North of Nowhere by Steve Hamilton

were you thinking then?”
    “You know the old expression about your life flashing before your eyes?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Turns out it’s true,” I said. “That’s exactly what I was thinking about. My whole life.”
    “And?”
    “And what?”
    “What did it all add up to?” he said. “Your whole life, I mean.”
    “You really want to know?”
    “I really want to know.”
    “Not a hell of a lot,” I said. “What about you? What were you thinking?”
    “Same thing, more or less. But mine had a happier ending.”
    “How’s that?”
    “I was thinking,” he said, “that if this was my last night on earth, then at least I don’t have to see this place get destroyed.”
    “You really think it’s gonna happen?” I said. “We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere up here.”
    “We’re beyond nowhere,” he said. “We’re way north of nowhere. But it doesn’t matter. They’ll come eventually. You can’t keep this place a secret forever.”
    “I hope you’re wrong,” I said. “But I guess I wouldn’t bet against it.”
    I kept driving. Jackie leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
    “Speaking of betting,” I said. “You’re not going to make me play cards with that jackass again, are you?”
    “No,” he said. “I don’t imagine he’ll be inviting us back.”
    We were past everything by then. There were only the trees, the shoreline, waves gently breaking, the dark water going out forever.

Chapter Five
     
    I went to the Glasgow Inn for lunch the next day. I wanted to see how Jackie was doing. I wanted to show him, too, that I wasn’t going to go right back into my hermit routine.
    When I opened the door, he wasn’t there. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. When you go into the Glasgow, Jackie is there. That’s just the way it is. Instead his son was behind the bar. Jonathan Junior, usually just Jonathan, or when he’s in trouble, just Junior—he was a little squirt like his father, with the same salt-and-pepper color hair, just a little more of it. Behind his glasses, Jonathan’s eyes were as blue as his mother’s, a woman who I had seen exactly once in my life, the day her son graduated from Michigan Tech over in Houghton. He went down to work for a computer company in North Carolina, meaning to leave the Upper Peninsula winters long behind him. He was back in two years.
    “Where’s your father?” I said, sitting on a stool.
    “He’s upstairs in bed now. Finally. He was up all night.”
    “I don’t get it,” I said. “I dropped him off here a little after one.”
    “I know, I heard him come in,” he said. “When I came down here this morning, though, he was sitting over there. He had a fire going in the fireplace all night, and I guess he was just sitting there looking at it.”
    “Did he tell you what happened over at Vargas’s house?”
    “He gave me the quick version,” he said. “It sure put him in a weird mood, which I can understand, I guess. Still…”
    “What is it?”
    “He actually hugged me this morning, and told me he loved me and he was proud of me.”
    I couldn’t help smiling. “If I had a son,” I said, “after last night I would have done the same damned thing.”
    “All right,” he said. “Whatever you say. If you think him sleeping at noon is okay, then I won’t worry about it.”
    “He’ll be himself by tomorrow,” I said. “God help us.”
    I had my lunch, and caught up with Jackie’s son. The man himself never came downstairs. When I got back to my cabin, the message light was blinking on my answering machine. I pressed the play button.
    “Alex McKnight,” the voice said, as warm and soothing as a belt sander. “This is Roy Maven. I’d appreciate it if you could stop by today.”
    That was it. I wasn’t surprised. I knew he’d find me eventually. With a full stomach and not a hell of a lot to do that day, I figured why not, might as well get it over with. I fired up the truck and headed to the