Too Much at Stake (23 page)

Deb put her hand out and touched his shoulder in sympathy, but she didn't speak.

"He fell forward, still laughing ... drunk ... knowing he had me in his pocket. And then . he just lay there. I yelled at him to get up, to quit fooling around. 'You've had your fun,' I screamed at him. 'You crazy Canuck.'" Carl sighed heavily. "But he didn't ... you see ... he didn't get up again."

The three of them sat without speaking in the quiet of the woods.

Finally, Pat broke the silence. "And so it all begins," she said, taking up his words and gently wrapping herself against the cold air in her husband's big coat. "Many big things begin with the little decision, the whim, the quick surge of anger." She sighed. "People always think small towns are sleepy little leave-your-door-unlocked, walk-safely-alone-in-the-dark kinds of places. Foolish, when you think about it." She looked directly into Carl's eyes. They sat for a moment feeling the peace of the place he loved most. "It's up to you, Carl. Choices, you see." She looked at him once more and stood up, putting her arm around Deb. They walked slowly to the car.

Carl waited, watching them leave. Looking around, he remembered all the laughter, the music, the good times. Then, wiping his eyes with his great white handkerchief and then blowing his nose, he put out his pipe, stood up, and walked over to where Sal was finishing up his volunteer job of picking up bottles and cans. Stopping at their car, glancing back, the two women saw Sal's face in the stage lights. First, a smile; then an incredulous look; and finally, Sal put his arm around Carl's shoulders. Slowly, the two men walked to his police car.

"It's good to live in a small town," Deb said. And for once, Pat had nothing at all to say.

It was a cold, misty, and gray June day. Deb stood on the front deck of the ferry boat, listening to the foghorn sounding in the forward distance. She and Pat had left Burton's Sunset Oasis Motel in Nova Scotia that morning, satchels in one hand and jackets in the other. Just two days earlier they had left Duluth en route to Minneapolis for their flight to Halifax.

"Isn't it gorgeous?" Deb sighed contentedly, turning to Pat. "Reminds me of the coast of Maine, only more mystical in all this fog.

"I'm so glad that Forrest and Linda invited us to meet them for the ceremony," Pat agreed. "I just can't get enough travel these days. And Cape Breton! What an exotic place! I never thought I would come here."

As they disembarked, Pat spotted Forrest standing on the dock in front of a green jeep, with what looked like a fiddle case at his feet. Forrest saw them and gave a hearty wave.

"Hey, Deb and Pat! Welcome! I am so glad you're here. It just wouldn't be right for us to go through this ceremony without you two. After all, you did so much to help my mother and me get through that terrible time. And if it weren't for you, we would never have known what happened to my dad." He smiled that boyish grin that so reminded them of his father.

"We really didn't do anything, Forrest," Deb insisted. "Nothing that anyone in our shoes wouldn't do. After all, who wouldn't be curious and try to figure out what happened in such strange circumstances?" She turned and gave him a big hug.

Forrest led them to the jeep and tossed in their bags and the fiddle. He beckoned them to squeeze in, then started up the engine.

They spent the day walking the beach and talking to locals.

Maybe Marc would like to come here with me sometime,
Deb thought.
There's plenty of sailing.

That evening, after Mac's ashes had been spread on the beach next to the Sunset Oasis Hotel, Deb and Pat sat on adjoining bar stools at the Fish Ball Tavern.

The mood was somber as Monty's remaining band members hooked up their mikes and tested their equipment, as though they were giving a professional performance at the Tent.

Consummate professionals at all times,
Deb thought, marveling at the ability of people to go through the paces of their daily grind at times of sweet sorrow such as this one.

It had been comforting to see Monty's ashes sparkle in the midafternoon sunlight earlier that day. The beauty of the moment was tempered by the harsh reality of being confronted by their own mortality and the fleeting nature of life.

Returning her attention to the scene at hand, Deb was surprised to see Heinrich energetically setting up his drum set in the corner behind the mikes. Heinrich, Barry, and Tim had come along to the island at Linda's and Forrest's urging.
Probably guilted them into it,
Deb thought.

Heinrich had maintained the same level of abrupt grumpiness during the solemn memorial gathering on the beachfront that Deb and Pat had witnessed several weeks earlier at the Black Cat. He was the only one who had refused to take a turn at scattering the ashes.

"I wonder why he bothered coming?" Deb said to Pat.

"After all the years he played with Mac and despite his anger, there must still be some deep well of loyalty lurking in his soul," Pat replied softly.

"Where is Paul, the band manager?" Deb asked. "I haven't seen him today.

"Me either," Pat replied.

Linda went to the mike after the equipment was tuned and thanked everyone for coming. Then, surprisingly, with a wave to the boys in the band, she broke into a lovely ballad of "Love Lost." It was a sweet performance, filled with wistful nostalgia for what might have been. Deb looked over at Forrest, who had been gazing at his mother's face with a look of childlike wonder.

At that moment, the mood was broken by Deb's cell phone ringtone playing Pachelbel again.

"Turn that thing off!" Pat admonished, and Deb reached to do so. She glanced at the caller ID before she did. It was Eric calling, and there was no way she wouldn't take
his
call.

To her chagrin, Pat's phone vibrated. It was a text, so she opened her phone.

"Hey, it's Eric." Deb heard Eric's barely intelligible voice.

"Got some news for you. Can you guess what it is?"

"You didn't break up with your girlfriend on the eve of prom, did you?" Deb asked in mock alarm.

"No! What makes you think of such things? Much better. Dad took me in today, and I passed my test. I got my driver's license!"

"Oh, buddy, I'm so proud of you," Deb said quietly into the phone. "I can't wait to take that road trip out West in the RV that we've always talked about. Now we're one step closer!"

"I won't hit any more mailboxes; I promise," Eric replied happily.

"That's fantastic!" Deb cooed excitedly. "Now let me speak to Bruno, if he's there." Deb waited while the phone was passed to Bruno and then said, a bit too loudly in the crowded space, "Hi, Bruno! Hola, I mean!"

Deb's world was about to change in a big way. Bruno would be leaving the family soon to return home to Paraguay. A few short weeks after that, Deb and Marc would be taking in their two nephews, Eugene and Cliffy, who had been living in the foster home in New Jersey for the past four years.
Life changes,
she thought.

"So you want to know where you can get your flowers for your prom date?" Deb asked, winking at Pat. "Heike's, of course. She's the best. And tell her I said hello. And tell Dad that I said you and Eric can take the car out tonight! Goodbye, Bruno."

Sighing contentedly, her heart lightened by the call, Deb put away her phone and thought about the simplicity of young love. She marveled again at how lucky she was to experience it vicariously through her children to a small degree.

As Deb was talking to the boys, Pat was squinting as she tried to read her text. With a smile, she saw that it was from the official headquarters of army intelligence.

Hi P & D

Just to officially inform you, Peter asked me to send the following: Last night the FBI arrested four people, including Paul, the manager of Mac's band, for involvement in a smuggling operation. Not drugs but antiquities were involved. They cleverly put them in with all the band equipment. CIA was looking for drugs, so it took them a while to realize what was being brought in. Neither Mac nor any b and m embers were involved. Andy Ross is disappointed that his first drug bust was a bust. I'm sure he would LOVE to hear from you two.

Rebecca Miller, assistant to Peter Thomas. His text address is [email protected]

I guess my son will have to teach me how to text after all,
Pat thought with a smile.

Getting a nod from Forrest, Pat went to stand before the group. She looked around at all the musicians who had come to pay homage to a fellow traveler.

"Like Mac, I think we all feel—deep inside, past our cynicism—that there is something greater," she began. "Whatever we might call it, it's real to us all. So today, as we remember, we also put Mac into the hands of that something, trusting he will be cared for and loved. Would you join me in a prayer?

"Oh, Great Conductor of all that is, you make the very planets move in a rhythm of life and love. We thank you for this musician, this father, and this friend that you sent for a while to our particular part of the universe. Thank you for the wonderful songs he played. Today we gather to mourn his passing but also to celebrate his part in the great symphony of our lives. And to acknowledge that we will miss him in this love song we call life. We will remember him and his song with joy."

She smiled as she looked around. "And the entire universe sings
amen,
which means 'may it be so,'" she said to the group.

And a chorus rose up: "Amen!"

Then, Forrest stepped up to the mike and stood center stage before the gathered friends and family. He smiled at Linda, and his brown eyes danced. "This is for you, Dad," he said simply. Then he very smoothly reached behind him and pulled out Mac's fiddle, the same fiddle that he had spent his entire life avoiding. He placed the old fiddle under his chin and struck up his dad's favorite encore piece, "Farewell Friend."

Yes, we've traveled the world together, up hill and down; we've traveled the world together exploring sea and sound. But now our paths are parting, you've other songs to sing; And now my path goes on and beyond, under the goddess' wing.

So remember me to the children when you're telling our tale,

And remember me in the laughter, when you succeed and when you fail.

And remember me most my dear friends, in the music we both loved so.

Farewell for now, but don't be sad. It's only a word, you know.

Remember, remember, for I'll be waiting there for you. Remember, remember, you've a place in her choir, too.

It's good to be home,
Deb thought as she stretched out on her deck chair and looked through the piles of mail that had arrived while she and Pat were away. She was enjoying the quiet.
This kind of quiet only comes when kids are in school and husbands, God bless them, are off working.

Putting her feet up on the extra chair, she leafed through the envelopes, opening the ones of interest.

Hmm, electric bill, phone bill... yikes, it's gotten bigger with all of us having cell phones.
She shook her head.
Let's see ... city water bill ... a card from friends in Hawaii.

Today, she didn't even feel the sin of envy that her friends owned a condo on Maui.
My life is pretty good
.
..
There was an announcement of coming movies at the film society from Ruth and Joel, a dentist bill, and a note from one of Bruno's coaches, telling them how much he enjoyed Bruno on the tennis team.

An auction flyer slipped out of the envelopes. She nearly put it in the throwaway pile but then thought,
Maybe Pat will want to see this. She loves auctions.

As she read it, she gasped loudly as she realized what it was. The heading read:

Auction to be held at the Big Top of items from days gone by.

Come bid on a poster signed by your favorite singer or drumsticks autographed by musicians. List below.

Once-in-a-lifetime sale.

She couldn't believe the amount of memorabilia that they were selling. There were two pages of items.
Could these
all
be from Carl's little collection? Wait 'til I show this to Pat, s
he thought
.

Deb picked up a simple green envelope next. Opening it, she clasped her hand to her mouth with glee as she read an invitation to a wedding reception for Linda and Sam.
I had no idea! Life is full of surprises!

As she came to the bottom of the mail, an embossed envelope slipped from her hand to the deck. Picking it up, she noticed a faint scent.
Carolyn,
she thought. Opening it with her butter knife, she read:

Dearest Deb;

Although you have gone off the BigTop board, due to some recent changes your assistance is needed to help resolve a serious conflict in our organization.

As you may know, there is a movement among board members to erect a statue at the foot of the ski hill to honor and memorialize all those who have made the Tent successful over the years. The challenge is that we can't agree who should be a part of the statue. I'm sure you can appreciate how so many people feel connected to and have a stake in this.

Even though we now know that a bronze statue is out of our price range, the idea is worthy enough that we would like to proceed by using your friend Pat's idea to have it carved by one of our local chainsaw artists out of wood.

We frankly need your mediation skill. Carl used to be so good at this. Please consider joining us for a committee meeting next Wednesday at 1 p.m. at Patsy's Bar.

Sincerely,

Carolyn