Clothes for Wolves

Jeepers Peters

Thomas awoke late and guided himself slowly down the narrow, steep staircase that led from his bedroom to the kitchen. Following a quick good morning and quiet refusal of breakfast, he joined Christopher in the living room. He hadn't looked around much last night. Instead of exploring, he had spent much of his time laughing under his breath in astonishment at his uncle. He was amazed at Chris's ability to calculate percentages and wondered what part of the brain he was tapping into to access this incredible feat.
The room where his uncle sat was small, with a small TV, on a small TV stand. There wasn't much along three of the walls. A picture of the last supper looked down from above a chair on the short wall closest to the kitchen. Behind the TV, against the opposite wall, was a small window and an end table that met the couch at the corner of the room. Opposite the couch was a wall adorned with photos hung in frames of varying shapes and sizes. Along the wall behind the couch, just to the right as you entered the room from the kitchen, was a secondary exit. It was never used and was sealed with plastic year round. It led to a small patch of lawn, which made up the front yard and fell away into the roadside ditch. Almost directly in the middle of the front yard sat the well, with a little man sitting on it fishing contentedly.
Thomas focused on the wall of photos and glanced over school pictures of Dexter and himself, laughing at the haircuts. There was a black and white, 8x10 picture of his grandfather—rugged was what he thought. There was also a graduation photo of Rose and a wedding photo of his parents. He had seen many pictures of his parents' wedding day, but this one was new. He stood and walked over to get a better look at the faces. He was drawn to his father's face, and he leaned in closer. His father looked angry. His mother was smiling; and his father was trying to, but he genuinely looked mad. Thomas knew the look well as he had been at the other end of it many times. His father wasn't a hard man, but he had his lines and they couldn't be crossed—this was especially true when he felt embarrassed.
Thomas ate lunch with Christopher, and then he and Mary went for a walk. He wasn't sure what the fascination with walking was with his mother's family. His mother walked everywhere; and when she couldn't stroll outside, she would spend hours in the basement on a treadmill walking nowhere. She said it was meditative and gave her a chance to lose herself in her thoughts. One foot in front of the other: nothing less and nothing more. Rose had always told Thomas that you get to choose your own thoughts when you go for a walk. Most of the time he tried to take that approach, but it was difficult with other voices competing for airtime. He looked around as they left the house and reflected on how quiet it was, at least he'd have more opportunities to choose his own thoughts here.
Mary stood with him and pointed across the water to the community of Chapel Cove. Twenty or so houses stood dotting a hill that fell away into the ocean. Atop a plateau, overlooking its residents, was the church that Mary told him his mother and father had been married in. Thomas thought he could detect a certain amount of anxiety in her voice, a trait she shared with her daughter. He was right even if he couldn't explain why.
Mary wanted to tell him so badly. She had been awake most of the night running scenarios through her head. She had her part down, every word, but she didn't know how he'd react. If he was anything like his father, he wouldn't be happy. Not that James Patterson was a bad person, quite the contrary, but he had grown up never in want of anything and that's good for nobody. His main flaw was that he had a tendency to look down his nose at those he judged by their cover. Undoubtedly a character flaw he picked up from his mother's side. The Rochettes came from nothing, everybody knew it, and the money they had now came by good luck and not hard work.
They walked directly behind Mary's house and skirted the cape to the south for a couple of hundred meters. To their right was a drop of approximately fifty feet to the shore. If you fell, you wouldn't reach the bottom without first bouncing off the face of the slope; but that wasn't going to prevent you from hitting the rocky shore. Maddox Ingram went over in a skidoo one winter, but the stupid bastard was too dumb to die. He broke almost everything you could, including his face, but he still smiled nonetheless.
Thomas stood in awe as if someone else had borrowed his eyes for a minute. "It's beautiful here," he said without thinking.
Mary didn't hear him. "That man we saw yesterday is your dad's father, that freak; like you called him, is your grandfather" she said, as she paused and raised her right index finger slowly to her mouth. "Shhhh. I want you to soak that in for a few minutes before you say anything. Just walk with me. There's a special little place where we can talk." She held out her hand for a second and then waved him forward. She strolled away and started to make her descent to the shore. "Watch your step when you come down here. Just follow the path but hurry up, it's a long story and we only have an hour." She turned around and beckoned him again, before disappearing from his view. She told herself she had to be in control of this situation.
He stood frozen for a minute as her statement began to sink in, but then followed her down the path. She didn't know what he was thinking, but she had expected that. He had to process everything. She looked back to make sure that he hadn't bolted back to the house. That was her fear. They reached the bottom and walked along the beach for another couple of minutes before crossing the brook, which ran from the top of the hill to their left and finished its journey carving tiny canyons in the sand on its way to its salty destination. At this point, the landscape changed; and slabs of blue grey rock jutted out in front of them and ran around the corner out of sight.
"This is slate." She said, turning back to him. "This whole area is sitting on it. You can only see it where it comes out to meet the water. It makes some really cool formations just around the second bend over there." She pointed towards an outcrop that jutted into the water. "Edward loved it here. This is where he took me to propose." They walked in silence, with Mary every so often looking back to make sure Thomas was still with her. They stopped just short of the fence that marked the northern boundary of the community pasture. Here the Atlantic had cut its way through the rock and produced two small channels where the waves crashed their way into the cape before retreating. The steady process of time had smoothed the surface of the rocks below the waterline, but what stood out above was jagged and unforgiving. A slip here meant you needed stitches. They stood for a few minutes watching and she could tell, for the moment at least, that his thoughts were elsewhere.
"We're almost there," she said. "Just climb up here with me and be careful." She pulled herself up to a place where the footing was better and then turned around to offer her hand to Thomas.
"I'm okay," he said.  He copied her actions and pulled himself up to stand beside her. From where they stood now, looking southeast, there was a half kilometre of beach that stretched out before them and ended where the slate decided to get a drink again. You could see most of the pasture from here, and from their vantage point it lay lifeless. Few trees dotted the landscape—with the ones that did standing stoically by the edge of the banks leaning away from the water. For the most part, the grass was green, but patches of pale yellow could still be seen as if fighting against the prospect of new life.
"It's high tide now," Mary told Thomas, knowing he had no idea what she was talking about. "There's so much more to see when it's low tide." They made their descent down a small makeshift path where the slate had broken apart from some ancient shaking, and Mary sat on one of the larger rocks that had been pushed up on the shore by the constant pounding of the tide.
"I didn't want to tell you like that," she continued, "but sometimes you need to say things quick or they won't come out." She paused and breathed deeply before continuing. "You're gonna hear things eventually," she said. "It has nothing to do with you directly, but the legacy of who you are, and who your grandfather is, has been on the lips of the locals for over a century now. I know this isn't easy, but you need to listen to this carefully."
"Your grandfather, is a Peters—and around here that means crazy. They've earned that reputation because of a silly legend and because they're too goddamn stubborn to admit they're wrong. The Peters have been searching for old pirate gold for over a hundred and forty years, and people say they change when they start to dig. Personally, I don't believe in that stuff, but something does seem to happen to them." She stopped and patted the rock beside her. Thomas came over, sat down, and stared forward. He didn't want to make eye contact yet.
She breathed deeply and began once more. "There's been three of them: Crazy Tom, Crazy Manny, and your grandfather, the man we saw yesterday, Crazy Jeep. I remember my mother telling me the story of Old Tom, who would be your great-great-great grandfather and the first of the Crazy Peters. 'There's a curse around that family Mary,' she would tell me. 'They've been digging for cursed gold and it makes them crazy.' It scared the hell out of me as a kid. If we ever saw a Peters, we turned the other way, or pretended to stop and tie our shoes until we knew where he was going."
"My generation had Crazy Manny, and he was more quiet than crazy, but he was still scary as hell. When he left, most of the town slept better, and there were a few years around here when people had much less to talk about. Mind you, they always find something. The Crazy Peters seemed to take their legend and leave forever until Jeep showed up and moved into the family home. We all knew it was just a matter of time before he'd change and of course he did...but to be fair he had no idea he had a son." Mary paused, took a breath, and continued. "Are you with me so far?"
"I think so," said Thomas, as he tried to piece together the flood of information entering his brain. "How?" he said aloud and was alarmed to hear his voice say the word. It didn't make sense. He couldn't imagine anyone being more unlike his father.
Mary shook her head in tacit agreement. "This all started with your grannie Mabel," she explained. "She knew Jeep a long time ago and in an act of rebellion, started dating him and ended up pregnant. Well, the idea of spending the rest of her life with the Peters' name, and not just a couple of months of torturing her parents, was too much for her, so one day she just packed up and left. She moved to Calgary, had your father, and married Morley a couple of years later, and she and your dad took Patterson as a name."
At the sound of his family name, Thomas shifted his gaze from the rocks and looked at Mary. She smiled, encouraged by his reaction, and continued. "Pretty much right after Mabel left, that's when your grandfather started digging and everything changed. He was more eccentric and the legend resurfaced. So, over the past forty or so years, he's spent half his time digging for that fool's gold and the other half arguing with the locals. Every winter he leaves, and every spring he comes back and digs for four or five months. He keeps digging—and year after year the Crazy Peters legend grows."
"Now understand, your grandfather's not crazy in the certifiable sense. He's just really odd for here, and he's really, really opinionated. If you don't care what people think about you around here, they form their own opinions. The crazier he gets in their versions of stories, the more he likes it. Anyway, he's not crazy. Are you still following me?" She stopped, reached into her bag, removed a can of beer, and offered it to Thomas. He wasn't much of a drinker, but he enjoyed a beer on a nice day. She took another one for herself, opened it, and drank long. Thomas watched her and took a much smaller drink.
"Your dad wasn't born here and didn't know about his ancestral roots—when your grandma Mabel died of cancer, she took that particular secret with her. I knew though. I had talked to her before she died. My older brother Mark used to date one of her sisters, and we all thought there would be a wedding. It fell through, as these things do, and when your mom went out West and started dating your father, we joked that there was predestination at work. She said she couldn't believe it when your mom told her who she was and where she was from. That was in the early stages of your mom and dad's relationship—when your grannie had just been diagnosed." She paused to have another drink, and Thomas spoke for the first time.
"Does Dad know now?" He asked.
"Oh yeah, he knows," she said, recalling some distant memory. "Your mom wanted to get married in Cape Breton, so in the summer of '91 they came home. It was that fucking nosey bitch Emmie Gaudet that caused all the shit. Excuse my language, but that's as best as I can dilute it. She lives to stir the pot and watch it boil over. She was the one that told your grandfather he had a son, and she was the one that brought him to the wedding—the rest was all, well, just Jeep being Jeep." Thomas looked at her questioningly and waited for her to elaborate.
"You see, your dad had a run in with him a couple of days before the wedding and when your grandfather showed up and tried to apologize for their 'previous encounter', your dad had him kicked out. It wasn't a good scene. It was after that when people started piecing it together, with help from Emmie mind you, and the rest of the evening was tense and awkward. Several drunken revellers called him Crazy James in jest, but after the second was asked to leave they whispered and stared instead. It was mostly a joke, but it didn't matter. Your father was more embarrassed than anything. Well, you know your father and how he deals with embarrassment. Shortly after the reception, they left for their honeymoon and he hasn't been back. Your mom has been back a couple of times since, but your dad swore he'd never step foot on the island 'til your grandfather was dead. It's killing him to eat those words, but your mom's got him committed to coming for the ceremony next Christmas marking and 102nd anniversary of the rescue of the Bohemia—and that's only because he knows Jeep won't be around."
"What was their encounter?" Thomas asked, seeming genuinely interested.
"Oh, your dad was looking to buy some flowers for your mom outside the flower shop, and it just so happened that at that moment your granddad walked by. Well he's a bit of an asshole, and he said something to your father that he didn't like," Mary continued. He could tell she was embarrassed because crimson patches began blooming around her left ear.
"What did he say?" insisted Thomas. He didn't want her to leave this part out. He didn't hate his father, but hearing about him getting angry, and not at him, had intrigued him.
Mary breathed in through her nose and brought her hands over her face to hide behind. "He was walking by, and being Jeepers Peters, he was intent on being remembered. He saw your dad, who he thought was a stranger, and yelled 'Whatcha buying flowers for, did you have a fight with your boyfriend?' Your dad laughed it off at first, but he was embarrassed, and he didn't like it. He said he was getting married and..." She stopped again and looked towards the sky. "Anyway, your grandfather tells him he should buy a box of chocolates and a dildo instead. When your dad foolishly asked 'what?' Your grandfather said, 'if she doesn't like the chocolates tell her to go fuck herself.' Well, that was enough. Your dad snapped and grabbed him by the throat, but he ended up on his ass a couple of seconds later. When he got back to his feet your granddad had already walked away chuckling to himself, and your dad has hated him ever since."
Thomas laughed at the thought of his dad being in such a situation. He was a very proud man and on several occasions had blamed Thomas's actions for making him look bad. "How do you think that makes me look when you act like that?" he'd say, and it always pissed Thomas off. His dad was so concerned with himself: everything had to be about him.
"Wish I coulda seen that," he said, as he raised the beer to his lips for another small taste.
"I need to tell you this so you'll know what you're up against.  I promised your mom and dad that I wouldn't say anything about it until absolutely necessary. Whether you know it or not, your father was very hesitant about sending you here for the year because he assumed you'd be faced with local ignorance. He made me swear that I wouldn't let you near Jeep, but I'm gonna leave that decision up to you." She paused, waiting for his response. Thomas sat staring at the waves and when he said nothing, she continued.
"I understand this is a lot of information, and you should take some time to think about what's best for you. You're the one who has to live here for a year. It'll die down in October when they leave, but that's still a few months away. As long as there's nothing to talk about, you'll be fine."
"What do you mean die down?" he asked.
"Well," she said. "Jeep's got a few enemies around here, especially the MacIsaacs. The MacIsaacs have owned most of Portage for almost 200 years and they enjoy having people know it. This particular generation of MacIsaacs is no different. Like I said, your grandfather loves adding fuel to the fire, and he cares very little about what people think. He's had to do a couple of things since he's been here to protect himself, and that's given rise to an increase in hostilities. Not that you have anything to fear," she added. "Your grandfather has them scared out of their wits, so they wouldn't dare touch you." Thomas turned away from the waves and looked at her for an explanation.
"Oh, he might not be insane in the true sense of the word," she said in response to Thomas's look. "But he'll act crazy when he feels the need. Anyway, the worst you'll get from anybody is a bit of teasing and other regular bullshit. You just keep your head up and you'll be fine. I'm not trying to scare you, I just want you to be prepared. It's a small place, and it won't take long for word to get out that Jeep's grandson is around. Having you here, well, they'll make up the rest on their own."
"Okay, that's it. Do you want to say anything?" Mary asked. He was a thoughtful boy, she could tell.
"It's beautiful here," he said as he looked out over the water. This time she heard him.