The Hunter

The shop is hot, and Noreen’s stacking has stirred up dust motes that eddy in the broad bands of sunlight through the windows. Nellie whines discreetly at the door, and then gives up. Outside, one of the boys gives a startled shout, and the bunch of girls burst into helpless, happy laughter.

“Now,” Lena says. “That’s done.”

“Ah, you’re great,” Noreen says. “Would you ever give me a hand with that top shelf? You’ve the height for it, if you take the stool; I’d have to get the stepladder, and there’s all them clothes from the clear-out in front of it.”

“I left the dogs outside,” Lena says. “I’ve to get them home and get some water into them, before they shrivel up on me.” Before Noreen can offer to bring the dogs water, she gives a Dairy Milk a last tap into line and goes out.

—

Lena’s visit didn’t settle Cal’s mind. He was half-hoping that, knowing Johnny and this place as she does, she would have some easy, reassuring thing to say about Johnny’s return, something that would clarify the whole situation and relegate the guy to a minor temporary nuisance. The fact that he himself can’t think of anything doesn’t mean much—after more than two years in Ardnakelty, Cal sometimes feels like he actually understands the place less than he did on his first day. But if Lena doesn’t have reassurance to offer, that means there isn’t any.

He deals with his unsettledness in his usual way, which is by working. He puts the Dead South on his iPod and turns the speakers up loud, letting the expert, nervy banjo set a fast rhythm, while he puts his back into planing down pine boards for Noreen’s new TV unit. He’s trying to work out what to charge her for it. Pricing in Ardnakelty is a delicate operation, layered with implications about both parties’ social position, their degree of intimacy, and the magnitude of previous favors in both directions. If Cal gets it wrong, he could end up discovering that he’s either proposed to Lena or mortally offended Noreen. Today he feels like telling her to just take the damn thing.

He’s decided that he’s not going to ask Trey any questions about Johnny. His first instinct was to start steering and nudging conversations, but all the deeper part of him revolts against using Trey the way he would use a witness. If the kid wants to talk to him, she can talk by her own choice.

She arrives in the afternoon, banging the front door behind her to let Cal know she’s there. “Been over at Lena’s,” she says, when she’s got herself a drink of water and joined him in the workshop, wiping her mouth on her arm. “Waxing up the spare bed. ’Cause she let me stay over.”

“Good,” Cal says. “That’s a fine way to say thanks.” He’s been trying to provide the kid with some manners, to temper her general air of having been raised by wolves. It’s working, to some extent, although Cal feels she may be getting the hang of the technique more than of the underlying principle. He suspects that, to her, manners are mainly transactional: she doesn’t like being under an obligation to anyone, and an act of politeness allows her to write off the debt.

“Yeehaw,” Trey says, referring to the Dead South. “Ride ’em, cowboy.”

“You’re a barbarian,” Cal says. “That’s bluegrass. And they’re Canadian.”

“So?” Trey says. Cal raises his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head. She’s in a better mood today, which reassures him. “And I’m not a barbarian. Got my school results. Didn’t fail anything, only Religion. A in Wood Technology.”

“Well, would you look at that,” Cal says, delighted. The kid is no dummy, but two years ago she gave so few shits about school that she was failing just about everything. “Congratulations. You bring them along for me to see?”

Trey rolls her eyes, but she pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of her back pocket and hands it over. Cal props his rear end on the worktable to give it his full attention, while Trey starts in on the chair to make it clear that this is no big deal to her.

There’s an A in Science, too, and a bunch of Cs with a couple of Bs thrown in. “So you’re a heathen as well as a barbarian,” Cal says. “Good work, kid. You oughta be pretty proud of yourself.”

Trey shrugs, keeping her head down over the chair, but she can’t stop a grin from tugging at one corner of her mouth.

“Your mama and your dad proud too?”

“My mam said well done. My dad said I’m the brains of the family, and I can go to Trinity College and graduate with a cap and gown. And be a rich Nobel Prize scientist and show all the begrudgers.”

“Well,” Cal says, keeping it carefully neutral, “he wants the best for you, just like most mamas and dads do. You want to go into science?”

Trey snorts. “Nah. Gonna be a carpenter. Don’t need any stupid gown for that. I’d look like a fuckin’ eejit.”