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I
“I don’t understand you any more.”
Ray stood in the middle of the brightly-lit kitchen, his fists clenched against the tremor threatening to reveal the weakness inside him. He shifted from foot to foot to cover the involuntary shudder he couldn’t hide.
His father might as well have just said I don’t love you any more.
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” Ray snapped. “I just don’t know what you expect me to say.”
Damien Kowalski shot a look at his wife where she stood, haggard and unmoving in the corner, as if to say, Look at what you raised.
“I expect you to show some respect for your father,” the older man said slowly. “And I expect you quit this crazy talk and go back to college.”
Ray shook his head. “I’m not doin’ that, Pop. I made up my mind a long time ago, and I’m not gonna change it.” He tried to infuse his voice with all the conviction he did not feel. He tried to tell himself this was what he wanted, because he would finally have a chance to be the hero Stella deserved. He tried to tell himself it was a good job, and he tried to tell himself he would be good at it. But it was hard to remember these things when the man whose opinion had once meant more than anyone’s was sitting across the table from him with pale, disappointed eyes. Silently, because he could never do it aloud, he begged his father for some sign of approval that would help him start out along the path he had chosen.
He would not get it that night, or the night after, or the next week or month. He would not see those eyes look on him with approval for another fifteen years.
Looking back, he wondered if he would have had the courage had he known it then.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
Benton Fraser froze as a match flared to life in the darkened room. He spun around in time to see his grandmother light the oil lamp; within seconds, the walls and furniture danced with flickering shadows.
He hated standing up to Nana Fraser, partly because he wasn’t very good at it. But when he turned eight last month, he was determined that he would have to start. Because being your own man was important, no matter how many Nanas you had to stand up to.
“I’m leaving,” he told her calmly. “You don’t need to worry; I’ve packed everything I need.” He turned so that she could see the large pack he’d strapped to his back, loaded with food and other supplies, enough for a week’s journey. He’d studied the maps carefully, and given his probable rate of travel, he should arrive within six days. However, it didn’t hurt to allow for delays.
“I’m sure you have,” his grandmother said, her face, as usual, unsmiling. “But that doesn’t mean it’s safe for you to go on such a long trip.”
Benton blinked at her. “How do you know where I’m going?”
“Call it an educated guess.” She paused. “He told you he would come as soon as he could.”
Ben clenched his jaw against the onrush of emotion. “I know.”
“You also know how important his job is, and that he can’t shirk his duty…”
“Yes, I know,” Ben repeated, annoyed to hear his voice rise slightly. “That’s why I’m going to him this time.” He drew himself up to his full height despite the weight of the pack. “I’m going to show him.”
“Show him what, Benton?”
“Why, that I can be my own man,” the boy said matter-of-factly. “Once he sees how I’ve matured, I’m sure he’ll want to visit more often.”
And then, to his surprise, Nana’s stern gaze seemed to fold in on itself, until all that was left was Nana, looking much sadder and much older than he could ever remember. After a moment, she cleared her throat and said, “I think it would be best if you started out after a good breakfast. Come back to bed, and we’ll talk more about it in the morning.”
He agreed, and went to bed as instructed. But the next morning, he was bitterly disappointed to see his father already sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for him with a forced smile and a hearty handshake.
One day, he would show his father that he could be his own man. One day.
“Well?” Clyde Fraser Kowalski said, amusement sparking in his dark brown eyes. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
“How about ‘narwhal’?” Ray offered helpfully.
Clyde raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, then: ‘mukluks,’” Ray amended.
“Seriously,” Clyde groaned. “You’re killing me, here.”
Ray pushed himself up off the couch to stand in front of his son. God, when had he grown so damned tall? “Seriously? It’s surprising as hell. Why didn’t you tell us you were thinking about joining the RCMP?”
Clyde glanced at his shoes, and for a moment Ray was transported back to the first night he’d spent under their roof, over—man—eight years ago now. “Wasn’t sure what you’d say,” he murmured. “What you’d think.”
“What we’d—” Ray frowned in consternation. “Listen, far as I’m concerned, you can be whatever you want, as long as it doesn’t hurt you or anybody else. Nobody knows better than you what a hell of a life this can be—you’ve heard us bitch about it often enough. So if this is your decision, I’ll back you up a thousand percent.”
“Both of you?”
“Sure,” Ray said automatically, but then he felt the presence of Fraser, silent and unmoving on the couch, and turned to face him.
Fraser’s face was a carved mask, all forbidding battlements and towers. It had been years since he’d looked like that.
“Hey,” Ray said, snapping his fingers, attempting levity. “Earth to Fraser.”
The other man kept his stillness for a few moments more, as if he were proving a point. Then, when Ray was about ready to shake him, he said, “No.”
Clyde stiffened.
“No?” Ray demanded. “No what?”
“No. Not both of us.”
“What the—?” Ray began, but Fraser was already up and moving, heading for the back door as though the devil were on his heels.
Ray reached for Clyde’s shoulder and gripped it tightly. “Gimme a minute,” he told him, and Clyde nodded, just as tightly.
He found Fraser on the back porch, hugging himself despite the relative warmth of the June air.
“Want to tell me what well you dragged that up out of?” Ray asked softly.
Fraser barked a laugh. “Mine shaft, actually.”
Ray nodded. “Yeah. I figured.” One hand placed itself in the middle of Fraser’s back and rested there, exerting only enough pressure to make him aware of its presence. “He’s not doing it to prove something to us, Frase.”
Fraser spun around, his eyes shining. “How do you know?”
“Because we’re not our fathers,” Ray said. “We didn’t ever give him a reason to wonder how much he meant to us.”
Fraser drew in a shaking breath, wiped his eyes, nodded. “Until now.”
Ray brushed the pad of his thumb over the wetness on Fraser’s cheek. “So go in there and fix it, Dad.”
Fraser nodded again, his hand instinctively reaching for Ray’s. Ray laced his fingers with the other man’s, and together they walked back into the house.