home around five. He’d stuffed a lake trout with crab, breadcrumbs and lemon juice and served it with baked potatoes and garden salad. We sat around the kitchen table and dug into the food like we hadn’t eaten for days. A combination of fresh air and exercise had whetted our appetites. I couldn’t remember when food had last tasted so good.
Gunnar sat across from me, and I watched him without him noticing. He kept his head lowered, his thin shoulders hunched inwards and his blonde hair hiding his eyes. His fork moved steadily from plate to mouth, the only sign that he was conscious. Finally, he stood and grabbed his full milk glass and the empty plate in one quick motion, leaving the table without having uttered a word. The rest of us had barely spoken either, except to comment on the food and the trek we’d made through the woods. It was as if my father’s murder had sapped our energies, and we didn’t have the strength to rise above our lethargy.
Jonas lifted his head. He pointed his knife at Gunnar’s empty seat. “What’s with him?” he asked Claire.
“He’s been in a foul temper. I’ll talk to him later.” Claire stood and gathered up her dishes and cutlery. She carried everything to the counter then moved across the kitchen to the stove, where she picked up the kettle. “A cup of tea, Maja?” she asked.
“That would be lovely.” I lowered my fork, realizing that there was nothing left on my plate.
Jonas pushed back in his chair. “Would you like to go for a walk after supper? We could make it as far as Hadrian’s for a nightcap, if you feel up to it.”
It would be good to have a chance to talk with Jonas, because I knew the next day we’d be making funeral arrangements. Tobias had stopped by while we were skiing and told Jonas my father’s body would be delivered to the funeral home in the morning. Not to mention as soon as I laid my head on the pillow, all the worries would keep me from sleep. Maybe, a shot of something strongly alcoholic would help relax me. “Yes, that would be good,” I said. “I’ll wash up after my tea, and we can head out.”
Jonas lumbered to his feet. “Come get me in my shop. I’ll be ready to go when you are.”
The wind was still blowing in gusts, periodically whipping up billows of snow that wet our faces, making us lean into their strength. The snow had stopped falling, however, so Jonas and I were able to make good time between the blasts of wind. The temperature had dropped since the afternoon, but the bank of cloud cover kept the cold from being unbearable. I’d dressed in the borrowed jacket, hat and scarf that Claire had said were mine for the duration of my visit. Jonas had two flashlights that we used for the first part of our trek because streetlights didn’t extend this far out of town. Their two shafts of light crisscrossed through the darkness in front of us and illuminated shadowy hollows in the snow drifts as we trudged through the unpacked snow. The walk to Hadrian’s was about two miles and would take us half an hour. We didn’t speak much, preferring to let the night’s silence and the soughing of the wind in the trees envelop us. I heard a wolf ’s plaintive howl from somewhere deep in the woods and shivered inside my coat. I was thankful to have Jonas’s solid presence striding alongside me.
When we finally entered Hadrian’s, it took a moment to adjust from the darkness of the outside to the noisy brightness of the pub. The heat of the room struck me in a wave after the coldness of the winter wind. I took a moment to look around as I shrugged out of my coat.
During my high school years, Hadrian Senior had owned the bar, a squat, bald Swede who’d emigrated from Sweden at the age of five. His son, also named Hadrian, had inherited the bar when his father had retired ten years earlier, or so Jonas told me as we stepped away from the entrance. In some perverse trick of genetics, Hadrian the son was close to six and a half feet tall with a full head of cocoa brown hair that fell in lank strands to his shoulders and a bristly moustache trimmed in an uneven line above his lip so that he looked like he was perpetually sneering. He half-turned and glanced up at us from where he sat at a bar stool, both burly arms resting on the counter as he watched the wrestling channel on TV. His sharp blue eyes darted between Jonas and me, and I could see recognition glinting from their depths as they finally rested on me. He stood and stepped behind the counter as we crossed the plank floor. Bob Seger was singing “You’ll Accompany Me” from speakers over the bar. Two men sat at the opposite end, hunkered down over pints of beer, and they shifted enough so that I knew they were watching us.
“Jonas.” Hadrian nodded at the same time as he placed a mug under the tap and pulled a long swill of draft beer. “Howdy, Maja. Sorry to hear about your father.”
“Thanks, Hadrian,” I said. “It looks like you’re doing well.” I looked around the room. He’d kept the same oak panelling from his father’s day, but the dark stained chairs and tables looker newer. A modern gas fireplace cast a cheery glow on the far wall; otherwise, the pub had not bowed to anything remotely trendy. This was a drinking man’s bar.
Hadrian tilted his head in acknowledgment. He focused his eyes on Jonas. “So Tobias went easy on you?”
“I didn’t have much to tell.”
“Nobody can believe that somebody killed your old man,” Hadrian said. “I’m sure going to miss him coming around. What can I get you, Maja?”
“A Scotch on the rocks.”
“Coming right up.” Hadrian reached for the bottle of Johnny Walker Red. “Jonas tells me you’re a doctor living up in Canada.”
“Yes, I married a Canadian.”
“Haven’t seen you back here in a long time.”
He’d stated the obvious, and I didn’t reply. Jonas reached for his beer.
“Let’s sit at a table,” he said.
“Staying with Jonas, are you?” Hadrian asked as he slid the glass of Scotch to me.
“Yes, for a few more days anyhow.”
As I picked up the glass and turned to follow Jonas, I took a better look at the two men sitting on the barstools. One met my eyes, and an electric shock travelled up my spine. For one moment, I thought I was looking into Billy Okwari’s black eyes until I realized time could not have stood that still. This man was half my age. He nodded at me before lowering his eyes and draining the last of his beer.
Jonas had chosen a table as far away from the other patrons as possible, and I slid into the seat next to him, still shaken but also exhilarated by the encounter.
“You look flushed,” Jonas said.
“I’m getting to the hot flash age.” I hung my parka over the back of my chair and ran a hand through my hair. It sparked with static from wearing the wool hat. “It sounds like Dad never gave up the drink, if he was a regular here.”
“He moderated his drinking after Mom died.”
“God knows he didn’t when she was alive. You’ve never told Claire about life with him when we were kids?”
“No point to that.”
“It would have helped her to understand. . .”
“Understand what? Why I’m an emotional cripple?” Jonas’s voice rose. He glanced around to make sure nobody had been listening, and his shoulders relaxed when he saw nobody looking our way.
I couldn’t explain the urgency I felt to disturb the family waters we’d
