front of the vehicle and gave me a hug.
“Hi there,” he said. “I knew your dogs would break the ice a bit. How’s it going?”
“Everything’s great,” I said, hugging him back.
“How’s the mascot coming?”
“Still in the planning stages. Maybe Bryan can give me a little advice from a smaller person’s perspective. We met yesterday, you know. At the library.”
“I saw your truck there when I went to pick him up. That’s our meeting place. Catherine and I can do the handover while he’s picking his books. It’s sort of neutral there.” I thought the term “handover” was a little peculiar, but what do I know about the language of divorce?
“He reads a lot, does he?”
“Well, he takes a lot of books out. I don’t see him reading much, though. He spends most of his time glued to the computer.”
“He offered to design me a website,” I said.
“Did he tell you how much he charges?”
“It’s a sliding scale, Dad,” Bryan said, standing up, his arms full of Rosencrantz. “I only charged you that much because Mom said you could afford it. Is this a boy dog or a girl dog?”
“It’s a girl,” I said. “Her name is Rosie, and the other one’s a male called Lug-nut.”
“They’re cool. Dad, I think she likes me. Can I get a dog?”
“I doubt it,” Becker said. “Your Mom’s probably allergic to them.”
“I promise she’s not,” Bryan said. “Anyway, we could keep it at your place. I’d come over and feed it and walk it and stuff. There’s lots of stuff about dogs on the Net. Pleeeze?” The boy’s voice had taken on that wheedling tone that hits the ear in the same way Rosie’s barking does. I think I winced.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Becker said. “Right now, let’s just have fun with these ones.”
“Here, Bryan,” I said, handing him a tote bag filled with dog stuff, the puppy-mom’s version of a diaper bag. “You can be officially in charge of their gear. There’s biscuits, leashes, dog food and pooper scooper bags in there.”
“Eeeew. Pooper scooper?”
“Yeah,” I said. “When you take dogs to public places, you have to pick up their poop so people don’t step in it.”
“I don’t have to do that, do I, Dad?”
Becker glanced at me and grinned. “We’ll take turns,” he said.
“We’ll call it being on doodie-duty,” I said.
“Gross,” Bryan said, then gazed into Rosie’s big brown eyes. “When I’m on doodie-duty, try not to poop, okay?” She licked his face, and he chuckled.
“Let’s go,” Becker said. “Dogs and boys in the back seat.”
“Our kids seem to be hitting it off,” I said, buckling myself into the passenger seat.
“They’ll keep each other occupied, anyway,” Becker said, pointedly, his expression suggesting that a little low-key fooling around might not be out of the question. This could turn out to be a good day.
Kuskawa is full of walking trails, criss-crossing the landscape like a vast recreational web. It wasn’t always so—the thick forest which makes up ninety-five per cent of the surface area around here used to be untamed, but hiking and birding have enjoyed a vogue in recent years. Perhaps because of the ageing demographic (everybody with money retires here from the city), the local municipal governments all recognized that building trails would boost the tourism economy. Every time a new trail opens, there’s a ribbon-cutting ceremony and a blurb in the paper, and another flock of fit, eager seniors bursts out of the starting gate, seeking the elusive fungus and the lesser spotted titwattle.
The Oxblood Rapids trail is one of the older ones, a natural path worn down by generations of locals and summer visitors seeking a good picnic spot by the falls. The Oxblood Falls aren’t the biggest in Kuskawa, but they’re pretty impressive, and there are picnic tables under the trees. The trail is easy to follow, carpeted in a thick layer of aromatic pine needles. The sun filters through the trees, dappling the trail with light, and there’s plenty of room to walk side by side.
Becker and I linked hands as we walked, Bryan galloping on ahead with the dogs. We hadn’t seen each other for a couple of weeks, and there was a lot to catch up on. Cottage break-ins were up that season, Becker said.
“More and more people are building summer homes up here and filling them with antiques,” he said. “Used to be, you’d furnish your cottage with garage-sale junk and old appliances. Now, they put in state of the art entertainment systems and fully stocked bars and leave the places empty for weeks at a time.”
“Pretty tempting,” I said.
“Unfortunately. The monster cottages always seem to be built in areas where jobs are scarce and people are hurting. However, theft was still a crime last time I looked.”
We chatted about the changing face of Laingford, and I found myself telling him about the League for Social Justice. I wasn’t tattling, I swear. It just made a good story.
“What do you think this group is planning to do?” Becker said.
“Oh, I don’t know. More letters to the editor, I guess. A delegation to council. Won’t do any good. David Kane’s on a roll.”
“It’ll be good to have another photo lab,” he said. “I got a bunch of prints back from Shutterbug the other day, and half of them didn’t turn out.”
“That usually has more to do with the photographer than the processing,” I said.
“What, me? A bad photographer? Not my fault I keep forgetting to take the lens cap off,” he said.
“Don’t give up your day job.”
“Actually, I was planning to quit the force and become a fashion photographer,” he said, pulling one of those disposable cameras out of his backpack. “Pose for me against that tree, would you? Good, good. Chin up. Now work with me, babe.” Bryan rushed back down the trail, his face pale, the dogs behind him, barking excitedly.
“Dad! Dad! A guy just fell over the falls and he’s floating in the water at the bottom and I think he’s dead!”
Six
All set for camping? Forgotten something? Kountry Pantree has all your campsite food needs at “In-tents” prices! Fill your cooler at the Pantree!
—A billboard at the corner of Hwy 14 and the off-ramp to Laingford, 2 km. from Kuskawa Provincial Park
Becker immediately went into full alert mode. The camera disappeared, and, in two big strides, he was crouched at Bryan’s level, looking him right in the eye. The terror on the
