Work Text:
Something's coming, I just know I can feel it
and it's something good, and I'm just getting near it...
June 23, 2003, 3:15 p.m.
Tuktoyaktuk/James Gruben International Airport
Tuktoyaktuk, Northwest Territories
Canada
The Tuktoyaktuk/James Gruben International Airport sounds a lot bigger than it actually is. While completely fine for bringing passengers to and from Inuvik, the small building with the peeling blue paint was not what a girl of seven would call a fun place, unless she was really into planes.
Grace was definitely not into planes. She was into books and playing with her cousin Jessie and figuring out how the radio worked and watching old movies with her dad. Sitting on a hard plastic chair and trying not to squirm was about as far from Grace’s idea of fun as she could get unless she counted having the stomach flu or getting gum in her hair. Which? She did not. But as bored as she was, she didn’t let on, and for good reason: Her father was sitting in the chair next to her, his back rod-straight, and his breathing and the set of his jaw told Grace that he was trying as hard not to fidget as she was. And Benton Fraser never had to try not to fidget. Grace had seen him sit still for what seemed like hours ice-fishing, or when they lay on their backs in the dooryard, watching for shooting stars in the wide night sky. If Grace’s dad was so uptight that he had to try to sit still on purpose he must be nervous, and in all her seven years, Grace Fraser had never seen her father nervous. Grace couldn’t figure out why. Mr. Kowalski’s plane wasn’t even late.
“Flight’s comin’ in now, Ben,” Mr. Kalgyuk called from behind the counter. He really didn’t need to say it, but Mr. Kalgyuk was really old—maybe even sixty—so Grace figured he might not have noticed that her Dad had already almost made it to the terminal door. Benton thanked him kindly anyway and held the door for Grace. She hurried to catch up.
Watching planes land was kind of fun, thought Grace, even though Mr. Kowalski’s plane wasn’t anywhere near as big or as cool as the big jet she flew in last year when her Dad took her to Yellowknife for Caribou Carnival (where Grace had had SO much fun, and where her Dad won the tea-boiling contest). The small plane bounced a couple of times on its landing gear before the wheels caught and the plane slowed to a stop not too far from where Grace and her father were standing. They watched as a door opened near the front of the plane. Benton was standing straight, with his feet apart and hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt and jeans, but Grace thought he looked like a soldier or something, like he should be wearing some kind of uniform instead of just his normal clothes.
A three-step staircase was lowered from the open door and the plane began to spit out passengers. Mr. Kowalski was one of the last people off—Grace knew it was him from pictures and from the big, not-even-nervous smile on her Dad’s face. Mr. Kowalski looked tired, but he smiled back just as big as he trudged across the tarmac toward them. Grace didn’t think anyone could smile bigger than her dad was right then, even when Mr. Kowalski was wrapping his arms around him and drawing him into a big, happy hug. Benton didn’t touch people often; sure, he’d hug Aunt Maggie and Grace’s cousins, but Grace had never seen him hug anyone who wasn’t family before, but after a second of looking nervous again, he hugged Mr. Kowalski back, still smiling. Grace decided right then that she liked Mr. Kowalski. Her dad didn’t smile nearly enough, and anyone who could make him smile like that was okay in Grace’s book.
When they were done with all the mushy hugging stuff—something Grace was definitely not used to when it came to her father—Mr. Kowalski turned to her.
“You must be Grace. Jeez, Fraser, she’s you, only smaller and with more hair.”
“Ray Kowalski, may I present my daughter, Miss Grace Fraser. Grace, say hello to Detective Ray Kowalski, of the Chicago Police Department.”
Grace resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her father sounded like someone out of those old movies they watched on Saturdays when the weather was bad. Mr. Kowalski caught her eye and winked--he must have thought so, too. “Hi, Mr. Kowalski”, she responded, offering her hand like she’d been taught.
“Hi there, Gracie, nice to meet you. Only none of that “Mr. Kowalski” stuff okay?,” He took her hand and shook it firmly, as if she were another grownup instead of only seven. “You call me that an’ I’ll be looking around for my dad.”
“It’s actually Detective Kowalski, Grace”, said Dad.
“It’s actually Ray," replied Ray. “And if you call me anything else I won’t answer.” He took a long breath and let it out. “And anyway, I’m only officially with the CPD until my vacation time runs out. Then I’m done.”
“Done?” You mean you’re—“
“Yeah. Can we talk about it later? I’ve been on the road for a day and a half, and I’m wiped.” He slung his backpack over his shoulder and pulled a duffel bag from the pile of luggage that had been unloaded from the plane.
“Of course, Ray. My apologies.” As he took the bag from Ray and they started toward the parking lot, Grace noticed that her father wasn’t smiling anymore.
**********
June 23, 2003, 5 p.m.
Fraser residence
Grace and her father lived only a few minutes away from the airport. Her dad pointed out different things out along the way, like the pingo behind the airport and the community permafrost freezer where everyone stored their meat and fish and other stuff that needs to be kept frozen.
"And it never melts?" asked Ray.
"That's why it's called 'permafrost', Ray."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Can we go see it tomorrow?" Grace smiled to herself, on account of how Ray sounded more like a little kid than she did.
"Whenever you'd like, Ray. You never did mention how long you could stay."
"Yeah, I know. We should talk about that later, too."
Grace's Dad nodded. The rest of the ride home was quiet.
Ray offered to help make supper, (maple-glazed carrots and mashed potatoes and steak, which Ray kept calling “moosemeat” even though it was really caribou), but her dad said no and Ray didn’t argue. Instead he sat on the couch with Grace and looked at some of the Frasers’ old picture albums. There were a lot of snapshots of Grace when she was younger, and some of Aunt Maggie and Jessie (who Ray asked about) and a few pictures of Grace’s mother (who Ray didn’t ask about). The ones of Grace’s dad were often taken at odd angles, unless they were ones Aunt Maggie or someone else in town took. Grace wasn’t so good with the new camera yet, but she would be when her hands were bigger. She knew how cameras worked==she had taken the old one apart last year, which was why they had to get a new one in the first place. Her dad was pretty upset with her, but then he bought her a book about cameras, so now she knew how they worked.
When supper was ready Ray and Grace helped set the table, and while they ate they talked about living in Tuk and how different it was from Chicago. Ray asked Grace about school, which didn’t surprise her because grownups always asked kids about school. But Ray seemed to really listen, the way her father listened, like he really wanted to know. After supper there was Dad’s homemade ice cream for dessert, which was Grace’s favourite food in the whole world. Ray had two bowls, so he must have liked it, too. And best of all, her dad was smiling that smile again.
**********
Something’s coming, and it sounds like bells ringing
Oh, so pure and clear—makes me feel just like singing...
June 23, 2003, 9 p.m.
Fraser residence
Grace pressed her ear against her bedroom door. She would have loved to have a glass so she could hear better, but there wasn't one in her room and she obviously couldn't just march down the hall and grab one from the kitchen. So she pressed as close against the door as she possibly could, trying to catch bits of conversation coming from the two men in the living room. They had started off quietly, but as the discussion continued their voices rose to a level where Grace could make out some actual words.
“...it, 'mdone.”
“…quit your job?”
“…had to, Fraser, I just couldn’t, it wouldn’t have been—“
“I’m sorry, Ray, I never expected...something…for me, and I don’t—”
“DAMMIT, FRASER, WILL YOU STOP APOLOGIZING?”
“Shhh!”
The voices dropped to a murmur. By the time they were loud enough to hear again, Grace was practically asleep standing up, so she only caught a few words.
“But what will you…”?
“Dunno, Fraser, I thought that maybe I could—“
“Yes.”
“Yeah? I mean it doesn’t…right away, and…”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Okay.”
After that the conversation was too quiet for Grace to hear (except once when Ray laughed really loud and Dad shushed him); pretty soon it stopped completely. Grace figured that was all they were going to say for tonight, so she stumbled to her bed, crawled under her comforter and tried to figure out what in the Sam Hill they'd been talking about.
Something Ray did, and something he was going to do. Something important to him and Grace's dad both. And Grace knew, though she wasn’t sure how she knew, that whatever it was would be important to Grace, too.
Things were gonna be different. Not that things weren’t pretty good already, but still. Something was about to happen. Maybe not tomorrow, or even next week, but soon enough. A change was coming for them both, and if her Dad’s smile and the shivery feeling in her stomach were any sign, life was about to get really, really good. The problem was, she was too sleepy to figure anything out right now. Yawning, she closed her eyes, burrowed further down into her bedclothes, and was asleep almost instantly. She dreamed about chocolate ice cream, and stargazing under a wide, wild sky with a white wolf. Little girl dreams.