
sure they matched up. Sometimes she got down two or three rows before her
imagination kicked in.

Her mind settled into some sort of dream world where she became a
Pegasus/unicorn and she was above everyone, flying over their heads.

No one ever saw her because they were all staring straight ahead,
trying to stay awake too.

Since they didn’t see her, she flew to the
rafters above the empty church choir section and settled in comfortably until
she got bored. Then she flew over everyone’s head, recognizing Mr. Knepple’s
bald head without his hat on, and Mr. Shaggy Hippie Dippie dude, as her mom
called him, and smelled stuff that seemed like church incense but was sweeter.

Her mom only took them on festive occasions like Palm Sunday, when
they got fronds, or Ash Wednesday when the priest smudged ash on their
foreheads with his big fat thumb and then they walked around all day,
sanctimonious with their special thumb cross imprint that occasionally dropped
ash into their eyes.

Tessa’s absolute favorite day was St. Blaze
day. The priest crossed two candles at their throats and anointed them so they
wouldn’t get sore throats, or scarlet fever, or something worse.

As Tessa drives, she hears again Great Aunt Sadie saying she left
the Church when the priest spoke one too many times about the woman obeying the
husband.

“You mark my words,” Aunt Sadie said to all the girls, “you don’t
let anyone disrespect you. You don’t let me do it, you don’t let any man do it.
You don’t let anyone do it, you hear me? Not even the Church. Especially not
the Church!”

The further Tessa gets away from Traverse City and her cousin, the
easier she’s breathing. She checks the time. In a few short hours she’ll be on
the water again.

ELI VIEWS TESSA as his protector, even though he is bigger and
stronger now. Of all the people he needs to spend time with, it’s with her
first, even though he knows the conversation will be difficult and about their
dad.

He can’t talk to her now, while he’s here in prison. It’s
impossible. He will not allow her to deal with the truth without him near. He’s
a part of it too. It’s his hate that drive the situation.

When his father took a closed fist and hit Tessa in the head,
Eli’s animal rage exploded. He had no idea what he was saying or doing and each
time his father pushed him off or dared him to try again, Eli grew blind. He
lost track of time and they sparred and hit and tumbled and Eli didn’t feel any
of it, not until his father was choking the life out of him, crushing his
windpipe with his forearm, all his weight bearing down on Eli’s throat.

Just as he began losing sight, just as he began blacking out, he
heard a thud and liquid splattered his face. The relief of the weight being off
him almost came too late. He was clenching at his throat with both hands,
trying to tear the skin apart, fighting to get his windpipe open, he was still
not breathing, but he was on his knees and pulling and pulling until first a
half breath, then another, his head on the ground as he kept pleading inside
for his throat to open. Finally, miraculously, it did and when he could take in
a gulp, he leaned back on his knees and saw two forms lying in the snow.

His dad with part of his scalp and face almost peeled off. A
bloody knife still in his right hand. Eli threw up.

“Tessa! Tessa!” His voice sounded foreign and raspy and not his.
“Tessa?”

She lay forward in the pile they had mushed down. Face planted in
the snow. Eli begged her to be alive, please don’t be dead.

She was breathing and when he lifted her and
held her he was crying like a child. His breaths were fuller with each sob.
When her stomach cramped and she pushed off him,
they both look down
and saw the ribbon of intestine bulging
out.

AFTER PURCHASING HER ferry ticket for the SS Badger, Tessa is in a
laundromat, cleaning all the bedding Joe and Marissa used to whack Willy Wonka
into Wonderland.

She discovers the storage under the bed holds half-a-dozen large,
black binders with dates.

She opens one labelled 1955-1961 and four or five tan old-style
composition books tumble out. *1955-1956*, *1959-1961* . . . Tessa picks one up
and it opens at the middle to a black-and-white photograph of a really young
Great Aunt Sadie and Uncle Percy standing among some sage brush, arms around
each other. Her arms are barely over where his butt must be, and he’s leaning
down a little. They both have dark hair, and Sadie’s is curly ringlets and way
longer than Tessa remembers ever seeing it.

They look like they’re about twenty-one or twenty-five. It’s hard
to tell. Young.

Tessa reads an entry below it. “After his long
hike, Percy returned to camp to find a string of clothes leading into the
Pinyon pine. First a sandal, then some shorts, a pair of panties . . .”

She feels her cheeks burning. “Oh my God. This
is porn
. . .”

The description continues. “He comes upon the vision he so
anticipates. A lovely minx, curled up in the blanket and sun, as if she is
asleep . . . just for him.”

Gulp.

Tessa closes the journal, then she sees a long, thin envelope with
her name in an old person’s scrawl on it that must have fallen out with the
clump of journals.

Tessa, you’ve
found some travel journals that I was entrusted with among your aunt’s
possessions. I hand these over somewhat reluctantly, but I trust you will
protect the contents herein and be judicious about the details you share. Your
aunt specified she thought these journals might be illuminating when spreading
the ashes and add some depth to the task at hand.

Oh yeah, they add depth all right, if any of the rest of it is
going to be like this.