Tailwinds Past Florence Read online

  He skimmed a visitor’s magazine as the reporter ran through the day’s top stories. There was mention of a robbery and some local flooding. Edward’s mind wandered at mention of the Minnesota Wild hockey team; it hadn’t occurred to him before then how few professional sports teams there were in the Midwest. None in the Dakotas, Wyoming, Nebraska, Idaho …

  Edward snapped to attention upon hearing the anchorman segue into a story which, he promised, was quite unusual, as if overhearing a spicy secret from a neighboring table in a restaurant.

  “Authorities in Montana remain puzzled over the identity of a man discovered naked in an abandoned barn two weeks ago.”

  Edward leaned forward on the sofa, his eyes wide.

  “Neither the Montana state records office nor the Bureau of Indian Affairs were able to match the deceased’s fingerprints or dental records.”

  “Kara, get in here quick!”

  “Officials from the nearby Blackfoot Reservation have been brought in, as well as anthropologists from a local university, to study the unusual corpse.”

  “Kara, you gotta hear this.”

  “What is it? I’m kind of busy,” she yelled from the bathroom.

  “It’s about that body we found.”

  “One source, speaking on the condition of anonymity, said that—now listen to this—the body contains the physiological hallmarks of a Plains Indian from over seven hundred years ago, and that the university is preparing to commission a full autopsy and DNA testing should no next of kin be identified.”

  “Are they talking about the Blackfoot?” Kara asked, now standing beside him.

  Edward nodded and held his finger up; he’d fill her in during a commercial.

  “The body was found naked in a dilapidated barn near Highway 2, with several pieces of stray litter tied around its waist. A railroad worker from Billings is credited with its discovery. Authorities believe the victim died to due to exposure sometime in February.”

  “Figures,” Edward said, nonplussed.

  “He probably thought there’d be some kind of reward.”

  “Maybe. Or just lazy reporting.”

  “I can’t believe he’d been laying there since before we even left on our trip,” said Kara, worrying a still-sudsy jersey in her hands.

  It was as if she had read his mind. And by the sounds of it, Edward wasn’t the only one whose life went to shit two months ago. He gazed to the window, hoping something would distract him from the memory of the frozen, partially bloated body.

  “I wasn’t kidding when I told you the guy looked like he was right out of the history books. He looked like he was in his twenties, but ancient.”

  Chapter 8

  Thursday, April 23 — Detroit Lakes, Minnesota, USA

  Edward let out a low whistle as they walked their bikes up the driveway of a sprawling lakefront home, complete with twin cedar columns and a dizzying array of eaves and gables. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

  “Yep. Nice place, huh?”

  “I’ll say. Reminds me of my parent’s home, only bigger.”

  Kara had arranged for them to be hosted through a hospitality network that catered to cyclists. This was their first time staying with strangers and, by the looks of it, wealthy ones at that. Edward assumed the only people using the site were younger couch-surfing types with messy apartments, offering little more than a hot shower and a spot on the floor to throw their sleeping bags, but this was more dream home than crash pad.

  They laid their bikes on the driveway, no longer worried about every scuff and scrape their panniers received, and rang the doorbell. An opulent chime echoed beyond the door. Edward scrunched his face and sniffed the air. “Do I stink?”

  “No more than usual,” Kara said.

  “Point taken.” They spent all day cycling, of course he smelled. He brushed the grime from his clothing and, while looking in his helmet’s mirror, licked his fingers and rubbed away the white crystals beneath his eyes.

  Kara laughed. “You’re acting like you’re going on a first date. Relax.”

  Edward felt the heat rise in his cheeks. She was right, the couple was probably used to hosting cyclists far dirtier and sweatier than they were, especially come summertime. But it wasn’t every day he showed up on a stranger’s doorstep hungry, tired, and looking like he had just biked sixty miles. Which reminded him …

  “Come here,” he said, pulling Kara in for their daily post-ride hug. “Great riding today.”

  “You too.” She squeezed him tight and, when she stepped back, her face shone with childish exuberance. “Minnesota. I can’t believe we’re already halfway across North America.”

  He nodded, a proud smile on his lips. “Hell of an accomplishment.” He kissed her briefly then rang the doorbell again. “What’re their names again?”

  “Brenda and Tom O’Donnell.”

  “And they live here year-round?” Edward asked, raising his eyebrows. Many of the smaller lakes they pedaled past on their way in from Fargo were still frozen, all of them ringed by snowbound aluminum rowboats staked upside down in the yards of homes whose windows were clad in plastic sheeting. Boat trailers, chained to trees like forgotten dogs, dotted the area. “Every other house looks like it’s still hibernating.”

  “Brenda said something about flying in from Minneapolis. It wasn’t clear in the email.”

  “Flying in to host us? That’s nuts.”

  Kara shrugged.

  Edward saw movement through the door’s beveled window and attempted to drill the couple’s names into his memory. “Brenda blender, Tom turtle, Brenda blender, Tom turtle—”

  “Blender?” Kara interrupted, barely restraining her laughter.

  “It rhymes. Sort of.” Edward repeated the pattern under his breath until he heard the deadbolt unlock.

  A petite woman stood before them, wearing a flower print apron over a turquoise sweater and pleated corduroy pants. Laugh lines suggested she was in her mid-fifties. She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Hellooooo,” she said, stretching the word, “Welcome to Minnesota.” She spread her arms as if taking in a niece she had only seen in photos. “You must be Kara. I’m so glad you could make it. And no rain today. How wonderful.”

  “Thanks so much for hosting us,” Kara said, bulging her eyes at Edward as she hugged Brenda hello.

  “You must be freezing. Let’s get your bikes into the garage and get you warmed up. I can’t believe you two are—”

  A slam echoed from down the hall, stealing Brenda’s words. Then, a gruff voice shouted, “I don’t give a damn if he …” before trailing off into silence.

  Brenda’s hand moved to her mouth in shock. “I’m, I’m,” she stammered. “Please excuse me. I’m so sorry.” The heavy door clicked shut behind her, stranding the cyclists outside, stunned.

  “What was that about?” Kara asked, her voice low.

  A child of a fist-slammer, Edward knew the sound all too well. And if the man behind it was anything like Edward’s father, his temper would be simmering all night. “We should go.”

  “Where? We can’t just leave.”

  “It’s not a good time—”

  The door swung open before Edward could finish his thought. Brenda had returned, flush in the cheeks, a timid smile on her lips. “I’m so sorry about that. Can we start over?”

  “Absolutely,” Kara said.

  Brenda nodded and stepped forward as if to hug her again, then turned. “You must be Eddie.” She took Edward’s hand in hers, shaking it vigorously.

  “It’s Edward. Nice meeting you, Brenda. Thank you so much for agreeing to host us tonight.”

  “Oh, pish,” she said, dismissing his gratitude with a wave of her hand. “We’re happy you could make it. Tom’s on a call, but should finish up soon. I’ll show you around.”

  There was no leaving now. The rules of polite society had snared them. He was resigned to the hope that Brenda’s warmth could coax an evening of good behavior out of her hu
sband.

  Brenda opened the garage using a keypad beside the middle garage door. “Don’t mind the Moggie, just lean your bikes over by the workbench.” The door rose panel by panel, slowly revealing an uncovered Morgan convertible with deep crimson paint and black leather interior. Edward’s face reflected back from the glimmering hood.

  He stared at the slanted vents on the Morgan’s lengthy hood and saw only the cranberry shutters of his childhood home. But he wasn’t home. He was halfway across North America, just like Kara said. They were finally amongst the great northern forests after weeks of farmland, but the wintering hardwoods, as leafless as they appeared lifeless, had him missing the year-round color of the Evergreen State. As did the flatness of the landscape. He soon felt Kara alongside him, motioning his bicycle forward, whispering something in his ear. “I’m fine,” he said, guessing a response to a question he didn’t hear.

  Being careful not to bump the walls with their dirty bags (and happy to leave the camping gear on the bikes), they followed Brenda on a brief tour of the house, thankful for access to a laundry room.

  The tour ended in an undecorated guest room. The only furniture was a mattress on a bare metal frame and a fancy doll, whose face would have been at home in an ‘80s horror movie. The gaudy floral comforter provided the only splash of color. That such a house would offer such spartan accommodations for houseguests struck Edward as odd.

  “I hope you don’t mind. The bed’s only a full.”

  “It’s perfect,” Kara said, rubbing her hands mischievously in Edward’s direction. “Someone won’t be able to avoid cuddling tonight.”

  Brenda laughed and touched them both on the wrist. “You two are cute.” Her hands lingered and Edward caught a glimmer of melancholy in her eyes. Brenda shook free of whatever thought had gripped her and forced a smile. “Tom likes to eat early, so come down as soon as you’re ready. And don’t forget to bring your appetite.”

  Showered and dressed in their lone off-the-bike outfits, Edward and Kara found Brenda in the kitchen, clutching a fistful of uncooked linguine before a six-burner stove. Over her shoulder, through the window, a floatplane bobbed alongside a dock in the evening light.

  Holy shit, they really did fly out to host us.

  “This is for you,” Kara said, presenting a bottle of table wine Edward had forgotten they bought. It was his idea not to show up empty-handed, but upon seeing this place he wished he had splurged on a nicer label—or that Kara had left the convenience store swill in the pannier.

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Brenda said. She glanced briefly at the wine, thanked them, and then tucked it behind a small collection of designer olive oils and vinegars, hiding it from view like a museum curator might a child’s finger painting.

  Figures. In their effort not to be rude, they wound up looking cheap. A sin Edward found far worse.

  “Your house is beautiful,” Kara said, seemingly oblivious to their faux pas.

  “Thanks. We don’t get out here as often as I’d like, what with the long winters and—oh, I think I hear Tom coming.”

  A door swung open from down the hall and the large figure of Tom O’Donnell stepped out, wearing dark blue jeans, a collared shirt, and flannel slippers. Tom strode down the hall, his cheeks flush above his graying beard, his feet thudding against the polished hardwood with each step. Brenda, at ease a moment earlier, now appeared flustered as she introduced her husband.

  Echoes of his father’s temper tantrums ricocheted between Edward’s ears as he looked at Tom. Through the din of his memory, Edward heard his mother imploring him to be on his best behavior and he straightened his back instinctively.

  Tom gave Kara’s hand a brief shake, meeting the minimum requirements of politeness, then gripped Edward’s hand with a firmness the younger man found challenging. “Nice meeting you, Edward,” he said, staring at him. Edward tried his hardest not to blink or look away and committed himself to not ending the handshake first.

  Satisfied, Tom released his grip, looked from Edward to Kara, then sighed in a theatrical huff. “Brenda, why do our cyclists not have any beers yet?” Tom gave Edward a look, the feigned exasperation of a husband who thinks he has to do everything himself.

  Brenda knitted her brow as she searched for a response, then noticed the pasta water boiling over. “Okay, everyone out of the kitchen. Scoot. Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, scurrying to the stove, where she twisted the burner to low.

  “What can I do to help?” Kara asked.

  “Brenda’s got it under control. You two come sit.”

  “Are you sure, because I can—”

  “Just listen to Tom, dear.”

  Kara looked to Edward, who shrugged and followed his host to the dining room where a live edge table sat beneath a wagon wheel chandelier in a cavernous room. The table was set with what Edward’s mother would have called the good china.

  Edward pulled the chair out for Kara, then took the seat opposite her and draped a cloth napkin on his lap. Tom took his seat at the far end of the eight-person table, beyond the empty chairs near Edward and Kara. Edward felt the arrangement, especially once Brenda took her seat at the end nearest them, would be that of a private dinner for three—with the head of household observing from a safe distance.

  It wasn’t long before Kara urged Edward with her eyes to break the silence. But he was spared when Brenda backed her way through the swinging door, carrying a heaping platter of chicken and linguine, along with a bottle of wine tucked under her arm. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said in a sing-song voice.

  The steam rising from the chicken scented the room with lemon pepper and fresh herbs. Capers dotted the plate and sent Edward’s mouth watering as Brenda piled a heaping portion of protein and carbs on his plate. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder where the beer was as they clinked wine glasses, toasting his and Kara’s progress across the country.

  “So, tell us about this trip you’re on,” Brenda said.

  It was Kara’s turn. “Well, we left Seattle in early March and are heading across the U.S. and Canada to New York City. From there, we’ll fly to London, spend some time in the UK, and then make our way south across Western Europe, and over the Pyrenees to Spain. After Madrid and Seville, we’ll cross the Strait to Morocco and—”

  “From there we’ll head east to Greece and across Central Asia to China,” Edward interrupted. “We’ll probably visit New Zealand on our way home.” He could sense Tom’s interest fading and chose to spare his hosts from Kara’s impromptu geography lesson before she began naming every village they’d pedal through along the way.

  “You forgot South America,” Kara said before turning to Brenda. “There’s no way we’re going to miss Patagonia.”

  “We’ll see,” Edward said, in a tone more dismissive than he intended, earning him a silent rebuke from Kara. Shit.

  “Well, that sounds amazing,” Brenda said, before taking a lengthy sip of wine. “Don’t you think so, Tom?”

  “Aye-up.” Tom looked unconvinced, distracted even. Like a man chewing not only on his meal, but on a question he was biding his time to ask.

  “The whole trip should take two to three years,” Kara said. “But what about you two? Do you cycle much?”

  “Oh, no,” Brenda said, shaking her head as Tom grunted a supercilious laugh. “My niece cycled down the California coast and raved about the nice people she met through the hospitality network. I was worried about inviting strangers into our home, but she convinced me we didn’t have to worry about any axe murderers.”

  Kara laughed. “Ed’s mom said the same thing when I told her about staying with strangers.”

  Brenda patted Kara’s elbow. “We don’t get to host as often as I’d like …” she said before taking another sip of wine. She dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin and then, with a dreamy sigh, said, “I just think what you two are doing is so inspiring.”

  Quiet settled over the room as conversation yielded to hunger and s
ilent thought, leaving Brenda’s comment unaddressed. It never occurred to Edward that what they were doing was inspirational. Impulsive, certainly. And unorthodox. But inspiring? Across the table, Kara sat, biting her lower lip, smiling demurely at her plate, twirling the linguine with her fork. Edward could tell Brenda’s comment made her day.

  “Enough quiet. I want to hear how you two met,” Brenda said, breaking the silence while crossing her fork and knife on her plate.

  A different question for a change, Edward thought. About time.

  “We met in college,” Kara began, after clearing her throat. “I was a senior and was assigned a semester-long project with some business students and engineers.

  “Ooh, lemme guess, Edward, you were one of the engineers, weren’t you?”

  “Actually, I was in my final year of business school. I got my MBA that summer.”

  “Did you hear that, Tom? Edward’s got an MBA”

  “Aye-up.”

  “Tom owns an investment firm in Minneapolis. Most of his employees went to business school.”

  Edward nodded and arched his eyebrows, impressed. He hoped showing the proper level of awe would conceal the pang of jealousy he felt. Hence the second home and private plane, he thought.

  “Brenda, would you let her finish?” Tom motioned his meaty hand at Kara, palm up. “Please, Kara, continue.”

  “Well, so, yeah … Edward was also on this project. He was one of the two B-school students. And normally, well, I guess I didn’t really know many business majors, but Edward was so friendly. And really respectful of everyone’s work. Annnd he was really cute.”

  Brenda giggled. “She’s right, Edward, you are handsome.”

  Edward looked to the chandelier as he felt himself blushing.

  “Brenda.” Tom barked her name in an exasperated tone. Brenda quieted and poured herself another glass of wine, subtly shaking her head.

  Kara’s eyes searched the room before she continued hesitantly, “I guess I had a bit of an inferiority complex about being an art major—God knows the engineers hardly cared at all what I had to say—but Edward treated everyone in the group as equals.”