Faint Trace by M. P. Cooley Read Free Book Online Page B

mainland to the Island.
    â€œIt’s just, the Island’s so closed off,” Dave said finally. I stifled a laugh. Annexed by the same Dutch settler who farmed Hopewell Falls back in the sixteenth century, DeWulf Island was hardly some isolated outpost. The channel separating the mainland from the Island was narrow enough that I could probably cross it with a running jump, and if I followed the main thoroughfare we’d be in Troy in another half mile. Instead of taking the straight shot across the Hudson, I veered right, passing a series of side-­by-­sides, apartments built by the Ukrainian and Polish immigrants who had fled first the Soviets, then the Nazis, and then the Soviets again. The remains of the Golden Wheat bakery, burned down two years ago, lay on our left, and we passed a small Polish grocery that sold Cheetos, Cokes, frozen pierogies, and pickled beets.
    â€œLeft here,” Dave said, and we turned onto a street populated with more trees than houses, plants lush with the recent spring rains. The street dead-­ended at a modest home surrounded by several acres of land. The home’s façade was brick with a white porch and black shutters. Purple balloons swung wildly in the breeze, and four cars were parked out front. The bench on the front porch was freshly painted, and a lilac bush sprang up on the lawn, trimmed and blooming. We were at Lucas’s house. Or rather, his Aunt Natalya’s.
    Dave and I wrestled the playhouse up the narrow walk to the front door and rang the bell. Lucas greeted us, beer in hand.
    â€œJesus, Davey. Did you have to be so late?” he said. “And Aunt Natalya’ll kill you if you sprinkle dirty cardboard through the house. Oh, hi, June.” He stepped outside and dropped his beer on the arm of the bench, picking up my end of the box. He got a good look at the contents for the first time and grimaced.
    â€œOh, wonderful. A construction project of my very own.”
    Matching Dave’s 6’4”, Lucas was fairer than his brother, his light brown hair sporting some gray, straight, and almost fine. He’d worked construction for over twenty years until suffering a vague injury involving a lot of Vicodin. His new work as a bartender agreed with him. Dave and Lucas bickered about the gift as they walked around the house to the backyard where the party was in full swing.
    Backyard was perhaps an understatement. Dave jokingly called it the back forty, and it wasn’t a complete exaggeration, the lot extending north three acres. The lawn had room for a two-­tiered bouncy house and a swing set. Beyond that was a garden that could produce enough fruits and vegetables to feed everyone on the Island, with sunflowers sprouting along the border between the cultivated plot and the meadow near the property’s far border.
    Despite all the wide-­open space, the adults were grilling and eating on the porch, clustered under the small green tin awning to stay out of the rain. The bouncy castle’s turret listed to the left, the weight of the water pooling on the roof about to send the structure sideways. A bunch of kids flinging themselves against the sides didn’t help. I was pretty sure this birthday party was going to end in tears, either with the puffed-­up monstrosity tipping sideways or the kids being told no, really, they needed to come in.
    â€œDad!” the birthday girl shouted, “the roof’s caving in!”
    Lucas Batko handed the box back to me. “This is going to be a disaster,” he said as he jogged across the lawn to the castle that was wiggling like a basket of puppies. On the way he picked up a toy axe lying on the ground outside the door. Squeals sounded as he entered the inflatable structure, and the castle surged and rolled as Lucas trudged across the inflated floor, designed for a 50-­pound child, not a 200-­pound man. He took the axe handle and pressed up on the roof, sending the