The Boy (20 page)

A telegram to Dave MacNaughton on November 14, 1960:

Governor General in Council will not interfere with death sentence passed upon Robert Raymond Cook tried for murder in Edmonton, Alberta.

It was signed by P.D. McDonald, Assistant Deputy Minister of Justice

At the back of this file there are some exchanges of correspondence between Dave MacNaughton and the Warden of Fort Saskatchewan gaol regarding the remaining personal effects of “the late Mr. Cook.”

And a letter from Frank Dunne to The Right Honourable John Diefenbaker, dated November 18, 1960 (three days after Robert Raymond Cook was executed):

Re: Robert Raymond Cook

May I thank you sincerely for your courtesy and attention to the above matter and for your courtesy to me on the telephone. This letter is to request you to give consideration to amending the criminal code to eliminate capital punishment. To my partner, Mr. Giffard Main Q.C., and myself, both of whom defended Cook, the guilt of the accused remains a matter of very serious doubt. Our suggestion is that the section of the criminal code that allows capital punishment should be eliminated or amended as cases like this which are based on purely circumstantial evidence will always be a matter of doubt and uncertainty. May I further suggest that capital punishment is a survival of the barbarism of the eighteenth century and should be abolished as it serves no useful purpose. Would you be good enough to give this consideration as I realize that you personally have had much experience in the field of criminal law.

On May 7, 1964, Main, Dunne, Nugent, and the other partners in the firm, Forbes and Babie, sent a similar letter to The Right Honourable Lester B. Pearson, whose Liberals had defeated Diefenbaker's Conservatives the year before.

In 1966, Bill C-168 was passed limiting the death penalty to the killing of on-duty police officers and prison guards. On July 14, 1976, under the Liberal government led by Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau, Bill C-84 was passed abolishing capital punishment from the Criminal Code.

We filed the letters and clippings neatly in their folders and took care to place them on the shelves of the cabinet so that the doors would close easily, the lock slid securely into place. It would be interesting, Shirley said, on our way out of the frigid courthouse, to see if there was evidence of anyone else having poked through these souvenirs when I came back again.

I shook my head. I think I may be done.

Oh no you're not! You promised just a few pages ago that you'd finally talk about what's scaring you.

Everything about this story scares me. From the very beginning I've been afraid to come to the page each time I sit down.

Why didn't you walk away? You don't have a contract with anyone. And why so scary? It happened fifty years ago. Robert Raymond Cook is dead, no threat to anyone.

That's the thing. From what I've found, he never really was a threat, except to people who forgot to lock their cars. He was just a punk, and his family was an ordinary family.

Exactly. And you write about ordinary people. They're your stock- in-trade.

They are indeed, but my people never end up as decomposing bodies in a grease pit.

Bad things happen to people.

Yes, I know that. And bad things happen at the hands of people close to them. But…

There's always a reason? Something that could have prevented a tragedy? Is that what you've been looking for?

Yes.

Did you find it?

No. Not for the Cooks. Because their story was finished when I began. No redemption.

The Boy

Phyllis and Paul broke the news of Jake's death to Daniel. They had the local RCMP do a search, and when they found him in the Winnipeg Remand Centre awaiting trial for the armed robbery of a liquor store, the two of them flew to Winnipeg. They hoped to arrange for Danny to be given an escorted leave to attend the funeral, but he wouldn't apply. He knew of someone, he said, who'd gone to his little brother's funeral in prison clothes and handcuffs with an escort of two guards. No thanks.

When they came back and told Louise he wouldn't be coming, she felt such a deep wrench of sadness for Daniel, that young boy on whom Jake had never given up, that she vowed she'd visit him. As soon as the funeral was over, as soon as she could bear to leave the children for two days, she would ask Paul to come with her and she would go. But she never did. Jake died in January, and when August was suddenly there again, and the fog around her lifted, she sent a birthday card in care of the federal prison at Stony Mountain. It was returned with a note that said Daniel had been discharged in July. She never told Paul and Phyllis,
because she was sure they would try to find him, and ashamed though it made her, she didn't have energy for any more than the mailing of that card.

Now, four years later, August again, and Louise has a feeling Dan will turn up. It's time.

So far as she knows, no one else in Jake's family has made any effort to track Dan, and only twice has Phyllis mentioned hearing from him—once by way of a letter and then about a year later, by an out-of-province phone call. If Louise asked for details, Phyllis would probably provide them, but it's too hard. Louise hasn't wanted to know of Danny's troubles, because if she did, she would have to reach out. Have him back in their lives, hers and Jon's and Lauren's.

Then last year, two days before Jon's birthday, a package arrived in the mail; skater shoes, the exact brand Louise had refused to buy for her son because of the astronomical price. How could Dan have known so accurately, she asked Phyllis, what his brother was yearning for, and the size? The shoes were a perfect fit. Phyllis blushed.

“I told him,” she said. “He phoned a couple of months ago and asked me what I thought he should send. He couldn't remember how old Jon was, but he said he wanted to buy something that was just right. So I asked Jon what he had on his wish list. Bless his small heart, he told me about the shoes, but he told me I shouldn't even consider buying them—he thought I was fishing for ideas myself, I guess—because they were way too much money.”

When they were cleaning up after Jon's party, Lauren picked up the card that came with the shoes and asked, “Who's Dan, again?”

“He's our brother, you twit!” Jon shouted. “And he's way cool!”

Louise knew from the gift that it was only a matter of time.

Now both of the kids' birthdays have passed, and Louise has begun to relax. Not so much, though, that she isn't aware that today is August twenty-fifth, Danny's own birthday.

Late in the afternoon, she goes into the living room to open the windows for the breeze that's sprung up and there he is, standing at the end of the sidewalk. He has his back to the house, studying the street. As though there's more of interest or concern behind him than ahead? Louise peeks through the curtains until he turns and walks to the front door. He pauses before he knocks, and she's startled to see a smile she'd all but forgotten. When she first knew Danny, she would sometime catch him unawares, sitting on his bike in the backyard, or alighting from the skateboard at the end of the sidewalk, almost trancelike. A smile that played across his face like that of a child asleep, lost in a happy dream. She taps on the window, waves, and then goes to open the door. The smile is gone, his face carefully blank.

“I had a feeling you'd come today,” she says. She holds the door wide. “Happy birthday.”

He looks startled. “I didn't think you'd remember.”

She fixes him in her sternest teacher look. “I baked enough cakes for you, Daniel Peters, that you should never have doubted me.” Then without hesitation, she steps forward, and puts her arms around him. But only for a few seconds, then she lets her arms fall. His cotton shirt feels stiffly new. She's sure she recognizes the faint smell clinging to him. Jake described the smell of the jail as nothing more than layers and layers of paint trying to hide the stink of too many men in one place.

He stands there in the sunshine, blinking at her. “Louise,” he says, as though having to remind himself on whose door he's knocked. “So I guess I should have phoned and let you know I was coming. I asked Aunty Phyllis to tell you, but she said I should do it myself.”

So this is why Phyllis called two days ago and invited Jon and Lauren to come out for the weekend. And didn't warn Louise because she knew that too much time to prepare would only make things worse? She was right about that. If she'd had time to think, Louise would have conjured an image of Danny that was more mug shot than portrait, more like the photos in those scrapbooks about Robert Raymond Cook that she'd thrown away not long ago because she was afraid Jon or Lauren might someday stumble across them. The Daniel standing in front of her bears such a strong resemblance to his dad that she can't stop staring at him. Even his eyes have become Jake's. He looks back at her with a level, slightly quizzical look. There doesn't seem to be anything of the sly boy left in his face. But then Daniel is no longer a boy. He is twenty-five years old today.

“Now that I'm here,” he says finally, “aren't you going to invite me in? You could offer me some lunch.” He glances at his bare wrist. “Oops, wonder where that went. But I'm sure it must be lunch time.”

Louise leads the way to the kitchen, Dan as light as a cat behind her in his running shoes. For the short while he lived here, she had him trained to take his shoes off at the door, but it's unlikely any of the places he's been since had a basket of knitted slippers at the door.

She fills the coffee pot, measures grounds into the basket, while he asks about the kids. She's self-consciously aware of her bare legs below the pair of baggy shorts she's wearing.

“They're at the farm for a couple of days,” she says. “They love it out there.” She turns to look at him. He shrugs, his own resistance to visits to Phyllis and Paul's likely forgotten. He seems to be scanning the kitchen, disoriented by the changes probably, and there are many. When her mother died two years ago, Louise came into enough money to finally redo the kitchen and the bathroom. By then she'd decided against moving back to the city, or rather Jon and Lauren had out-voted her. “Do you like the new cupboards?” she asks. “I've done a bit of renovating.

“Nice,” he says. “Guess you plan on staying here a while then.”

She takes a can of salmon out of the cupboard, struggles with the can opener for a minute, and then he comes to stand beside her, takes it out of her hand. “Christ, Louise, I'll buy you a new one for Christmas. I think this one belonged to my granny before my mom had it.” She's forgotten how many of the things in the kitchen were Brenda's. Jake wanted to throw away all of the old utensils, his and hers, and start anew, but Louise was too practical.

She spreads salmon on two sandwiches, remembers that Dan loved dill pickles and puts a whole one on his plate. Sits down at the table with him. He devours a half sandwich in two bites, shoves in the second piece before he can possibly have swallowed. She fixes her eyes on her coffee cup. Doesn't want him to know that she's noticed either the hunger or the lack of manners.

He gobbles the other sandwich as fast as the first, clears his throat. “That was great, Louise. You always were a good cook.”

“Hardly,” she says. “Anyone can make a sandwich. Why do you think your dad took over on weekends?” He can't have forgotten all those pot roasts and chickens, mashed potatoes, peas and carrots. Occasionally, Louise will prepare such a Sunday dinner when she's missing Jake unbearably, and always Jon says, “Just like Daddy used to make.”

“Still have a sweet tooth?” Louise asks. “I think there's a banana loaf in the freezer.”

“Nah, don't bother. But I sure wouldn't mind another sandwich. You don't have to fight with the can opener again. Cheese or peanut butter would be fine.” He stands up. “Hey, why don't I just make it myself?”

Because, she wants to say, I don't want you acting like you live here. When she jumps up and wrestles the jar of peanut butter from his hands, he returns to his chair.

Bravely, she takes a run at the questions that need answering. “You've been inside again, haven't you?”

He grimaces. “Yeah. Six months.”

“For?”

“Possession of stolen goods.”

She slumps against the counter. “Do you ever think about the promise you made to your dad the last time you saw him, Dan? You were sitting right there at the table with Jake across from you and you swore that you were finally going to make it.” Oh, she hates talking to him like this. He's been in the house less than half an hour and she's ragging at him again the way she did the day he stormed out and said he wasn't coming back. She holds up her hand. “Just a minute. You don't have to answer that. Forget I even said it.”

He looks straight into her eyes. “No, I probably owe you an answer. For him. Christ, Louise! I tried. I've been clean for months. I didn't steal the stuff, and how the fuck was I supposed to know it was hot?”

For years he didn't swear or use coarse language in front of them. But now he seems to have dropped any pretence of refinement. All right. If he wants to talk about it, they will talk. “Daniel Jacob Peters! You've been a thief so long you must surely have a second sense.”

He laughs. He put his head back and laughs until he's gasping. “Oh that's rich,” he says finally. “Problem is I'm a stupid thief. That's why I've been in the pen more than out.” He rubs his face with his hands. “But I think I might finally have gotten a little smarter. This last time I did the school work. I passed grade ten. I'm going to learn welding. A friend of Uncle Paul's has a shop in Edmonton and he said he'd take me on.”

Louise closes her eyes. She fears that when she opens them again she will weep. She turns back to the counter and slowly spreads peanut butter on two pieces of bread, slices a banana and layers it on top, carefully aligns the top slices of bread.

“You don't have to cut those up. We're not having a tea party here, eh?”

“I feel like we should have a party of some sort. It is your birthday, after all, and your dad,” the words catch in her throat, “you know how pleased he'd have been to have you back.”

He takes the plate she hands him, leans back in the chair. “Phyllis said he would probably rest easy up there now, knowing I was finally going to straighten out.”

Louise sits down, and stares at him. “Is that what you believe?” He stares back, looking for a minute like the defiant young Danny. “Because I don't, you know. And your dad didn't either. He told me he was sure that when it's over, it's over, so we do the best we can with what we've got.”

“You're saying it doesn't matter what I do now, because I let him down when he was alive?”

She shakes her head slowly. “Not at all. I'm saying you can honour his memory by doing the things that would have made him proud. And if that's what it takes to stay out of trouble, then do it.”

He shoves the sandwich away. “You don't think I can do it. You never thought I was worth anything. Dad told me you were afraid of me.”

She feels her hand fly up to her throat. “When did he tell you that?”

“The last time I came home. I asked him why you were so uptight, and he said you were afraid I was going to hurt you and the kids.” His lip curls. “Damn it, Louise, I'm not dangerous. I never wanted to hurt any of you. After he died I knew you wouldn't want me around. That's part of why I didn't bother coming to the funeral. I figured it was too late for him, and I'd just be an embarrassment, sitting there with my escorts beside me. That's why I haven't come back since.”

Can she deny that she's been relieved all these years? After she kissed Jake's cold cheek for the last time and walked out of the hospital, right after she wondered how on earth they would survive, she and the children, the next thing she'd wondered was how she could widow herself from her stepson.

“I should have come to see you,” she says. “I'm sorry. But I couldn't. I was afraid, yes, I was. Afraid of prisons and the people in them and afraid that you'd become one of them.”

“So are you still afraid of me?”

She takes a long time. She wants to tell the truth. “I think I am,” she says. “But not so much as before, and if …” She stops short of putting the onus back on him. If you stay out of trouble, if you show me you can be trusted, if you've stopped telling lies. How could that help him? She smiles. She can hear Jake's voice. How could that help him? Think about it, Louise.

“Yeah, well.” Danny pushes away from the table. “I guess I'll be going.”

“Where?”

“Back to Edmonton. Don't worry. I'm not going out to the farm. I won't hurt the kids.”