We Waited for Valeria to Return

 We Waited for Valeria to Return. VIDEO

The kitchen clock reads twelve noon. I set the shotgun on the table and stand up to check the back windows. The shutters are closed. I slide the latch on the back door.

I go back to the living room. Sam is nodding off on the couch, his eyes heavy.

“Sam, come here,” Emma says. “Lie down here.”

I lay him down beside her. She covers him with a blanket she finds in a cupboard. Sam closes his eyes and is asleep within seconds.

“You should rest,” I say.

“I can’t.”

“At least sit down.”

Emma sits on the couch, her leg stretched out over the armrest. I watch her while I lean my back against the wall beside the cabin’s front window.

“Do you think Valeria will make it?” she asks.

“She said she would come.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“We’ll wait a day. Then we take the car in the garage and keep going on our own.”

Emma rubs her swollen ankle. Her face is tense, her eyelids puffy.

“Where would we go?”

“North. Farther.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know. Keep going until there’s no more road.”

Emma lets out a dry laugh.

“There’s always more road.”

“Then we keep going.”

Silence fills the cabin. I hear the wind moving through the pine branches. Sam breathes deeply on the couch.

“Jack,” Emma says after a while. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not giving up.”

I look at her. Her eyes are wet, but she doesn’t cry.

“You didn’t give up either,” I say.

“No. I didn’t.”

The sun warms the window. I run my hand along the shotgun barrel. The metal is cold. I look at my wife and my sleeping son. Emma is right, I didn’t give up, but I don’t know if I can handle what’s still ahead.

Outside, an engine sounds in the distance. I tense up. I listen. The sound grows closer.

“Stay here,” I say in a low voice.

I take the shotgun and move to the window. I pull the curtain aside with my fingertips.

A black car rolls slowly along the dirt path. Dust rises behind its tires. It slows to a stop in front of the cabin.

I tighten the stock against my shoulder.

The car stops. The engine idles. The driver’s window rolls down slowly and a brown hand reaches out, waving.

“It’s Valeria,” Emma says behind me.

I lower the shotgun. I open the door and step onto the porch. The air smells like gasoline and pine.

Valeria turns off the engine and opens the door. She’s wearing the same black leather coat. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail. She gets out and looks at me.

“Are they okay?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Sam and Emma?”

“Inside.”

Valeria nods. She walks toward the entrance and stops in front of me.

“We need to talk,” she says quietly. “Mitchell crossed the border. She arrived in Winnipeg this morning.”

“How do you know?”

“I have an informant in the Manitoba police. She asked for records from every motel within a hundred kilometers.”

“So she knows we’re here.”

“No. But she knows you’re in the area. That narrows things down.”

Emma appears in the doorway. Valeria looks at her and nods.

“We can talk inside,” Valeria says. “I have a plan, but it’s not simple.”

We go back into the cabin. I close the door and slide the latch.

Valeria sits in the chair by the table. She rests her elbows on the wood. She has deep dark circles under her eyes and tight skin.

“Mitchell isn’t alone,” she says. “She brought two federal agents. She convinced someone that you’re a public danger.”

“And the organization?”

“They have people here too. But they’re not working together. Mitchell wants justice. The organization wants silence.”

“What’s the difference for us?”

“None. They both want to find you.”

Sam stirs on the couch. Emma strokes his hair without waking him.

“What’s the plan?” I ask.

Valeria takes a folded map from the inside pocket of her coat. She spreads it on the table and points to a spot north of Gimli.

“There’s a private airstrip here. A friend has a small plane. He can take you as far north as Saskatchewan, to a town called La Ronge.”

“And then?”

“From there you can cross into the Northwest Territories. No highway. Just forest and lake. No one will follow you that far.”

“How long would it take?”

“Two hours of flying. Then a week on foot.”

“We can’t walk for a week,” Emma says, looking at her ankle.

“You have a car in the garage,” Valeria says. “You can drive to Lake Athabasca. There’s a remote community there. People who don’t ask questions.”

“And you?” I ask.

“I’m staying here. I’ll cover your backs.”

“I didn’t ask you to do this.”

“You’re not doing it for me. You’re doing it for them.”

I look at Valeria. Her eyes are tired and fixed, but she doesn’t blink.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask.

“Because they don’t deserve to live in hiding. And because you can’t do this alone.”

Emma walks to the table. Sam is still asleep on the couch, breathing softly.

“And if you don’t come back?” Emma says.

Valeria doesn’t answer. She puts the map back into her coat pocket.

“The airstrip is twenty minutes north of here. Leave at dusk. I’ll go ahead in my car to make sure there are no checkpoints.”

“And if someone is waiting?”

“Then I’ll handle it.”

Emma looks at me. Her eyes are tired, but there’s also a hardness there I hadn’t seen before. She wants me to decide.

“All right,” I say. “We leave at dusk.”

Valeria nods. She gets up and walks to the door. She stops with her hand on the knob.

“Pack your bags. Don’t take anything you don’t need.”

“Valeria,” I say.

She turns.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

She opens the door and steps outside. The car engine starts. I hear the tires turning on the dirt.

I stay looking at the closed door. Emma sits back down on the couch, beside Sam. She strokes his hair with her hand.

“You trust her,” she says without looking at me.

“Not completely.”

“Then why agree?”

“Because I don’t have another choice.”

Emma lifts her gaze. She holds my eyes for a few seconds. Then she nods slowly.

“I’ll pack the bags,” she says.

Emma gets up carefully from the couch so as not to wake Sam. She walks to the backpack we left by the door and opens it. She checks inside: the clothes, the plastic bag with the bandages, the empty water bottle.

“We need water,” she says.

“There’s a tap in the back garden.”

“Is it safe?”

“Valeria said the cabin has supplies.”

Emma nods. She closes the backpack and sets it on the table. Then she opens the kitchen cabinets. She finds cans of soup, a box of crackers, two sealed water bottles. She puts them into the backpack.

I check the shotgun. I open the magazine. Three shells left. I count them with my fingertips.

“We don’t have many bullets,” I say.

“How many?”

“Three.”

Emma stops packing the cans. Looks at me.

“Enough?”

“For whatever comes.”

She goes back to the kitchen. Opens a drawer and finds a hunting knife. She holds it for a moment, weighing it. Then she places it beside the backpack.

“Just in case.”

“Good idea.”

Sam is still sleeping on the couch. A fly lands on his forehead and he brushes it away without opening his eyes.

“We should rest a bit before we leave,” Emma says. “The two hours until dusk are going to be long.”

“You rest. I’ll keep watch.”

“Jack.”

“Emma.”

She goes quiet for a moment. Then she nods and sits on the floor, leaning her back against the wall. She closes her eyes.

“Wake me if anything happens,” she says.

“I will.”

I sit by the window. I place the shotgun across my legs and look outside. The sun slowly moves west. The pine shadows stretch across the overgrown yard.

Two hours left until dusk. In two hours we’ll be at the airstrip. Or maybe we’ll never make it there. 

But for now, I’m here, sitting in this wooden cabin, watching the light change over the land, and listening to my family breathe in their sleep.