Thunder Bay

THIRTY-SIX

I picked Meloux up first. He had an old gym bag full of clothes and a few things for overnight. I didn’t know if Ernie had gone back to the old man’s cabin or simply loaned Henry what he might need. Walleye padded along beside him. Meloux sat up front. Walleye hopped in back and lay down on the seat.

“Get some sleep, Henry?”

“I rested,” the old man said.

“Stevie’s looking forward to taking care of Walleye again.”

“The boy needs a dog.”

“Don’t go there, Henry. I’ve already been through this with Jo.”

“Sometimes trying to talk sense to you, Corcoran O’Connor, is as useful as trying to talk a fart out of smelling.”

“Is this a subject we’re going to be stuck on the whole trip, Henry?”

“Stephen’s dog? Or farts?”

We left Ernie Champoux’s place, and Meloux stared out the window as we drove down the shoreline of Iron Lake. The road was thickly lined with trees, pines and poplars mostly. Pieces of broken sunlight slid off the windshield.

“We all need friends,” the old man finished. “I will say no more.”

“Stevie has friends.”

The old man looked at me, tired despite what he said about resting. “Are we going to be stuck on this subject the whole trip?” He settled back and closed his eyes.

Schanno was waiting for us on his front porch. He had a black nylon carry-on that appeared fully stuffed. He also had a zippered vinyl rifle bag.

“I brought my Marlin and scope,” he said as I opened the tailgate. He put the rifle inside, next to mine. “I didn’t know what we’d need.”

“I’m hoping we can do this smart enough not to need any firepower.”

“Are you carrying?”

“Brought my rifle, that’s all. You can’t take a handgun into Canada. To get the rifles across the border, we’ll have to convince them we’re coming up to hunt.” I watched him toss in his black bag. “You’re not carrying, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. Getting to Wellington is going to be all the trouble we need.”

Schanno opened the back door. “Well, hey there, fella.” He ruffled Walleye’s fur and slid in beside the dog. “Morning, Henry.”

Schanno was damn near chipper, the most animated I’d seen him since Arietta’s death.

“Walleye going with us?” he asked, as if the idea of taking an old dog along was perfectly okay with him.

“We’re dropping him off at my place. Stevie’s going to take care of him for Henry.”

“Good. A boy needs a dog, Cork.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Meloux’s smile.

“Where’s that dog of yours? Trixie?” I asked.

“Boarding her with Sally Fellows until I get back.”

Stevie was sitting on the sidewalk in front of the house. When he saw me coming down Gooseberry Lane, he jumped up. I pulled into the drive, and he ran to greet us. He opened the door in back. Walleye popped out. Stevie hugged him and buried his face in the old dog’s soft fur. Meloux and Schanno both gave me pointed looks.

Jo came out the front door. She walked to the Bronco and leaned through the driver’s door, which I’d left open when I got out.

“Anin, Henry,” she said.

“Anin,” he replied.

“Good morning, Wally.”

“Jo.” He gave her a big, rather dopey grin.

“Thank you,” she said to him.

“My pleasure.”

“You’ll be careful?”

“Old pros,” Wally said.

She turned to me. “Call.”

“I will.”

She hugged me. Stevie and Walleye trotted off together toward the backyard. I got into the Bronco, backed out of the drive, and returned the final wave Jo gave me.

Then I took us north toward Canada.