A Good Edge
by Mary Lewis
Jerrod tilted forward along the muddy trail that sucked at his feet with each step. He’d left his car behind in a patch of lonely woods, because he didn’t want to risk someone following his car to the cabin by the lake, where his brother Rafe was hiding out. The pack straps dug into his shoulders, weighted with his cargo of food and books. He didn’t know which Rafe needed more.
Now at the edge of Lone Arrow, the lake of his childhood, he looked across to the marshy end, the only shoreline not dominated by condos and summer houses of the rich because the ground could only support the weight of the few old cabins from the middle of the last century. His family’s was one of them, given to him and Rafe when their parents didn’t want the chore of the upkeep anymore.
On the horizon leafless trees held down the rim of the slate-colored sky with their boney fingers. The recent thaw had created a border of black water that separated the shore from the ice that covered the lake. He leapt across it and stumbled on the punky ice, plunging one foot into the inky water. He swore, but kept it down to a mutter because he wasn’t one to draw attention to his missteps, even with no one around for miles. Now he’d have to quicken his pace to keep that soggy foot from freezing, as the temperature was beginning to plunge.
Far across the lake a thin plume of smoke rose. Good, Rafe still had firewood.
A gunshot ripped through the air above his head and he threw himself down. Some idiot hunting this time of year? Forehead on his mittened hands, he hugged his body as close to the ice as he could get it, until his brain cleared. It was the ice making that sound. Happened when it expanded or shrunk with fast changing temperatures, as now with the coming polar vortex. No matter how many times he’d heard it, it always scared him. He laughed and got back on his feet, resuming his steady pace. Now he heard way down below his feet sound so big and sad he once told his brother it was like whales in mourning. Rafe had punched his shoulder and said that proved what a weirdo he was.
The strengthening wind make Jerrod tug his scarf up over his mouth. Tendrils of ice formed on his eyelashes, as good a sign as any of how cold it was getting. Far ahead a dark figure moved across the lake, and grew as Jerrod approached. The person sat down, probably on one of those inverted plastic buckets. Poor man’s ice house. It was farther than it looked, as it always was in open spaces where he could see for miles, so it was hard to tell who the person was, but no one hunched over an ice hole with such focus as his brother Rafe.
Fifty yards away, his brother still didn’t look up, one of his fakeries.
Trudging along, Jerrod thought of all those times when Rafe had sat down with him, forearms on his knees, hands free to gesture. “Look little brother, you don’t have to do everything I do, get your own thing.”
But Jerrod kept trying to be as good as his brother, because what could be more glorious than racing circles around everyone on the basketball court, or killing it on the debate team. He even worked at the mirror to get that cock of the head and lopsided smile that made everyone love Rafe. What college? Same as Rafe’s, with a major in business.
But then Rafe dropped out, and it threw Jerrod off course so much he almost quit himself. He made do with dropping his business courses. It was only after he took chemistry and found he loved everything about lab, that he finally felt he was on his own path. He loved when the color changed in a titration, whether it was blue, pink, or orange. Would it be possible to get a job in something that was fun? It took him a while to get over the idea that that would be getting away with something.
He’d worked as lab assistant at the college in town, but lost his job when funding was cut. Decided to apply to grad schools where he could work on biofuels. No sense loading the air with
At no more than twenty feet away, Rafe still ignored Jerrod, so he picked up Rafe’s ax. The old ice auger must have finally rusted through. Jerrod lifted the ax above his head, sliding his hands to the end of the long handle for best leverage, and swung it down hard on the ice, like he was splitting firewood.
“Too close man, move off a ways or the fish will get suspicious.” Rafe still looking into his damn hole.
Jerrod kept whacking at his. Being annoying was one of the few things he could do better than Rafe, an essential skill for a younger brother.
Rafe came over, arms held out, Jerrod finished a swing and came into them.
It wasn’t a long embrace but they both hung on more than usual. Maybe because Jerrod had come so far on foot.
Rafe held Jerrod’s shoulders at arm’s length, with that smile on one side of his face. “What the hell you doing out here?”
“No cell towers, no one knows where you were, wanted to know if you were alive, stuff like that.”
“Why in the world would you question that?”
“Oh maybe because I know there are people who want to locate you and have no brotherly love towards you.”
Jerrod suspected Rafe was in hiding from some dicey characters he’d got tangled up with. He worked at D and E’s, a mechanic’s shop in town, but went on long mysterious business trips. Jerrod worried he was into some scheme, like a chop shop, or even drugs. Always thinking he needed more money than his mechanic’s income and Sophie’s bank teller job, especially with a little kid to support, three-year-old Lyra.
Rafe went back to his line, tugged at it a little, and Jerrod hacked away with the ax at his clumsy hole, getting down a foot or so, but not all the way through. He had no love of fishing, even from a boat. Much more likely to lie back on some cushions with the oars stowed while Rafe trolled from one spot to the next.
“Did anyone follow you here, Rafe?”
“Just you man. But why didn’t you drive to the cabin?”
“Didn’t want to let on where I was going to anyone who might know I’m your brother.” Some water began to spurt up from his jagged hole. “I like to walk on the ice as you know, and it’s only a couple of miles across.”
Rafe had made a nice haul of six perch, and they walked back to the cabin where he began to clean them. Jerrod brought in an armload of pine, wishing it was oak, and stuffed a few pieces into the stove. Out of his pack he brought oranges, broccoli, onions, chocolate bars, powdered milk. He’d save the books for later, a history of the Roman Empire, Plato and Socrates. Maybe Rafe would have stuck college if he’d gone with philosophy instead of accounting. Or if he and Sophie hadn’t made a baby so young.
Jarrod picked up three oranges and juggled them, badly, for a few rounds.
“Don’t want you to get scurvy.”
“Least of my worries.”
“So you admit you have some.”
The pine was a little green so the fire smoked, and some leaked through the cracks in the stove.
“No dry wood left?”
“Went thru that in the last big chill.”
Jerrod stirred the logs in the little stove to let more air in.
“Look, Rafe, if you’re in trouble I’ll help you any way I can, but you’ve got to let me in.”
“Cool it Jerrod, let’s just enjoy an evening together, can’t we?”
But Jerrod noticed every so often Rafe would look out the window. And he didn’t turn on any music.
“Like what would you do if someone came? Hide? Pick up your rifle?”
Rafe cast an eye to the rack on the wall. “It’s loaded, just so you know.”
“Jesus man, you’re no vigilante.”
“What makes you say that?” Rafe cast him an eyeball, then powdered the filets in seasoned flour, hands all white and dusty. “Cut up some of those potatoes, will you?”
Jerrod wanted to take the gun down and unload it. Probably good that he didn’t.
“If you’re in danger I am too.”
“You had a choice.”
“Thought you’d be low on supplies, didn’t know how long you’ve been here, or even if you were here at all.”
“Why do you think I need to escape anything?”
“Somebody ups and disappears without telling anyone, even his wife. Who by the way is worried out of her mind.”
Rafe wiped his dusty hands off over the sink, but when he turned around one eyelid was white. “I’m sorry about that.”
He turned back to the sink to wipe his eye, but stayed, looking down into the dishwater. There was a new tension in his voice when he said, low and gritty, “You can’t tell Sophie where I am Jerrod, or anybody. Promise.”
A couple of weeks ago she’d tornadoed out the door with Lyra when Rafe came home from one of his three day excursions and wouldn’t tell her a thing. He’d done it before, but this was the first time Sophie walked out.
Jerrod poked at the fire in the stove again, not because it needed it. “Too much to ask man, but I’ll do it.”
Rafe came up behind him, placed a hand on his shoulder, then took the poker from Jerrod to do his own fussing with the logs, whispered, “Thanks J rod.”
He hadn’t called him that in years.
“No prob Rafey.” Jerrod let Rafe’s hand rest there for a moment. It almost felt like the old days. But then he pulled away. Rafe should know what this was costing him. “Some hiding place, by the way, where you’ve spent every summer of your life.”
“There was that one summer job in Canada, remember?”
“Yeah so different. Cabins in the woods, a little farther north.”
“Were you there?” Rafe picked up a towel and swatted Jerrod, like they were in a locker room. “All those little tyrants trying to drown each other, painting swear words on the dining room walls.
Jerrod cast around for another towel to spar with, but when he looked up, no Rafe. Like he’d been transported. To window again, parting the curtains. He made a motion to keep quiet. And turned out the lights.
Out the window Jerrod watched a car pull in behind Rafe’s pickup.
Rafe turned on the lights again, went to the door and opened it.
“Sophie, what the hell?”
Jerrod let his shoulders relax, since it wasn’t the bad guys, but also because now there was no need to hold that secret he’d sworn to.
She uncoiled out of the car, strapped a sack over her shoulder, and walked to the door. Her face white in the light from the door against the darkening woods.
“Thought I might find you here.”
Rafe stood in the doorway, “Where’s Lyra?”
“With Mom, don’t worry.”
Rafe stood aside as she passed him to put her bag down on the table that stood in the center of the cabin.
She dug around in her bag. Then without looking at either one of them, “So, your brother is here too.”
All the time Jerrod had known her she would talk about him without talking to him. She thought he looked down on her, having finished college and all. Not true, or even possible with her half a foot taller than him.
She opened her bag and drew out one thing after another like a magician. A sock, a lighter, a chain necklace with a ring on it, a banana, the other sock. “You never have enough dry socks.”
Standing opposite her at the table, Jerrod wriggled his foot inside his own sopping sock, now warming up at least. He should take his boot off, but with all this watching out the window, it didn’t seem the right time to relax.
Rafe picked up the banana and she grabbed it from him. “Sorry, I need potassium.”
He grinned, like he expected this kind of response. Then he picked up the necklace, with his ring dangling there. “Shall I put it on?”
“Your ring, I don’t want it.” Sophie fussed the drawstring on her bag, cinching it so tight Jerrod wondered if she’d ever get it undone.
Rafe never wore a ring. Too dangerous when you use power tools, and too much of a problem to take off and put on again. He waited until Sophie looked up to fasten the chain around his neck.
She did see though, but her eyes didn’t soften nor did her elbows that thrust out on both sides when she jammed her hands into her waist.
“I also came to warn you that those guys from the shop are nosing around town, and it won’t take long for them to figure out where you are. I’m not saying run, but you might want to have a plan.”
If she was worried about him, why had she laid a trail to his door? Jerrod wanted to ask, but she asked her question first.
“So Jerrod, how did you get here, hitchhike?” Facing Jerrod now, only one hand still at her waist.
“Hiked across the lake.” Jerrod picked up the lonely socks on the table and rolled them into a ball which he tossed onto a chair.
“Did you think that would throw off the bad guys?”
“Worth a try.”
“Don’t think so, Jerrod, they know this place. They’ve even hung out here.” She tested out the lighter on a candle at the table.
So she knew who they were. Or maybe she just suspected. Then, as though Rafe wasn’t there, Jerrod asked her, “Then why would Rafe come here in the first place?”
“Maybe he wants to have a confrontation.” Sophie looked at Rafe with the lighter raised to eye level, so it flamed between her two staring eyes.
Rafe went back to the stove to slide oil around the frying pan with his long spatula. “Look you two, I appreciate the sentiment, but I can handle whatever.”
“And what do you think that might be?” She flicked off the lighter, but kept her focus on Rafe.
“Before you came by, pretty simple. They want me to stay in the business, but I’m getting out.”
“You do know how that story line goes in the movies, dear Rafey.”
Rafe laughed. “Sure, J rod, but I’m a playing outside the lines kind of guy.” He threw the filets on the sizzling pan.
Sophie straightened to her full six feet and stamped her foot. “So my brilliant husband leaves town to hide out in the deep dark woods all alone.”
Jerrod went to the window. “Shouldn’t you have a dog or something?”
“Why involve an innocent animal?” Rafe rummaged for forks to set the table.
Jerrod felt like a dog himself, hackles raised at all this nonsense, but he was hungry and sat down with the others to potatoes, broccoli and fish. “If you keep eating like this, Rafey, there’s some hope for you.”
“Make those cheeks rosy, put a little marbling in those upper arms.” Sophie reached over to graze one of them with her fingers.
Jerrod stopped chewing. Was she going to forgive the guy for keeping his travels secret?
Rafe held still, as though to keep her hand there, but when it slid off he stabbed a broccoli like he was spearfishing. “I can eat broccoli toe to toe with anyone.”
C’mon Rafe, Jerrod urged in his mind, where’s your cool? He’d watched this brother of his at twelve strut past a clot of bullies who taunted him for the Packers hat he wore in Vikings country. They tore it off, tossed it between them and he just kept on like he didn’t care. Smoothed his hair, smiled. Sees you goons in hell or something like that. Maybe he could do the same again.
They ate in silence for a stretch, and it seemed to Jerrod they were all listening for what might come up the driveway.
Rafe put down his knife on his plate and aligned his fork next to it. With as much concentration as if he was still sitting on his upside down bucket over the hole in the ice.
“So Sophie, I need to see Lyra, it’s been two weeks.”
“After this blows over Rafe, I’m sure you understand.”
It was killing him, Jerrod could see in his face. Cool as his brother was, it all broke down when he was with his little girl.
“Is she still having problems with those little demons at pre-school? Maybe we should take her out.”
“She’s better, no biting lately.”
Lyra was one of the little demons, but she could do no wrong.
“Does she ask for me?”
Sophie wiped her mouth with a paper towel.
“She does, I know she does.” Rafe got up, paced to the sink, then the window, then back to the table where he sat down, pushed his plate aside and rested his arms on the table, palms up, facing Sophie.
Jerrod thought Sophie would get up to take her dishes to the sink but instead she shoved her plate aside and offered one hand to Rafe who said, “You know I love you and Lyra. Things will get better I swear.”
From where he was Jerrod wasn’t sure, but it looked like she gave his hand a squeeze. Jerrod was invisible to them at the moment. Maybe that was good. It meant they trusted him in such a moment. But he did feel he needed to say something.
He cleared his throat to remind them he was there. “I’m not one to give advice unless asked.”
Neither did.
“But in this case I feel the need to chime in.”
The two of them, now two hands in hand across the table, but listening.
“Point one. We are in a remote location with no cell service.” Jerrod patted the pocket where he kept his phone, then walked around the table so he’d be in Rafe’s line of sight. “Point two. Bad guys might be coming.” He took the dishes from the table to the sink, turned on the faucet to make some sound and give him courage. “Point three. You two are still in love after all kinds of shit has happened.” He turned off the faucet and faced them. “So, what to do?”
Jerrod knew Rafe hated this kind of analysis, especially delivered as bullet points. But he needed to stir them up.
Sophie withdrew her hands and slide them back along the table. “You don’t need to state the obvious Jerrod.”
So, she agreed with Jerrod, including point three. He spun around, threw a fist into the air like he’d won a race. “Alright!”
A knock on the door.
It made them all jump. How could they not have heard a car?
Rafe pushed back his chair, and took his time to stand up. A series of harder knocks.
He gave Sophie a nod, then a glance at Jerrod that meant, “Stay put,” as he walked to the door.
“Come in you two, nice of you to make a call.”
Two men shuffled in, blinking at the bright lights of the kitchen.
“You know my wife Sophie, my brother Jerrod. Come in for a bite, we have plenty left. Perch I caught today on the ice.”
Dave and Ethan from D and E’s repair in town. So these were the underworld characters in Rafe’s life? Until now, Jerrod thought they were legitimate businessmen with a good reputation. The ball joints they replaced on his old Ford Focus worked great.
Sophie acted the hostess, got up and gestured to chairs. “Please sit down.”
Dave was clean shaven over his whole head, but his real trademark was the huge glassy plugs in his earlobes that looked like holes the size of a quarter. Thus his nickname Lobes. He looked from one to the other, then smiled and pulled up a chair, making it creak under his ample behind.
Jerrod asked Ethan, “How’s business these days? Cold snap usually brings in lots of people with bad batteries.”
“They don’t think of winter tires till they’re stuck in some snow bank.” As small as Lobes was big, he’d have an easier time getting under a chassis, except for his explosion of thick curls that he bound up in a turban thing in the shop. He sat down between Jerrod and Rafe, who brought plates of fish and broccoli. “Sorry man, can’t stand that greenery, but bring on the potatoes and rolls.”
Sophie pulled out a six pack of Bud, raised it up with a questioning look. Lobes nodded.
Lots of mechanic talk, but after a couple of beers, Lobes pointed to Jerrod. “College boy, I hear you’re putting off work for more schooling.”
He’d heard it before, when he came home to his little town. “Can’t get much of a job in my field without it.” He applied to a couple of graduate programs in chemical engineering where he could work on new kinds of biofuels.
Ethan laughed. “Plenty of fields around here.”
“True, maybe I should chuck it all and raise pigs.”
Ethan kept on, after another bite of perch. “Sounds fun.” He leaned forward towards Jerrod. “But we could use some help in our business. Got any mechanical skills like your brother?”
“Cool it Eth, you’ve got one too many Thorsons already.” Rafe stood up, threw another log into the stove and banged the firebox door shut.
Lobes stood up, a little unsteadily. “That’s what we came to talk to you about, man. Assume we’re all with friends.”
“Of course, all good.” A growl from Rafe’s throat.
Jerrod gave him a look, which he ignored. So now he and Sophie would be let into their crook plans? He’d watched too many movies where the bad guys had to take the good guys for knowing too much.
Sophie put her OJ down so fast some plumed out the top. But she knew the art of misdirection, probably from acting in community theater. She went to the window. “Did you hear that? Someone in the driveway?”
Rafe picked it up and joined her. Eth and Lobes followed, now as much on edge as the original three of them were earlier. Jerrod gave Sophie a thumbs up when no one was looking, but she was so good she didn’t break character.
Were they worried about other crooks or the cops? Had to be one or the other.
When they all came back to the table Sophie was already removing plates to the sink. Jerrod thought to help her, but that could put a stop to her moving back and forth where she landed one conversational bit after another. More distraction. To Eth she said, “Who’s that beautiful gal I saw you talking to last week at Herb’s No Name?” To Lobes: “I love those ear plugs, they really set off that strong jaw line.” Maybe that talent worked well for her as a bank teller too, to someone distraught about overdraft charges. “We’re just trying to protect your money. Say, I saw you walking a cute little dog, is it a schnauzer?”
Jerrod had to work not to stare at Sophie in admiration. She was juggling them better than he’d done with those fool oranges. He could never do anything except straight talk. Maybe that’s why he stuck to the sciences.
Sophie brought out a plate of dessert bars individually wrapped in plastic, as though she was presenting a birthday cake.
Lobes grabbed one and tore it open like he needed fuel for the next thing to say.
Ethan opened his carefully as if he planned to wrap some up for later. Then words came out like each one had been weighed and measured. “The thing is Rafe, we need you to keep on doing what you’re doing.”
“I already told you, I’m getting out.”
Ethan took a bite and folded the wrapper over the bitten end. “It’s not that easy for us Rafe, we’ll be shorthanded.”
“I’m sure you can find someone else.”
Rafe, still standing, went to the corner and picked up the ax Jarrod had used on the ice earlier. Lobes scraped back his chair, Ethan clutched the table. Rafe knew he had an audience. He cradled the ax like it was a baby, then slowly drew his thumb along the cutting edge. Was he going to sing it a lullaby? No but he did give it a name. “I think I’ll take Emily to split some wood. Join me outside will you? We can keep on talking out there.”
Sophie, still in motion, sprang forward. “That sounds like fun, I can help stack.” She started for her coat, but Jerrod stood up with a pile of dishes and guided her back to the sink, managing to whisper out of hearing of the others. “They can handle it, why don’t you relax by the stove with me for a while.”
Bolts of tension shot out of her that he felt like electric shocks, but he did not have to hold her back. She managed that on her own.
Rafe threw on his jacket and the mechanics followed. On the way out Ethan turned to Sophie to say thanks for the meal, pulling his scarf down over his volume of hair. Prompted, Lobes threw his hood over his naked head and faced her. “Yeah, nice fish.” She gave him a couple more dessert bars, and the door closed behind them.
Sophie stood behind a chair near the stove, and Jerrod sat in another.
“Don’t go to the window Sophie.”
“He took the ax.”
“Which the others don’t know how to use.”
“They’re mechanics.”
“But they don’t heat with wood.”
They listened. Voices. Then the sound of the ax splitting a log and the pieces landing with thuds on the ground. Rafe showing them what he could do.
More talk. More sounds of dry oak splitting along a straight grain with clean single blows.
Jerrod said to Sophie, “He’ll let them try, like we used to do with our friends for a prank, give them a knotty piece or better yet an elm.”
Sophie didn’t speak, held on to the back of the chair like it would keep her from drowning.
And then it happened as Jerrod predicted. The ax thunked in that sinking way when the twisted fibers of an American elm drew it in and wouldn’t let go.
Jerrod smiled. “Don’t worry about the ax anymore.”
He was right, no more sounds of splitting. The voices though, grew loud, but not Rafe’s.
Sophie said, “Maybe they have knives.”
“We’ve got this, Sophie.” Jerrod waited for the talk to abate. Then on with his jacket. He was glad Sophie stayed put, probably sensed it was better to let the drama of goons play out without her.
Out in the yard all were standing around the imprisoned ax.
Jerrod tried to lever it out, rocking the handle back and forth with one foot on the hunk of elm. “That’s so stuck we’ll have to get some wedges and a maul to free it.”
Rafe looked at him like he was getting a lesson in how to put on a hat. But there was also that tilt of the head when Jarrod did something he didn’t expect, but liked.
While he had the floor, Jerrod continued. “Might as well go back inside to warm up at least.”
But Lobes straightened up, leaned backwards to look at the night sky through the bones of trees. “Not necessary, that got me warmed up.” He started down the lane. “How ‘bout it Eth, we’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
Ethan followed on their journey back to their car, a good fifty yards down the road.
“So that’s why we didn’t hear them coming,” Jerrod said after they’d gone.
“Assholes. But I don’t think they’ll come after me anymore.”
Jerrod didn’t ask why. The less he knew the better.
Sophie already had the door open for them, as she flew into Rafe’s arms. “I was so worried.”
They stopped listening for what was outside, instead turned on the radio to hard rock. Jerrod had another beer. Rafe and Sophie snuggled on the sofa with no space between them.
Jerrod on his folding chair, leaned forward to enjoy the radiant heat of the stove. “I wasn’t going to ask, but why are you sure that’s the end of them?”
Rafe unhooked his arm from behind Sophie and pulled up a chair next to Jerrod to lean forward in the same way, forearms on knees. Close enough that Jerrod could give him an elbow bump. Did Rafe feel the same rush of warmth that he did? Jerrod glanced at his brother, half wondering if he’d have an answer, half not caring.
But Rafe must have been thinking of what to say.
“We were so nice to them, and they grew up around here where everyone has to say thanks for a meal.” Then he got up to throw another log into the stove. As he turned back to look at Jerrod, he cocked his head in that old smart alec way, with a trace of a grin.
“But it may have had more to do with the ax.”
BIO
Mary Lewis has an MFA in creative writing from Augsburg University. Nominations: Pushcart, Best of the Net Anthology and the Best American Series.
Some journals: Allium, Antigonish Review, Cleaver Magazine, Ginosko, Inscape, Main Street Rag, Map Literary, North American Review, Sensitive Skin, The Opiate, The Woven Tale Press, Wordrunner. Forthcoming:Mystery Tribune.
