Mystery in the Mist novel (Chap. 2)

CHAPTER TWO

 

Troy tried once again to concentrate. Couldn't these strangers read their 'CAMPGROUND CLOSED' sign? Besides, this was private property for now. Were they supposed to have an ‘Open House’ for visitors who decided to come whenever they felt like it?

Hey, maybe they're coming early to register, and wanting to pick out the best cabin.

            Or, what if they’re lost and simply need directions? What if they wished to stay overnight, maybe, even a week? Questions and more questions buzzed like busy bees.

            If there were too many interruptions, dad would never get his work completed. He might even lose his job as the camp caretaker. Then their life would go into another tailspin.

Troy couldn’t help being a first class ‘worry-wart’.

Right now, there was no one else to ponder these questions. JC wasn’t much help. And Dad was probably having ‘happy hour’ again with the beer case downstairs.

It gave Troy a rank of importance, thinking and worrying about these things. What else would he be able to chew on? Sometimes it kept him up late at night wondering what was going to happen next.

            Lately though, his memory wasn't so good. He had a hard time trying to fit the pieces together since the accident. Something kept trying to come out. As if a secret was locked behind a closed door. And someone had hidden the key.

            Troy knew it was an awesome responsibility for someone his age to look after himself and his dad. It was a big job but he could handle it.

            Rapping on the front door pumped up his feet. Troy charged down the stairs, long legs jumping two at a time. He pounded out a hurrying song, “Coming...I'm coming!”      

            Troy stopped suddenly, took a deep breath, and pulled open the door. The wind hurled against him, like a giant snowball.

A boy his own age stood, shivering in the falling sleet. He was Troy’s size, with light brown hair. Troy burst out laughing at the pile of snow on his toque.

            Should he ask him in? No, why should he? Besides, that kid shouldn't be here bothering them. Let him get more snow on top of his head. Then the stranger would have his own snowman without doing any work.

Troy chased away these silly thoughts and decided to be polite. But his voice sounded nasty when he asked, “What do you want?” It wasn’t fair to be rude. After all, this boy didn't do anything to hurt him. It wasn’t his fault Troy's dad wanted to watch TV instead of following up on his promise, to take him fishing.

            “Okay if we go fishing down by the river?” the boy asked.

What does he mean, go fishing? I’m supposed to go, not him. How come the boy is so polite? Troy looked him over carefully.

            The stranger pointed to the car. “That's my dad,” he said proudly. “He came here a long time ago. Dad hopes the fishing is still good behind those trees.”

            The boy waved in the direction where the river split around a huge pile of rocks. Shortly after arriving here, Troy explored that spot. It was just beyond a thick stand of trees in the distance.

            Sure, sure rub it in. That's where he and Dad planned to go. “You want to go fishing in this weather?” Troy asked, sarcasm in his voice.

            “Why not? It's only water, my dad says. He promised to take me today.” The boy seemed so happy. “He says it's my birthday present. But that's not for a couple days. Besides, when my dad says something, it's ‘rain or shine’. He says the fishing here is...”

            “You already told me,” Troy said in a snappy voice. He was plain jealous. “The fish probably won’t bite today. It’s too cold,” he added hastily.

            At that moment, a friendly wave moved back and forth from the car window.

            “Just a sec, I'll check and see if my dad says it’s okay,” Troy finally said, “Might as well come inside and get warm.”

Closing the door behind the boy he walked slowly down the hallway. Almost like carrying a load of bricks. He hoped Dad would say, “No.”      

            “Dad?” Troy’s quick glance took in the messy kitchen and living room. It hadn't been vacuumed for at least a month. His eyes found a body slouched across the couch. Troy whispered the boy’s request. 

            “OOOKAAY…surrre.” 

Troy counted out how many 'cool ones' Dad had this morning. He didn’t think dad fully understood Troy’s question through the noise of the commercials.

            His dad wasn't even shaving these days. No sense worrying about it though. Troy wasn't brushing his teeth regularly either. He was guilty of picking up Dad’s lazy habits.

            Troy jet-streamed downstairs where the boy was patiently waiting. “Guess it’s okay.”  He wished it were him going instead of that boy. But what the heck, the kid might as well have fun.

            “Thanks. Thanks a lot,” and the lucky stranger was off. 

            After closing the door, Troy headed back into the house. There was nothing else to do except look out the window. He watched snowflakes become clumps, bending tree limbs. He could always have a long conversation with JC, since Dad was in no condition to listen in.

            The boy worried this could turn into a real boring day.

        “TROYYY?” Dad's voice came down the hall. It was more like an echo from a canyon. It reminded Troy of when he was a little guy. Those were happier times. Even though his memory was blurred from the accident, he remembered fun camping trips. 

When dad called, Troy couldn't run fast enough to get a beer.

            Before the accident, they did family things together. It might be a quick trip to Halifax, around the Cabot Trail, or fishing for Mackerel at Pictou harbour. Those adventures remained alive in the boy’s memory.

            Things were sure different now.

            He was tired of being a slave. Or burying full beer bottles in the back yard, so Dad wouldn't drink too much.  

            Troy figured this was a “munchies” call, so he brought a large bag of chips. It was sad seeing Dad turn into a couch potato. The man looked bleary-eyed, barely able to raise a hand to wave at his son.

            Next thing, Troy would need extra muscles to pull Dad around in a wagon. The boy chuckled to himself.

            “Thanks, kid. Hey, forget my beer?”

            “Only a couple left, Dad. Save some for later. OK?” Troy didn't like the whine escaping through his lips.

            “Come on, kid. Get me a beer. What's the matter? Trying to nursemaid me? I was planning on putting in a good day's work. But, it's ‘kinda’ wet out there. Think we should still repair a couple of cabins?”

            My name's Troy, he felt like shouting, not kid. Instead he answered, “We were supposed to go fishing. Remember? I don't care if it's wet. Come on, Dad. You promised.”

            “You kidding? It's terrible out there. We'd catch our death of cold. Another time...”

            “...and besides, I'm tired,” Troy sang along.

            “Don't sass me,” his father said, rubbing his face. Then he stretched and reached for the bag of rippled chips, his favorite. “When you ‘back talk’ the old man, that's an invitation for me to lay back and take it easy. Just like this,” he said.  

            “We don't do anything anymore!” Troy shouted and ran off to his room.

            Ever since Mom died, Dad's been moping around. He doesn't even like this camp job. It was just something to get away from everything. And everyone. Too much work has to be done here. How will he ever get the repairs all finished in time for camp opening? Troy’s thoughts whirled like an out of control tornado. 

Roofs had to be shingled, doors fixed, screens replaced, windows too. There was a whole stack of stuff in the camp warehouse waiting to be used.

            Troy hoped with all his might this would be a fun place for a father and son. 

            Wait until someone finds out hardly any of the cabins are fixed. They might even take Dad's job away. What would he do then?  Thoughts skipped back and forth inside Troy’s head.

            Where would they go? Troy slapped both hands against his sides in frustration. “What to do, JC?” But there was only silence.

            Troy looked out his bedroom window searching for any visiting birds. He enjoyed listening to their chirping, and watching them rush from one feeder to the next. Not long ago he and Dad spent an afternoon building them.

Enjoying the antics of his feathered friends was one way to soothe his feelings. But right now, fishing would do a better job.

            Troy craned his neck. Where were the birds? He suddenly missed them. They were interesting friends for a lonely boy. Three bird feeders had regular visits from goldfinch, sparrows and woodpeckers.

Even ground feeding juncos dropped in to pick up any fallen grain. 

Chickadees were his mom's favorite. So he adopted those birds into his heart. Their favorite food, black oil sunflower seeds, was always waiting.

            A distance away pine trees clustered as if trying to shelter part of the campground from bad weather. However, their plan wasn't doing much good. Sheets of falling snow sprayed across the front yard.

            Scattered over ten acres of campground were multiple rows of cabins. They were a mixture of white, red and green, each large enough for at least one family. Many had two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and washroom.         

            Area churches had gotten together and purchased the land. Each congregation built a small number of cabins then donated them to create this family campground. Their large number approaching seventy-five, demanded on-going maintenance.

Eventually a house was built for a caretaker with a family.

Now the campsites waited patiently for someone to complete necessary repairs. Three long rows on each side of the ceremonial square were built several years before Troy was born.

A majority of these were now in poor shape. 

            Troy looked forward to seeing each cabin filled with adults and young children. Everyone would be involved in playing games, having campfires and trying out new fishing poles. It meant having a chance to meet new friends.

Unfortunately it wouldn’t be for a while.

            Returning thoughts of not fishing today made Troy shake with anger. The Debert River flowing around the outer edge of the campground was full of trout. And those early visitors were probably pulling in 'big ones' right now.

            Troy closed his eyes, exhaled a mouthful of air and scratched his cheek.

“I wish you were here Mom, right now.” Her being gone forever was almost too much to bear. He covered both ears trying once again to shut out anything to do with the terrible accident.

            Dad told him two policemen came to the door. Just like on TV. He had to chase their cat Boots out of the room so he could get a chance to speak. Boots always carried on long 'meow' conversations with visitors.

            His father said after the police left, he sat staring at the kitchen stove. And the supper being prepared for their family was left for days.

            Troy couldn't go to the funeral because he was in the hospital. It must have been pretty awful for Dad, being by himself. Troy was also still confused about why he ended up in the hospital.

But, he was sure about one thing.

After Mom’s death, dad began to drink heavily.