Die a Stranger

CHAPTER THREE

A few days passed, and I still hadn’t seen Vinnie again. I figured he was spending time with his family. That seemed totally natural to me, so I didn’t think twice about it. I drove up our road, past his empty cabin. No lights were on. His truck was gone. I kept on going all the way to the end, to the last cabin, to finish my work there. I had a few last pieces of trim to install, and then there was painting to be done on the walls of the kitchen and bathroom, where it wasn’t just the rough wood of the logs. The whole place was finally coming back together again, and it felt strange not to have Vinnie there helping me with these last details. Every time I spilled a drop of paint on the floor I could almost hear him clucking at me. I’d half turn, forgetting for one moment that I was alone.

Summer’s an odd time in the rental business. You get people visiting Tahquamenon Falls and maybe the Shipwreck Museum, but it’s not the same people every year. Not like fall, when it’s the same groups of hunters, as regular as clockwork, some of them going back so many years they can remember renting from my father. Winter is snowmobiles. Or “sledding,” as most people call it up here. Spring has become, believe it or not, birding season. More and more birders coming up every year, to watch the raptors and the shorebirds make their migration north. The birds come across the great expanse of Lake Superior and stop to rest at Whitefish Point. Hawks, owls, harriers, merlins, ospreys. Best of all, eagles. Every single day in the spring, you can see eagles. The ultimate good-luck sign for the Ojibwa. Or so I’m told. In fact, I think it was Vinnie’s mother who told me that.

She was gone now, and it felt strange, knowing that she wouldn’t be there in that house on the rez, even if I saw her only a few times a year. I could only imagine how Vinnie was feeling. How he was dealing with it. Or what he was doing to find a way past it.

The wind coming off Lake Superior is usually the biggest air conditioner in North America, but on this one strange night the air stayed warm, and I had to drag out some fans and deliver them to the cabins. I stuck around to talk to two of the families for a while. It was dark when I finally headed down to the Glasgow. The sun doesn’t even go down until after nine o’clock at this time of year, so it was late. Vinnie’s truck was parked in front of his cabin, but I didn’t see any lights on inside.

When I walked into the Glasgow, I saw Vinnie sitting in front of the fireplace. He didn’t turn when I walked through the door. Jackie was behind the bar, looking a little more agitated than usual. With that weathered old Scottish face of his, that Rudolph’s nose and whatever hair he still managed to put a comb through.

“He’s in a state,” Jackie said, nodding his head toward Vinnie. The slight brogue in his voice still, all these years later. “I’d be careful if I were you.”

“What do you expect?” I said. “It’s only been a few days.”

“No, you don’t understand.”

I stood there waiting for him to enlighten me. But he didn’t.

“Just go see,” Jackie said. “Go sit with him a bit, eh?”

I wandered over and took the other seat by the fire. Vinnie still hadn’t looked up. I watched him stare into the fire and that’s when it finally occurred to me that there shouldn’t be a fire going. It was the one and only genuinely warm night of the year, and it probably wouldn’t even go below seventy all night long. Up here, that was the kind of heat wave that would have the natives passing out in the parking lot.

“Who needs a sweat lodge?” I said. “You can just sit right here.”

He didn’t respond. That’s when I noticed the second thing that was out of place. This one was a lot more alarming than an unnecessary fire on a warm night, because cupped in Vinnie’s hands was a glass filled with amber liquid. It didn’t look like ginger ale and there was no ice in it. The glass was half empty.

That’s when it hit me. He had left his truck at his cabin, and he had walked down here. A perfectly sensible thing to do if you plan on drinking, but for Vinnie it was the last thing I ever would have expected.

I sat there watching him watching the fire. I wasn’t sure what to say. Jackie came over and he had a cold Molson. Force of habit, and on any other night it would have been the most welcome sight in the world. A cold bottle straight from Canada, not the watered-down stuff they bottle in the States and slap a Canadian label on. The real thing from the real home of beer, after a long unseasonably hot day.

I left it on the table. I sat there in silence while the condensation on the bottle made a wet ring.

“Vinnie,” I finally said. “What’s going on?”

He shook his head.

“What are you drinking?”

He looked down at the glass. “Scotch? Ask Jackie.”

I looked over at the man in question. He threw his bar towel up in the air and rolled his eyes.

“Something tells me Jackie didn’t force a drink on you,” I said. “Come on, what the hell?”

“I asked for a real drink,” Vinnie said, finally looking me in the eye. “I’m a grown-up. I’m in a bar. I wanted a drink and he gave me one. Then I paid him some money for it. Then I made a fire even though it’s the warmest night in years, because I felt like having a fire. Are we good now?”

“Yeah, we’re good. Since when do you drink scotch?”

“What’s the problem?” he said. “It’s been a hard week and I’m having a drink. You go through a case of Canadians like every night, right?”

“I don’t think I drink a case of beer every night, no.”

“A case a week then. Whatever. You’re way ahead of me, that’s all I know. So what’s the problem?”

“I’m not the one with a lifelong hatred of alcohol.” I could have reminded him of at least a dozen times when he’d left a room because of too much drinking going on. Too much liquor, too much noise, too much goddamned foolishness. I knew Vinnie couldn’t stand it.

“Maybe I need to lighten up,” he said. “Just let go of it once in a while.”

Yeah, that’ll be the day, I thought. Let’s go to the Cozy and watch a few of your cousins doing shots after their shift at the casino. You so enjoy watching that scene.

He lifted the glass and drained it. When it was empty, I saw a quick grimace on his face, the look of a nondrinker who can’t quite believe how bad liquor can taste. Then just as quickly the look was gone and he was on his feet.

“Set me up again,” he said as he went to the bar. He didn’t waver or stumble. Not yet. There’d be plenty of time for that later.

“Ah, one’s enough,” Jackie said, “wouldn’t you say now?”

“No, I wouldn’t say. I’ll have another, please.”

Jackie looked over at me for help. I didn’t know what else to do except give him a shrug. Hell, Vinnie was a thirty-whatever-year-old man and he’d just lost his mother. Now he wanted to have another drink. He wasn’t an alcoholic. He had no history with the stuff whatsoever, not that I knew of. What were we supposed to say?

Maybe this is exactly what you need, I thought. Press the Reset button on your life. Get out of your own head. You’ll feel like death tomorrow morning, but for tonight, I mean, why the hell not?

He came back to his chair with another glass of scotch. There were ice cubes in it this time. Blasphemy for a true Scot, but I guess Jackie was doing whatever he could to help him keep it slow and easy.

Vinnie tilted the glass back and drained it.

“All right, come on,” I said. “If you’re gonna drink, do it right. You don’t shotgun that stuff.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I’ll try to do better with the next one.”

“Seriously, why don’t you take a break for a minute, okay?”

He stood up, and this time I saw a little wobble in his step.

“Don’t even ask me,” Jackie said. “You don’t even drink, Vinnie. You’re just gonna make yourself sick.”

“If I can’t drink here,” Vinnie said, “I’ll go somewhere else.”

“Look, I know I’m not your father, but-”

“No, you’re not,” Vinnie said, reaching into his back pocket. “Here’s my father right here.”

He threw a photograph onto the bar. Jackie picked it up. I got up from my chair and went around to look over his shoulder. The photograph was half folded from being in Vinnie’s pocket, but the faces were unmistakable. One was a younger, thinner version of Vinnie’s mother. The other was… Well, it was Vinnie. That’s the only way to say it. At least at first glance, with the man himself standing right next to you while you looked at the picture, even with the washed-out color from the seventies, you’d have to believe that this was the same man, like somehow he had not aged at all since this photograph had been taken.

“My God,” Jackie said. “You’re the spitting image.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Vinnie said. “That’s great to hear.”

“This can’t be a big surprise,” I said. “I mean, you knew you looked like him, right?”

I thought back to the day of the funeral, standing next to Vinnie on the shore of Waishkey Bay, what he told me about his mother’s last days, how she had looked up at him and in the haze of her painkillers had mistaken him for her long-lost husband. Now that I was seeing this picture, it was a lot easier to believe.

“I found this picture in my mother’s house,” Vinnie said. “When I was cleaning out some drawers. She didn’t exactly have his portrait hanging over the mantel. Not after he ran out on us.”

“I understand,” I said, “but you must have seen pictures like this before.”

“I did. Not for a long time, but yeah. Once in a while. I don’t know, there’s just something about this picture, though. This picture I’ve never seen before.”

I looked back at the two faces. They were standing outside in the sunlight, the mother in a plain dress, the father in jeans and a white shirt. That dark hair tied up behind him, the way Vinnie does it. An automobile behind them, some big hunk of American metal from the seventies. They were blocking the grille, but I would have guessed a Chevy Impala. It didn’t look new, but it was probably new to them and they were standing there on the reservation in front of the car and looking proud and happy. There was no hint on either person’s face that he’d soon be gone and she’d be left to raise four kids on her own.

“He’s a good-looking man,” Jackie said. There was a soft tone in his voice, something we hardly ever heard. “They look like a nice couple here.”

Vinnie took the photograph back and looked at it. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Then he put the photograph back in his pocket.

“I need that drink now, Jackie.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” I said. “Let’s go up the road. I finished up the work on the cabin and you need to see it.”

He stood there, not saying anything.

“I’ve got a bottle,” I said. “We’ll pick it up on the way. I’ll show you the cabin and then we’ll have another drink.”

He thought it over for another moment. Then he nodded his head and followed me to the door.

“Good night, guys,” Jackie said. “Vinnie, I hope you feel better.”

Vinnie put up one hand without turning around. Then we were outside, in the warm night. He climbed into the passenger’s seat of my truck and we were off.

“It was too hot today,” he said, laying his head back against the seat. “This place is not supposed to get hot. Ever.”

I nodded and drove. The town was empty. I turned and went down our road. We whipped through the trees and kicked up gravel. We passed his cabin, then mine. I saw lights on in my second cabin. The third, fourth, and fifth were dark. As was the sixth, but I knew it was empty. I pulled up in front and turned off the ignition.

“Let’s see this paint job,” he said, getting out of the truck. But when he went inside he sat down at the table and seemed to forget all about checking out my painting or anything else about the place. He took the photograph from his back pocket and put it on the table. I sat down across from him and looked at the two smiling young faces again.

“You said you had a bottle.”

“Sorry, I forgot. I should have stopped at my cabin.”

“What are you doing, Alex? You guys don’t have to treat me like a child.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I apologize. We’ll go get the bottle. Just tell me why this picture bothers you so much.”

“Look at him.”

“I know. I get it. You look like him. But he is your father. It’s not so surprising.”

“I’m the only one who really remembers him. My sisters were like, what, three and four years old. Tommy was only a baby. No, I was the only one who could go out and try to throw a ball to him, or…”

He stopped.

“What?” I said.

“I’m supposed to be thinking about my mother this week. She’s the one who raised us. She did everything. Now she’s gone and I can’t stop thinking about my father, and all the things he didn’t do.”

“You’re thinking about them both. It’s natural.”

“You should have heard her, lying there in that bed, the last time I saw her. Thinking I was him. Calling his name like she was so glad to see him, like he finally came back after all these years.”

“You know the mind does some funny things at a time like that. Maybe, I don’t know, maybe that wasn’t even so bad. Maybe it was a good feeling for her to have.”

“I wish it was me she was saying goodbye to,” he said, looking down at his lap. “Not him.”

“She was,” I said. “Come on. You know she was saying goodbye to all of you.”

“He doesn’t deserve to be remembered.”

This is getting a little heavy, I thought. I could actually use that drink myself right now. But at least he’s talking. That has to be good.

“Tell me again,” I said. “Just one more time. So maybe you can leave it right here in this room.”

“He left. Just gone. Never saw him again.”

“He’s in prison?”

“Yes. Rotting away in a cell on the other side of the country. He might as well be dead. I kinda wish he was.”

“Did you ever try to contact him? Try to find out why he left?”

He shrugged. “No. Why bother? Just like we didn’t look at the old photographs. We just… we just moved on. What else were we gonna do? He obviously didn’t want to be with us. That’s all we needed to know.”

He folded his hands and put them on the table.

“He’d already done a few short stints,” he said, “even before the DWI and the vehicular manslaughter.”

“For what else?”

“I don’t know exactly. I think it was burglary, receiving stolen goods. A whole bunch of chickenshit crimes like that. Until they had to start locking him up. Like I said, my mother never talked about it, but other people on the rez would find some excuse to mention it to me. There’s more gossip on the rez than any sorority, I swear.”

“When did he go away for good?”

“It was right around the time I moved off the rez. I think I was just starting work on the cabin.”

“So right before I moved up here. You were just about done with your roof then.”

He picked up the photograph one more time. Then he closed his eyes and spun it across the room. It hit the wall and fluttered to the floor.

“Vinnie, what is it? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Don’t you see? I’m just like him.”

“No, you’re not. Just because you look like him-”

“I’m exactly like him, Alex. I’m a carbon copy.”

“You didn’t leave anybody.”

“Yes, I did. Hello, what were we just talking about? I move off the rez and build my own place up here.”

“That’s not leaving. You’re right down the road. You go back all the time.”

“Yeah, I go back all the time. Then I leave again. Every time I go, that’s how I feel. Like I’m doing a miniature version of my father’s routine.”

“Oh, come on, that’s nonsense.”

“Actually, I did him one better.”

“How? What do you mean?”

“I’m just talking about my mother and my sisters and my little brother, right? What about my family? My wife, and my kids?”

I looked at him. Like what the hell.

“I don’t have that, right?”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“Okay then. There you go. I live all by myself and I don’t even have a girlfriend right now. I’ve totally avoided the whole family thing altogether.”

“Vinnie…”

“My father would be proud. Just don’t even have a family in the first place.”

“You’re not making any sense now.”

“Yeah, well, your father didn’t run out on you.”

I leaned back in my chair. On most days I would have called him on the bullshit, but this wasn’t most days. He was still one-quarter drunk and three-quarters grieving, so I figured I could give him a break.

“Okay, I’ve been a patient man,” he said. “Where’s that bottle?”

I drove him down to my cabin and produced a bottle of Jim Beam and two glasses. I was about to sit down at my kitchen table, but he grabbed the works and took it outside. When I caught up to him, he was back in the passenger seat of the truck.

“Where are we going?” I said as I got behind the wheel.

“I don’t know. I just don’t feel like being inside anymore.”

“Fair enough.”

I turned the key and backed out. When I got to the main road, he had me go north. Which could only mean one destination. We rode in silence, until he opened up his window and let the night air rush into the truck. He took the cap off the bottle and took one long pull, to hell with the glasses. Straight Jim Beam for a man who doesn’t drink, that should’ve rung him good, but he didn’t even make a face.

“Take it easy,” I said, but he ignored me.

Twenty minutes later, the road ended. We were at Whitefish Point. The Shipwreck Museum was to our left, the old lighthouse rising high above us. To our right was the birding station. The whole point was deserted. One single light burned at the base of the lighthouse but otherwise there was nothing but darkness. He opened his door and got out, taking the bottle with him. The glasses he left behind him on the seat.

I followed him out onto the wooden walkway. He took the stairs down to the beach. The night was still warm. Freakishly warm, here at the edge of the world, the one night all year when it might be warm enough to do this without wearing a jacket. Before I could say another word, he ran down to the water. There were light waves. He went in to his waist, still holding the bottle. He looked up at the stars. Then he took another drink and fell backward into the water.

“For God’s sake,” I said to nobody.

By the time I got to the water’s edge, he was already sitting up, the waves hitting him neck-high. He was doing all he could to keep the bottle dry.

“Vinnie, come back, okay? I’m serious.”

“It feels so warm,” he said. “I can’t believe it.”

I was about to take off my work boots, but then he went down again. I didn’t see him come up this time, so I went in after him. I just about tripped over him, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling his head above the water.

He was right, though. You wouldn’t mistake it for bathwater, but it wasn’t even close to being deadly cold. For this lake, that’s saying something.

“Don’t worry,” he said, holding up the bottle. Somehow he had replaced the cap.

“Can we get out of here, please? Before one of us drowns?”

“We used to come up here. My whole family. In fact, I think I even remember my father coming up here. Like one time.”

“Okay. Good. Can we remember on dry land?”

He shook me away and stayed where he was, sitting there on the rocks and sand and letting the waves hit his chest and spray his face. He uncapped the bottle and took another drink. I took the bottle from him and drank from it. He took it back. That’s how we spent the next few minutes, draining the bottle and watching the waves come at us, one after the other.

“Okay,” I said when the bottle was empty, “it’s time to get out of the lake.”

“I want to go see her.”

“See who?”

“My mother. I can’t go back home without seeing her. Just one more time.”

He started to cry, each wave washing the tears from his cheeks. I let him sit there for a while, then I reached down and picked him up by the armpits. I felt the strain in my back and we were both soaking wet now, but it was the warmest night of the year and we had one more place to go.

We walked up the beach to the wooden walkway, then back out to the parking lot. To my truck, and then we were both sitting in the cab, getting the seats wet. I turned the truck around and headed south. Back toward Paradise.

When we hit town, I saw the lights still on inside the Glasgow Inn. We passed by, going through the blinking yellow light at the center of town. Down to Lakeshore Drive and around the rim of Whitefish Bay. Past the abandoned railroad car that sat at the fork of the road, like an eternal marker for something long forgotten.

We drove through the reservation, the quiet houses and the cars and trucks all parked outside. Everything supported by the casinos. Every last thing.

I took the right turn and started climbing Mission Hill. This thin road hugging the side of the hill, with no guard rails and nothing but trees to stop us if we went over. It had been such a busy place just a few days ago, all of the mourners gathered up here. The whole reservation and people from all over North America, all here to celebrate the life of this one remarkable woman. Now the road was dark and empty and as we came to the top we were the only living souls.

I parked the truck and turned the lights off. Vinnie got out, and I left him alone to walk through the graveyard, to find the stone next to the freshly turned earth. I went over to the edge and looked down at the two lakes-Monocle Lake, a single flat oval, and Spectacle Lake, looking more like a pair of lenses. Beyond them both, the part of Lake Superior that narrowed from Whitefish Bay into the St. Marys River. The night was clear enough for me to see all the way across to Canada. I saw a dozen of the great wind turbines, each one with a blinking red light to warn away any aircraft.

When Vinnie was done with his visit, he came up behind me and stood looking out over the edge. His hair was still wet and plastered to the side of his face.

“My sisters want me to move back here,” he said. “To the rez. They want me to take my mother’s house.”

“Are you going to?”

“I was just talking to my mother about it.” He nodded back toward the graveyard. “I told her I couldn’t. I told her I needed to stay in my cabin.”

“You built that place,” I said. “With your own hands.”

“Yes,” he said, pushing my shoulder. “Exactly. Right?”

He started to lose his balance then. I caught him and held him up straight until his head cleared.

“You do realize,” I said, “that tomorrow morning’s gonna be a little rough.”

“My first day back at work, too.”

“Ouch. Take the day off, eh?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ve been away long enough. I’ll get through it.”

I took him home then. He went to his cabin and I went to mine. I dried off and went to sleep and he tried to do the same.

A few brief hours of rest before Vinnie Red Sky LeBlanc began the longest day of his life.