Her Denim Blue Eyes
By Robert Bockstael
Frank died crossing the lake on his snowmobile.
Winter storms are brutal and dangerous on Big Stoney when the snow falls thick and fast and the ice is alive and unpredictable. Frank would’ve been crossing almost blind that night and patches of open water were not uncommon.
We always used to say there was no stopping Frank, but the lake made liars of us all.
He went missing mid-March. Nobody saw him leave the Lakeside Bar that night and it was impossible to know which way he’d gone. There were no tracks because of the heavy snowfall and high winds. Without a word, he had just up and left our table, like always. People said he’d’ve taken the fast run along the shoreline, the shortest way home to Gail and Kyle, his wife and son. But I knew he was headed north across the middle of the lake, to visit Arlene. Lately, Frank had been going to Arlene’s with a bellyful of beer and things on his mind. He couldn’t stop himself.
There was a search the next day, they even brought out a helicopter, but it was useless. The local paper said it was most likely that Frank had dropped into a pressure crack in the ice. His snowmobile could’ve dragged him down fast into the black.
It wasn’t until the thaw at the end of May when what was left of Frank washed up on shore. A guy I know with the Volunteer Firefighters said the crew were sick when they fished out the remains. Frank’s broken body was still sealed inside his snowmobile suit, helmet tight on his head. His face was unrecognizable but there’d been no mistaking his dirty blond hair, sleeve tattoos and chunky school ring. Gail confirmed it was him and the dental work confirmed it was him and his twelve year old son Kyle was a mess and I felt about as bad for them as I could.
The snowmobile was never recovered, so whatever really happened out there on that night will always be a mystery. Big Stoney Lake is deep, and keeps its secrets.
I went to the funeral. It was a small service. On the way out of the chapel I mumbled, “I’m sorry,” to Gail, shook Kyle’s handand was making my way to my truck when a hand gripped the inside of my elbow. It was Arlene, Frank’s girlfriend.
My ex-wife.
“Do me a favor,” she said, in that quiet husky voice that made my knees weak. “Keep an eye on my house for a few days? I’m going to the city to process all of this.” She still wore oversized sunglasses and my stomach tightened because I knew why.
“Okay,” I said.
I lived just down the lake from her. I’d stayed nearby after we split two years before and she was okay with that because she said she felt safer. In the little church yard, the mourners mingled. I was pretty sure Gail had no idea about Arlene and I’d done my best to keep it that way. Protecting them both.
“What happened?” Arlene asked quietly, getting my attention back. She had taken off her sunglasses. I looked into her denim blue eyes and saw that the question was rhetorical. The livid scar high on her cheek from Frank’s ring told the whole story. It was the last time he’d touched her. I’d been just a minute too late.
I waited. Looked at the sky. Back at her. Her hand was still on my elbow. She stared at me with those goddamn eyes of hers. She said, “You introduced me and Frank. That time at the Lakeside, remember?”
“Long time ago, Arlene.”
Behind us, someone called out Gail’s name. Arlene looked away and the sunlight caught her hair. “You going to the reception?” she asked.
I shook my head. “How long will you be gone?”
“A week.”
Up on her toes, she kissed my cheek too hard. I flinched. She looked at me some more. “Whatever happened, you gotta let it go.” She hesitated. “I knew Frank was dead. I couldn’t feel him anymore.”
I nodded. Squinted. Arlene put her Ray-Bans back on, gave my arm a final squeeze and walked away backwards, saying, “You left some stuff in my garage.”
I nodded again.
Frank wouldn’t have stopped. Couldn’t. It had been up to me, and the lake.
She turned and was gone.
I nodded goodbye to Gail and Kyle, got in my truck and drove to Arlene’s. The things in her garage were the tools I’d used to disable Frank’s snowmobile brakes that night. I’d forgotten to get rid of them.
The lake would help me with that, too.
THE END