“How many grandchildren do you have?”
“Five. Brenda just couldn’t stop once she got going. Popped ’en out every year for five years.” Irma snorted. “Now she’s home-schooling ’en. In Edmonton, for Pete’s sake, where there are schools galore. Lord almighty, that girl’s missing a few brain cells.” She shook her head slowly. “Takes after her dad, God rest his wretched soul.”
Sadie gave her a sympathetic look.
“Clifford’s dead,” Irma stated. “Used to ride the bulls at the Calgary Stampede. He was trampled eighteen years ago by old Diablo. Blind as a bat, that one.”
“The bull?”
Irma grunted. “No. Clifford. Man couldn’t see his own feet.”
They continued walking, both lost in thought.
“So you’re out here alone?” Sadie asked finally.
“Yeah, just me and them oil workers. They’re in the other cabins. Lucky for you, they’re gone most days. They come back to sleep, unless they get a room in town. But they shouldn’t bother you none. Probably won’t see anyone, ’cept me.”
Sadie paused near an uprooted tree stump. A steady stream of ants paraded along the top of an exposed root, while a bulbous-bellied arachnid crept closer to the buffet line. She shuddered when the spider snatched up a lagging ant and consumed it.
Survival of the fittest, she thought.
Irma beckoned Sadie onward. “We’re almost there.”
The path descended toward the thinning trees, then opened upon a winding river that trickled over rocks, around tree stumps, weaving and undulating through the woods and past the last of the defiant snow banks. In some places, it was so narrow that the water was shallow. In other areas, the river was dark and deep.
To Sadie, the view was breathtaking.
“This here’s Kimree River,” Irma announced.
An April breeze skipped over the water, caressing Sadie’s face in a cool mist. The air was scented with a soft marshy odor—not really unpleasant, just damp and earthy. It made Sadie think of the Screaming Eagle Cabernet.
“You can keep following this path through the woods or take them stairs.” Irma pointed to rough planked steps set into the icy earth. “It’s easier to walk by the water if you’re carrying stuff. But watch yourself. Those steps are slippery.”
On the river’s shore, they walked side-by-side in mutual silence. There were no other buildings to be seen, no people. Once Irma returned to her own cabin, Sadie would be on her own.
Just the way I want it.
“There it be,” Irma said proudly.
Approaching from the side, Sadie got the first view of her new home. The log cabin was perched on a dry grassy knoll, its light gray roof glittering in the sunlight. Two windows on the side were framed by heavy white shutters and a small veranda with its front end on supports hung out over the river. A blue and white Coleman cooler, two worn wooden chairs and a table made from a bulging tree stump were the veranda’s only adornment, except for a dwarf cedar in a terracotta pot near the sliding door.
Sadie surveyed her new home. It wasn’t much to look at from the outside and most likely not much better inside. But the soothing trickle of the river would make it bearable.
“You weren’t kidding when you said the cabin was down by the river,” she said, chuckling.
“Just better hope we don’t get a flood,” Irma warned.
“A flood?”
“Yeah. A few years back, we had us a flash flood and lightning that lit up the sky for miles. Now that was a storm. If we get another one like that, you’ll wanna close them shutters. Out here, we get some awful winds and the thunder gets pretty loud.”
They climbed the steps that were set into the earth and walked around the side of the cabin. Stacks of firewood, covered with a faded forest-green tarp, were piled up against one wall. A fishing rod and an oil lamp lay abandoned in the grass.
Dismayed, she turned to Irma. “There’s no electricity?”
“Not out here, dear. That gonna be a problem?”
“I need to charge the battery for my laptop and my cell.”
“Well, I was gonna get me one of them fancy-schmancy generators like Sarge got, but I just can’t afford it. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I’ll charge my things in town then.”
Irma grunted. “Not in Cadomin, you won’t. There’s only one store, and that Louisa’s a real control freak. She wouldn’t even let you piss in the washroom ’cause you’re an outta-towner.” She wiped a grimy hand across her forehead. “You’ll have to go to Hinton, to Ed’s Pub. Just tell him I sent ya. He’s my brother.”
As they approached the back of the cabin, Sadie spotted the sign above the door. Infinity. It made her think of Sam, of their nightly ritual.
“Sam,” she whispered.
“Who’s Sam?” Irma asked. “He your man?”
“No, uh—”
“It’s okay, dear. He won’t find you here.”
Sadie’s head jerked. “What? No, you’ve misunderstood me.”
Irma shook her head. “Naw, I don’t think so. Why else would you be out here in the middle of nowhere? It’s in your eyes, dear.”
“What is?”
Irma ambled to the door and slid a key into the lock. “When I first saw you, I said to myself, ‘Irma, that girl’s running from someone. Or something terrible.’ I can see it in your eyes. And eyes don’t lie.” She peered over her shoulder. “But it’s none of my nosey ol’ business.”
The old woman pushed on the door. It groaned in rebellion, then swung open, releasing a cloud of black flies.
And the scent of death.
“Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus!” Irma said in horror.
Sadie gagged. “What’s that smell?”
18
Their footsteps disturbed the mud-covered floor, and a waft of fine particles—dust, cobwebs and God knows what else—ascended into the stale air, along with the overpowering stench of decomposed chicken skin, rotten fish and sour milk. It reminded Sadie of the time the garburator had clogged and backed up into the kitchen sink.
Irma rushed to open the windows. “I’m so sorry, dear. Got caught up in Brenda’s problems and kept putting off cleaning this place. I guess I shoulda come sooner.”
Yeah, I’d say so, Sadie wanted to say. But she didn’t.
Holding her breath, she crossed the room, flung back the heavy curtains and opened the sliding door onto the veranda. Light illuminated every grimy corner, and for a moment, she was tempted to turn around and leave.
And go where?
Her mouth curled in disgust as her gaze swept across the clutter of unwashed dishes piled in the sink and on the chipped laminate counter. In one corner, a garbage can contained two fat fly-infested fish heads and a slimy, black clump of salad greens—lettuce or spinach, maybe. A two-burner Coleman stove sat on the counter near the sink, a cast iron pot abandoned on top of it. She peered inside, then wished she hadn’t. Something brown and furry covered the bottom of the pot, a feast for the black flies, fly larvae and wriggling white maggots that squirmed over it.
She fought hard not to gag. “When did the last tenant leave?”
“About two weeks ago. He was in a hurry, that one.”
“I’d be in a hurry too, if I lived in a place that smelled this bad. The guy was a slob.”
She stared at the jumble of sheets on the sofa bed and the dirty socks and stained t-shirts scattered across the floor.
“Why didn’t he take his stuff?”
Irma shrugged. “Said he had a family emergency.”
“Was he an oil worker too?”
“Naw, some kind of doctor, he said. But I tell ya, I wouldn’t want him sticking no needles into me. He had the shakes real bad.” Irma eyed the room. “I think he needed a woman in his life.”