Free The Ravens by Vidar Sundstøl

stay?’ she asked.
    “Because it’s . . . guy talk.”
    “About poetry?”
    “Oh, can’t you just . . . ,” snapped Lance, annoyed.
    “So why do you want me to get lost?” she shouted, starting to cry.
    “Chrissy. Honey.” Astonished, Lance reached out to put his hand on her shoulder.
    “Leave me alone!”
    Lance noticed that people were staring at them. Clayton Miller was too. Not to mention the gray-haired Liz Brent, who looked as if she were about to get up and come over to them.
    “This is important to me,” Lance whispered, urgently.
    Chrissy looked at him with big, tearful eyes, her lip quivering.
    “Let’s go outside for a moment and I’ll explain.”
    “Okay,” she sniffled.
    Shamefaced, he headed across the room with his niece in tow. People moved out of their way as if they were lepers. Outside on the sidewalk he put his hand on Chrissy’s shoulder, giving it a cautious squeeze. Just once.
    “I’m an idiot for talking to you like that,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
    Chrissy smiled uncertainly.
    “We were both acting like idiots.”
    “Yeah. Maybe so.”
    They laughed.
    “So what is it you want to talk to him about?”
    “Just some old stuff. You know that Miller is originally from Duluth, right? Well, we went to Central High together.”
    “You’re joking,” exclaimed Chrissy.
    “No, I’m not. He was in the class behind me. We didn’t actually know each other, but . . .”
    “So that means he was a grade ahead of Dad?” she said.
    “Right.”
    “Jesus! Do you think Dad knew him?”
    “No, he didn’t. Neither of us knew him. But there was something that happened between Miller and one of my friends . . . something stupid, something about a girl.”
    Chrissy’s face lit up with curiosity.
    “Tell me.”
    “I met a guy awhile ago, I hadn’t talked to him in a long time, and we started reminiscing about the old days, high school and stuff like that. This is a private matter, you see, that’s why I don’t think I can tell you about it, but there was something this guy really regretted, something he’d done to Clayton Miller. SoI thought that since I happened to run into Miller now after all these years, I could . . . convey my friend’s regrets.”
    “But don’t you realize that I’d like to talk to Miller too?” said Chrissy.
    “Sure, but what I want to tell him is something really private, also for Miller. I thought maybe you could wait for me someplace, maybe over at Uncle Louis’s Cafe.”
    Chrissy gave him a resigned look.
    “I’ll sit far away from the two of you and close my ears,” she said. “But I’m not going anywhere in this cold.”
    When they went back inside, the book signing seemed to be over. The three poets were talking to each other as they sat at the table with the stacks of books. Miller stood up and came over to Lance and Chrissy.
    “So, there was something you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked.
    “Yes, that’s right,” said Lance.
    “Something about an old friend?”
    “I’ll wait for you over there,” whispered Chrissy and went over to the bar. She sat down and began paging through Siamese Wing Strokes.
    “Could we step outside?” said Lance.
    “Sure.”
    As they headed for the door, he thought that this was probably the only chance he’d ever get to hear Clayton’s version of what happened so long ago. It was important that he said the right thing and didn’t make a mess of it.
    “So?” said Miller impatiently as the door closed behind them and they stood outside in the ice-cold January night.
    “Do you remember my brother, Andy Hansen? He was in the class below you in high school.”
    “Yeah?” said Miller, curtly.
    “He was the one who beat you up that time.”
    “Yeah, I know. What’s your point?”
    By now Lance had figured out what he wanted to say.
    “It has to do with my cowardice as a brother,” he said. “As his big brother. I never talked to Andy about what happened. Of course I should have tried to