The Boy Page 2

  Bludgeoned. A word that was new to my vocabulary when I was eleven years old. I remembered sitting on the back step, my mouth full of that blunt, ugly, word. But it was pictures more than words that began roiling up out of my memory now. I conjured a small clapboard bungalow, a flashy convertible, a madman rampaging through the central Alberta countryside. The eldest son of the murdered family.

  The son? The son murdered the family?

  I couldn’t remember how the story ended. There was an escape, a recapture, and then? All this had happened more than forty years ago. Surely sometime in my adulthood there’d been a mention of Robert Raymond Cook, but if so, it had passed me by without this tweak—no, this clutching of the throat—of my memory.

  Dave remembered the murder story, he said, but only vaguely. Dorna and Robert shook their heads.

  For the last ten minutes of the drive I concentrated on the scenery, miles of mint green ranchland rolling toward bruise-coloured mountains. When we parked on Main Street, Longview, I vowed to douse the morbid memories and enjoy the evening. This quiet little town with its one long commercial street and scattering of possibly two dozen houses was postcard serene, and from our table next to the window we looked out at the hills, the tall grass bending always to the east.

  The sons of the Moroccan family who owned the busy restaurant with its French bistro menu, country kitchen ambiance, were working that night. One in the kitchen, one waiting on tables. Before Longview, they’d owned a successful restaurant in Calgary, but had moved to this small town, this space just up the street from Ian Tyson’s Navajo Mug coffee house, for the quieter life.

  Could I see my children working alongside us in a family business? Working alongside each other for more than an hour without bickering and plotting their escape? Different cultures, different sense of family obligation, we agreed quietly over our dinner but not without a slightly wistful note in all our voices. And as for the safety and serenity of the small town? The members of the Cook family were bludgeoned to death in small town Alberta. Stettler.

  I do remember that murder, Dave said. Hard to imagine what could provoke a son to murder his family. Hard to imagine.

  Before I had children, I’d never imagined sons at all. My fantasies were of a gaggle of auburn-haired daughters, cheerful

  cherubs who became tall, quick-witted girls who grew into headstrong capable women. Our daughter was born ten weeks early and grew into a petite, blonde, sweet-natured girl, then hit the crucible of junior high. I’d forgotten, repressed probably, the nastiness of grade eight girls. None of this is the stuff of fantasy. These are things from which we cannot shield our children, but our daughter survived. I made a mental note to ask her sometime, what she remembered of junior high. When our second child was born, I’d looked at the robust boy in my arms and wondered what I needed to know to raise a son. He and our third, another son, plunged me into the world of boys. My two sons and their many friends grew from puppy-dog toddlers to noisy exuberant boys and were now on the cusp of becoming men. There were times when the sheer force of their energy overwhelmed my house. There were times when I saw flashes of anger that seemed to come from a place I did not want my child to inhabit.

  Ha. When you haven’t had the pleasure of the first twelve years with the boy, there’s a real reason to feel overwhelmed. And more.

  I filed away the garage, the grease pit, bludgeoned bodies, until we were home again and I sat down, compulsively as ever, to check my email before bed. Then I “googled” the murderer, Robert Raymond Cook.

  Good. Let’s get down to it.

  Exactly. I’m going to find out what happened and be done with it.

  I don’t think so.

  Seven members of the Cook family were murdered in June, 1959. Robert Raymond Cook was tried twice,

  convicted, lost an appeal to the Supreme Court of Canada, lost a last ditch bid for a commuted sentence and was hanged at Fort Saskatchewan Provincial Gaol on November 14, 1960. He claimed the infamy, I discovered, of being the last man hanged in Alberta. Little wonder, I thought, that I’d filed the Cook case away so quickly in my young mind. Justice had been swift, the case probably old news within a year.

  Aside from this thumbnail sketch on the “Great Alberta Law Cases” page of the Alberta Online Encyclopedia, there were few links. Three books on the subject. I jotted down the titles. Maybe the next time I was at the library…Maybe.

  Leave it, I told myself. This was a gruesome story. Better to spend my time on Louise’s story. The Cooks—all eight of them—had been dead for almost fifty years. There were enough new murder stories to trouble anyone’s dreams.

  In the morning, I blamed the several cups of coffee at the Steakhouse for my insomnia, but it was the memory of the Cook murders that had kept me awake. How much of it real, how much imagined? How much did it matter?

  Oh, it matters. I have a feeling this is going to be important. To me.

  Louise was right. When I sat at the computer that morning, I finally acknowledged that her story wasn’t just about family dynamics, a rebellious teenaged stepson, a crisis, a resolution. There was a reason for my recall of the Cook story. Write boldly! Hadn’t I given that advice to other writers? If the writing frightens you, you’re finally getting somewhere?

  I found myself contemplating a trip to Stettler, although that was surely not where Louise’s story was set. Nor should it be necessary for me to travel around rural Alberta to get the feel of small town life. I’d lived it.

  The Boy

  July 1994

  Since the night they met in the bar, Louise and Jake had been to four movies, drunk countless cups of coffee together, and driven out into the country to Jake’s hometown of Valmer for a quick look-see, as he put it, at a couple of houses he was interested in.

  On their third date, Jake told Louise that Daniel had been caught shoplifting a Playboy magazine the day before. Before she could respond, Jake launched into a monologue on how the city was a bad influence on Daniel, and if he and Brenda had stayed in the small town where they both grew up, the boy would have been fine. Everyone knew him there and came to Jake and Brenda if there was a problem instead of running to the principal or the police. If that sort of thing had happened in Valmer, Jake said, the store owner would have sent Danny away with a stern warning, then phoned Brenda to tell her about the mischief so they could deal with it at home. But in Edmonton, the manager of the drugstore called the police, claiming this was the third time he’d been suspicious of Daniel’s activities, and although it was the first time he’d caught him in the act, he’d bet money there had been previous thefts. No charges were laid, but they would be the next time.

  Even though Louise still hasn’t met the boy, she knows from teaching at least a half dozen other “Dannys” that it’s only a matter of time until he’s in trouble again. She has enough problem children to deal with at school. Should she let another one of these little con artists into her personal life because he’s convinced his father that the world is to blame for his mischief? But there is the gentleness with which Jake treats her, the pleasure of being out in public with what her mother would call “a fine figure of a man,” and the fact that for the first time in her adult life, Louise is tempted to believe that she’s pretty. Jake told her so.

  Still, a whole month into their relationship, Louise is making excuses for postponing her meeting with Danny. Jake’s hours at the car showroom run to evenings and weekends, and Louise takes advantage of her summer vacation to spend three mornings a week visiting her mom at the nursing home and two mornings dropping in on her dad at the house.

  Jake was impressed when she told him about her dutiful daughter routine. “Not many people are that committed to their folks. They’re lucky to have you!”

  Well, no. She’s always felt she was the lucky one. An only child, a surprise in her mother’s mid-forties after years of assuming the
y’d never have a child, her parents doted on her. She grew up in a household so calm that it’s taken her years to stop flinching every time she hears voices raised in disagreement. Even loud friendly dissent makes her uncomfortable. Her parents enrolled her in piano, ballet, art lessons, figure skating, anything in which she expressed even a ripple of interest, and there was never a hint of disappointment shown when she gave up and moved on to something else. Louise responded to that gentle nurturing in the same way she now basks in Jake’s attention—gratefully, and with a fierce desire to be worthy of his interest.

  Jake’s interest in her, though, except for a few gentle caresses of her hair or her cheek, a hand cupped around her elbow when she gets in and out of the car, chaste, tight-lipped, good night kisses, seems so brotherly that Louise is expecting to be dumped. One of her best friends at school, a gay teacher who started the same year as Louise, has told her many times that she needs to learn how to flirt. That she gives off no erotic signals at all. Has he considered, she’s asked him, that her lack of enthusiasm might be the result of being repeatedly rejected rather than the cause?

  “Oh honey,” he said, “you just keep on trying; don’t turn into everybody’s big sister.”

  Then Jake phones and says he really wants her to meet Daniel. That if they are going to get serious—oh yes, she wants to shout, please let’s get serious—she should be willing to fit into his life; and his son is a big part of that life.

  “Okay,” she says. “Why don’t the two of you come to my house for dinner?”

  “No, let’s make it my place. Danny’s better at home. He can say hi, visit for a few minutes and take off to his room if he wants to. I’ll cook.”

  She agrees, but after she hangs up the phone she’s tempted to call back. Tell Jake she has a strong sense that she’s making a mistake, and she’s going to save them both whatever it is she fears. But she also fears hurting this kind man who’s told her she’s the first woman he’s called more than once since he started going out again. And she’s decided that if he’s going to dump her, or she has to dump him, she’s going to bed with him at least once before that happens. She’s thirty-six years old and has yet to have a relationship that’s gone beyond a few dates and some sweaty tussling that is not what she’s ever imagined as love-making.

  Danny looks like his dad, short for his age, probably able to pass for ten rather than twelve, but Louise doesn’t see anything like the naïve immaturity Jake has described. There is a slyness to those green eyes, the way they dart away as soon as Louise makes contact with them, then flick back to check if she’s given up or is still watching him. He has the same square jaw as his dad, same heavy blond hair that refuses to lie flat in spite of the goop he uses to slick it down. Jake’s solution is a brush cut, but Dan looks as though he hasn’t been in a barber’s chair since his mother died.

  Louise has brought a gift. A skater’s magazine, because Jake told her a skateboard is at the top of Danny’s wish list for his birthday. He will be twelve in another week. He takes the package enthusiastically enough, but frowns when he pulls the magazine out of the paper. His nose needs wiping. Something Louise can’t abide in her grade threes, never mind a boy this size. Jake has told her Danny has allergies.

  “I have this one. Why did you buy me a skateboarding magazine?” He throws the book on the coffee table.

  What did he think it was? Playboy?

  “Daniel.” Jake’s voice is quiet, but loaded with warning.

  “Thanks,” Danny mutters.

  “You’re welcome. Your dad told me you were interested in skateboarding. Give it to one of your friends,” Louise says. She pulls her wallet out of her bag.

  “Louise, no.” Jake puts a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to,” she says, pulling out a ten dollar bill. “Here. Buy something else.” Cheap for a birthday present? She doesn’t know the kid. This is meant to be a peace offering of sorts. She and Jake and Daniel all stand looking at the bill in her outstretched hand. Finally Danny shrugs and takes it from her.

  “Thanks,” he says again, this time without the scowl. He looks at her quizzically for a minute. “Hey, I thought my dad liked pretty girls.”

  Louise wants the beige carpet under her feet to open and swallow her. Or better yet, to swallow the boy.

  “Daniel!” Jake clamps a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” he says, turning toward Louise. “It’s a joke. A very stale joke he made up a while back and as of tonight, it’s retired.” He goes nose-to-nose with Danny. “For good. Get it?”

  “Got it,” Danny says, wrenching himself away from his dad. Then he turns and stomps out of the room.

  Danny doesn’t come back until Jake calls him for dinner, and he eats his plate of spaghetti in silence. Someone has obviously taken time to teach him to keep his elbows off the table, to manage pasta without wearing it on his chin. No slurping, or burping and when he’s done, he carries his plate to the sink, rinses it, stacks it in the dishwasher.

  He comes back to the table and stands beside Jake’s chair. “So can I?”

  “Okay. But only half an hour. That joke cost you.” Jake stands up. “Excuse me a minute, Louise. I’m going to get the Nintendo out of lock-up. We decided when it came into the house that it was going to be a privilege, not a right.”

  We? Louise knows Daniel wasn’t party to this decision. She feels as though his mother, Jake’s dead wife has joined them. Louise is in another woman’s house.

  Danny lags behind. As he passes Louise, the words slip out of the corner of his mouth. “All the other ones thought the joke was funny.”

  “I’ll just bet they did,” she says quietly. “Enjoy your game, Daniel.”

  He slouches out of the room. Not surprising that Jake Peters has never had more than two dates with anyone before her. Oh no, she is not giving up. She has a reputation for never having been bested by a student, and damned if she’s going to let this miserable little tick burrow into her skin so easily.

  When Jake comes back, she clears the table while he makes coffee. “He has good table manners, your son,” she says. Like the parent teacher interviews at school when the only positive thing she can say about a struggling child is that he’s polite.

  “When he wants to,” Jake says. He takes the stack of plates from her hands and puts his arms around her. “He behaved like a little jerk. But you know what?” She tilts her head to look up at him. “I think he likes you.”

  “Oh really, Jake.”

  “No, honestly. He says he’s sorry he made that stupid wisecrack.”

  “I’ll bet he is,” she says, “because this time it fit.”

  “Oh come now. You’re fishing for a compliment, because you can’t possibly be that insecure.” He pulls her so tight she can feel his heart thumping against her breasts. Such a good strong heart. She’s glad he can’t see her face, the blush over how pathetic she must have sounded. “Have your coffee,” he says. “I’m going next door to ask my neighbour to keep an eye out for Dan for a couple of hours. We are going back to your place.”

  As they’re leaving, a woman who looks older, more frail than many of the people who are resident at the nursing home where Louise’s mother lives, is making her cautious way up the front walk.

  “Alice!” Jake takes her arm. “You don’t have to sit over here. Just so long as he knows you have an eye on the house he’ll behave.”

  Now that she’s standing straight, shoulders back in almost military posture, the woman looks a little less like she’s the one in need of care. She pushes her glasses up onto her nose, tilts her head and stares at Louise, blinking like an owl. “Well you don’t look scary at all,” she says. “Daniel told me he was awfully nervous about his dad bringing home a teacher.” She shrugs free of Jake’s hold, and pats him on the arm. “I know I don
’t have to sit here, but I happen to like the boy’s company. He’s a sweetie, isn’t he?” She looks so stern that Louise can only nod in agreement. “Actually, I came over so he can tell me what he thinks of you.”

  Louise forces a smile. Wouldn’t she love to stay around and eavesdrop on that one? No, not in the least.

  “Looks like Danny has a friend in Alice,” she says when they’re in the car and driving toward her apartment, the direction she’s been hoping the evening would take. She wonders if Jake told Alice where they were going. Or Danny. No, she does not want to be in any imagining of Danny’s.

  “Ah, she’s a snoopy old bat,” he says, “but she has a kind heart and I don’t know what I’d have done without her help with Brenda in the end.”

  “She was Brenda’s friend too?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. Brenda found Alice a bit much, kind of rude, but Alice and Danny have been pals since we moved in when he was a little guy. Just so you know, she’s been telling me for months that I need to find someone.”

  They’re stopped at a red light, and when he drums his fingers on the steering wheel, Louise reminds herself that he’s probably been more nervous about tonight than either she or Danny.

  She lays her hand over his to still the jumpy fingers. “Don’t worry, Jake. I’m sure Danny and I will get used to each other.” But there is no way, she thinks, even though she has decided that she is going to marry Jake, that she will ever really be Daniel’s mother.

  As for a move from the city being the answer to Danny’s problems, Louise hopes she won’t have to see Jake’s romantic notion kicked down the main street of some Alberta town.

  Valmer? Does it by any chance bear a striking resemblance to that town with the broken-down garage?

  No. Wrong landscape. I’m thinking more central Alberta.

  Stettler region?

  Close.