Geraldine was angry. Angrier than she could remember being in her entire life. The car seemed an extension of the rage coursing through her body, barrelling down Highway 417 toward Ottawa like a bullet.
Hunter had wanted her to stay overnight. He’d kept studying her with that worried look on his face he reserved for lost animals until she wanted to push him away and scream like a mad woman. She’d eaten his homemade soup and drunk the sugary steeped tea, not shedding even one tear after he told her that their father was dead. She’d known all along how her father’s disappearance would turn out. Hunter had just confirmed what she’d been expecting.
He’d tried to drive her into town but she’d told him not to be so ridiculous. She could drive herself. Their father had died. The world hadn’t collapsed and neither would she. Still, Hunter had hovered, watching her with concerned eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. It was a relief to finally back her car out of his driveway and be alone with her thoughts — thoughts that kept her from looking her brother in the eyes because she didn’t want him to see the suspicion in hers, and she sure didn’t want to see the evasion in his.
She wouldn’t blame him. Their father had set this into motion many years before when he’d put his self-interest before the good of his family. Hunter had been a victim and maybe now, he’d gotten revenge. He thought he’d escaped the ugliness by hiding out in this cabin for the past ten years, but he couldn’t hide forever. It all started and ended with Laurel. She was to blame. She was the one who would have to pay.
Geraldine passed the St. Laurent exit in the passing lane. Slower traffic ahead forced her to brake and get a grip on her emotions. It wouldn’t do to be in an accident now and hurt the baby growing in her stomach. The baby for whom she’d given up alcohol and barely formed thoughts of leaving Max. The growing fetus had become her excuse for inaction. It had seemed like a second chance.
She was coming up on the Bronson exit. Decision time. Would she take the off ramp and head to her father’s home to confront Laurel with what she knew? Would it hurt her brother or help him? She gripped the wheel and changed into the middle lane. She put her turn signal on in preparation for pulling into the inside lane to take the exit. One last shoulder check showed her the green Toyota riding in her blind spot. The sight of it made her gasp. She straightened the wheel as he pulled alongside, cutting off her chance to pull into the lane in time to make the off ramp. She realized how close she’d come to hitting the other car, and her heart beat hard inside her chest. If she hadn’t done that last shoulder check, she’d have driven right into him.
She kept driving. Her anger had ebbed and a feeling of weariness was replacing it. Her arms felt heavy and her head was throbbing. All she wanted to do was go home, crawl into bed, and sleep for a dozen hours. Maybe the green Toyota had been a sign from above. She’d come too close to disaster to tempt fate now. She’d bide her time and confront Laurel when she felt stronger. Whatever it took, she’d bring Laurel down. She’d protect Hunter from himself.
By the time she reached the March Road exit in Kanata, the first of her tears were seeping out of the corners of her eyes. She’d begun shaking and was having trouble driving in a straight line. She slowed the car to below the speed limit and cruised down the ramp, turning left and left again before pulling over in a no parking zone in front of an elementary school.
The children were out for recess, chasing each other around the yard, their snowsuits and toques patches of brightness against the white snow and grey sky. She could hear their loud carefree voices through the windows of her car and their innocence made her weep. She watched them for a while until the tears blurred her vision and she couldn’t see more than watery shapes in the distance. The salty tears dripped down her cheeks and onto her hands lying across the steering wheel. She slowly lowered her head until it rested on her hands.
Her life had been unravelling for months. Alcohol had been her salvation. Now she couldn’t even turn to that for fear of hurting her child. The only one who’d come close to understanding was her father, and now he was dead. Her one safe harbour and she’d never see him again. She started to cry in earnest then, her shoulders shaking and sobs ripping up her throat until her pain and rage filled the car’s confined space.
11
Friday, December 23, 5:00 p.m.
A loud bang from the room above woke Kala from a deep sleep. For a few seconds, she lay confused, unable to place where she was. A heavy box was being dragged across the floor overhead. She stared at the brown-stained crack in the ceiling and it came flooding back. The YWCA. Room 1005. She sat up and looked at the clock on the nightstand. Five o’clock. She’d slept a solid six hours. It would be enough to keep her going. Time for a quick shower and then she’d venture out for a meal.
Twenty minutes later, she was trudging through the snow toward Elgin Street to find a restaurant. She’d seen several eating establishments on the drive earlier. The snow drifted down in large wet flakes, landing on her eyelashes and cheeks, filling the crevices of her coat and hat. The coolness felt good and she turned her face toward the sky. She reached Elgin and walked north.
It took no time to reach the Elgin Street Diner just past Gladstone. The windows were aglow with neon signs. One announced it was open twenty-four hours, a fact that would come in handy later. Inside, the decor was bright and unpretentious and Christmas tunes were playing from the speakers. If the food was any good, it might become her restaurant of choice. She ordered eggs over easy, bacon, and toast from a boy of university age. He promised to keep the coffee coming.
She kept her head down while she ate. She drained the last of her third cup of coffee after dragging the remaining toast crust through the smear of egg yolk. Satisfied, she pushed back her plate and looked around. The place was nearly empty. A group of four college-aged boys was talking loudly at a table near the door. Next to them were a couple of cops in uniform finishing up their breakfasts. Two women were eating burgers and fries at the table next to her. She imagined there’d be bigger crowds once Christmas was over, but this would remain an anonymous place with people minding their own business.
She paid the bill and set out toward the station. The bright restaurant and bar lights of Elgin Street tapered off as she walked south. The snow had stopped but the sky was grey and low. The station took up a city block on the tail end of downtown. Rows of glass block rimmed its base, giving it a modern look and relief from the grey block. She entered by the front door and said good evening to the desk constable, flashing her I.D. before continuing on to the office.
Grayson looked up from his desk when she entered. He raised his hand in a wave and continued typing.
“You’re working late,” she said.
“Just finishing the report on the day’s search. Didn’t expect to see you before tomorrow morning.” He kept his eyes on the screen.
“If I slept any longer, I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. I wanted to check what happened this afternoon.” She crossed to her desk and shrugged out of her parka. “Any word on Whelan?”
He looked up this time. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“His baby’s sick in the hospital. Whelan won’t be in until it’s sorted.”
“How sick?”
“Intensive care. Meningitis apparently.”
“That’s awful.”
“Yeah. Touch and go. Looks like you won’t have a partner for a while.”
“That’s the least of it.” She sat in her chair and picked up the folder in her in basket. She opened to the first page but couldn’t concentrate. “He and Meghan must be frantic.”
Grayson