he may have been murdered. They’ve taken Jonas in for questioning.” Another deep breath mixed with a sob. “Maja...call me as soon as you can.”
I had to listen to the message three times before the words finally sunk in. Dad was gone. Part of me rejoiced. Take that, you old bugger. I knew you’d get what’s coming to you one day, but it took a hell of a long time. Another part of me wanted to cry. I lifted my eyes to my ghostly reflection in the patio door. Jonas needed me. The wall I’d so carefully erected around my past was about to come tumbling down. I raised my cellphone again with a shaking hand and dialed Jonas’s home number. Claire picked up on the first ring.
“This is so terrible. I just saw your dad, and he was looking fine.”
“He left the hospital on his own?”
“Yes. Apparently before lunch. Are you coming? Jonas needs you.”
“I’m...of course.”
“Thank God, Maja. I can’t talk now. Someone’s at the door.
“I’ll call you when I get in.”
“I’ll tell Jonas.”
The first Northwest Airlines flight I could make was six a.m. with stops in Detroit and Minneapolis. If the weather cooperated, we’d be touching down in Duluth a few minutes after noon. I booked a window seat and went in search of my suitcase.
By one o’clock the following afternoon, I was wending my way in a rented Chevy Cavalier up Highway 61, heading north through Minnesota towards the Canadian border. The snow was deep and mounded along the sides of the road, covering the rock outcroppings and lying heavy on the branches of fir and spruce. At Two Harbors, I pulled off the highway for a rest stop at Betty’s Pies and bought a large cup of bitter coffee in a Styrofoam cup, and on the spur of the moment, a strawberry rhubarb pie to bring to Jonas’s. The coffee warmed my hand through my thin glove, and I took small sips as I walked through the snow to my car in the parking lot. While I’d been inside, a layer of snow had covered the car, and I swiped at the back and side windows to clear enough away to see, snow crunching under my boots as I circled the car. Even as I settled myself in the front seat, thick flakes had recovered the cleaned surfaces. I turned the heater on high and flicked on the windshield wipers. They thump-thumped against the glass and left icy streaks in their wake. Driving would be slow going for the last leg of my journey.
I’d called Claire from the Duluth Airport. The phone had woken her from an exhausted sleep, but she reported that Jonas was on his way home from the police station. The police had questioned him off and on for most of the night but couldn’t come up with enough evidence to charge him. Her voice had been worried but relieved at the same time. She said Jonas would be thrilled to see me.
I pulled back onto the highway, sorry to leave the friendly comfort and yellow lights of the restaurant behind me. Even though the falling snow hindered my view, I knew that the drive through Northern Minnesota was a thing of beauty. The two-lane road curves through thick coniferous forests, and I caught glimpses of rocky shore and grey-white stretches of Lake Superior that awakened my senses. Town names rolled off my tongue— Castle Danger, Beaver Bay, Taconite Harbor, Lutsen. Near the town of Lutsen, I pulled off the highway and drove down a newly plowed side road towards the lakeshore. A rock face caked in snow cut steeply into the Lake Superior basin. The grey clouds hung heavy in the sky while the snow drove down past the ice cakes that rimmed the shoreline, the lake heaving. I stayed inside the car with the heater up full and prepared myself for the final few miles that led to Duved Cove.
Who would want to murder my father? I was at a loss. Jonas was not a choice I considered seriously. He’d never stood up to my father, even in the days when the old man had ruled our lives with an anger unparalleled, even after my mother made her last stand. Did it matter to me who had murdered someone of my flesh? I focused my gaze upwards towards the leaden sky. My father had been murdered. My breath quickened. Maybe it did matter after all. I’d loved him once, I’d tried to love him...and that should be enough to make it matter. The snow picked up steam as the wind pummelled the car. I shivered inside my wool coat and placed one hand over the heater. The air blasting into the car was still cold. I reached down and put the car into drive. It was time to face my demons.
I waited for three cars to pass by on the highway before easing into traffic. Twenty minutes and I would be home. Less than half an hour to Duved Cove.
My brother Jonas and I were thought to resemble each other, often mistaken for twins when we were younger. My father Peter Larson had Scandinavian roots, like many of the families who had made the trip from Sweden to settle in Minnesota. My mother Annika Sigredsson was first generation American. Her parents had emigrated to up-state Minnesota six months before she was born. Jonas and I had the same blue eyes and white-blonde hair of our ancestors, although where Jonas had curls, my hair hung in poker straightness. Like my father, Jonas had grown to six foot while on that score, I resembled my mother, both of us topping out at five four. When I wrapped my arms around my brother for the first time in six years that January morning, the bond was as strong as if we’d never been apart. After giving me a kiss on my forehead, he stepped back and looked at me.
“You haven’t changed much,” he said. “You’re wearing your hair shorter, but the rest of you is the same.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I think. I was hoping you’d find me more sophisticated or something.” Secretly, I was pleased that Jonas saw me as I’d been. There were many times when I felt like that young me had disappeared. I looked him over too. He was two years younger than me, but his hair had darkened and was streaked with grey strands. Tiny lines now rimmed his eyes. He still looked lean and slightly curved inward at the shoulders. “You’ve grown a beard,” I said. “It suits you.”
Jonas ran his hand over his chin and cheeks and grinned. “Keeps me warm.” He lifted my suitcase, turned and motioned towards the house. “Come inside out of the cold. I’ve put on a fresh pot of coffee.”
I followed him around the back of the house and climbed the steps to his deck. It had been freshly shovelled, and weathered cedar planks showed through the snow. I took a moment to look over his property. It extended back to the woods with a steep drop down to Lake Superior. His nearest neighbours, the Lingstroms, were a good mile away, half the distance back towards town. The snow continued to fall silently around us. I could smell their wood stove—he was burning spruce if my nose remembered correctly. We stepped inside.
My brother was a carpenter, and he’d built this house using local pine and cedar. Inside, the kitchen and the walls were red cedar, and the cupboards were painted a soft white. Jonas had built a table and stained the wood a golden brown, tucking it into an alcove encircled by windows that looked out over the side yard and a stand of birch trees and spruce. A gold and brown-glassed Tiffany lamp hung over its centre. I watched him pour two cups of coffee, noticing his hand trembling. He set the cups on the table and we sat kitty corner to each other at one end. As he handed me one, some of the coffee slopped onto the table. I pretended not to notice.
“Claire’s gone into town to buy something for supper and then she’ll pick up Gunnar from a friend’s. They should be back in an hour.”
“It’ll be good to see them.” We both drank from our cups. The coffee tasted of hazelnuts and sweet cream.
“So, what’s the situation with Dad?” I asked. With Jonas, I didn’t have to couch what I said. We didn’t speak often, but we understood each other. “How did he die exactly?”
Jonas
