"She's old. No good for nothin'. Chuck her in the river," Aaron mumbled.
Maggie turned. Aaron, her brother, stood behind her on the riverbank, bracing the back of the old church pew she sat on. He stared at the Kennebecasis. Spring thaw had arrived unannounced that morning and now the ice was dissolving right before their eyes.
Aaron dropped his chin and fixed her with a defiant look. His eyes were the same shade of green as their father's, Denny's, had been, only Aaron's held a puzzling, foreign quality. "She's old, no good. Toss her in the river." He stepped back and planted both hands on his hips.
A stinging started behind Maggie's eyes. She pulled one hand into the sleeve of her sweater and scrubbed her nose.
"Thar she blows!" Aaron slapped his thigh and grinned. He looked more like a lad of ten, than a strapping man of forty-two.
Aaron was what Dr. Peterson at Centracare had labelled "mentally retarted" back in the thirties. His favorite pastimes were watching cartoons and listening to Golden Oldie record collections. Out of the blue, he'd suddenly spout Pat Boone lyrics or cuss words, ripe enough to redden a sailor's grizzle. Maggie liked to press her nose against the windows of Aaron's world and try to figure out what was going on behind the murky pane.
"Thar she blows!" Aaron repeated, jumping up and down.
Even without her glasses, Maggie could see the oblong box floating in the distance. She wondered if it was an abandoned ice fishing shack, then realized that it was too narrow. Maybe it was a garbage box. Gil Darby lived down the road, and he was always building something and bragging about it over coffee in the church parlour. But it didn't look like one of Gil's creations......
Hope you have enjoyed this excerpt from Roads Unravelling, published by Sumach Press.
