Nowhere To Run (13 page)

It seemed impossible when Susan looked back now to see her family of three suddenly reduced to a family of two, with no further explanation given beyond the policeman’s words to her father when they brought him home that evening. The babysitter had been dismissed with a look of surprise at her five hour job being cut short, and before she even put her task to bed, but had left without a word when she saw the men in uniform accompanying her employer.

Her parents didn’t go out often, and Susan remembered she had been excited to have the girl from two floors up come and watch over her that night, the promise of eating forbidden snacks in front of a movie before going to bed slightly later than her usual allocated bed time. She also remembered her mother was happy to be going out, and Susan had watched her as she put on red lipstick in front of her dresser mirror and gave her flowered dress a twirl for her daughter’s benefit.

The outing was something her mother had worked at, and although Susan wasn’t sure how accurate her memories were from this distance, she could remember her mother complaining to her husband, “we never go out, I’d like for just once to have dinner outside these four walls.” She knew they were going to dinner at the Greek restaurant a few blocks down, but had decided to drive because it was raining out.

Her father hadn’t been charged, so she assumed from her adult vantage point that if he had been breathalysed he didn’t blow over. But she knew he had a whiskey glass in his hand before he left that evening, and she witnessed first-hand that after her mother’s death he traded in the glass for the bottle, and there was no further pretence at sobriety.

She didn’t consider it a sob story, aware from what she saw on the job that there were worse scenarios: children abused and neglected, abandoned to fend for themselves on the city streets. She had had somewhere to sleep, and there was always food to be found in the cupboards, even if it wasn’t usually much more than a box of macaroni and cheese. It was something she preferred not to dwell on, and she pushed it from her mind now as she put her head back on the chair and closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the birds and the poplar leaves flashing in the wind wash over her for a few minutes before heading inside to bed.

Her thank you for the provision of bird feed was a blue jay’s strident call waking her well before dawn then next morning, something Susan didn’t mind as she was an early riser by nature, and knew even in the recesses of her half asleep mind that there was a lot to get to. She had slept deeply and woke disorientated, finding the shadows cast from the curtains momentarily hard to place. Her childhood bedroom came strangely first to mind, memories of moonlight through the curtains creating patterns on the ceiling that were sometimes frightening, and other times kept her company as a young girl, with the stories that could be made from the elongated faces and features they conjured.

Snapping back to the present Susan rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. There was something in her subconscious prodding her, trying to direct her somewhere, whether it was from her past or the case she couldn’t tell. It would make itself known if it was important, Susan told herself, as she stepped into the shower’s warm stream. Her priority was to get into the office and pull together whatever information her team had come up with.

Chapter 16

“That’s what I’m here for,” Mr. Logan told Sarah. “You know you can talk to me about anything.” She leaned her head against the passenger window, feeling the cool glass press against her forehead.

Tom reached over and lifted a strand of hair that had fallen over her face. “You need a treat, something to get your mind off things.” He started the car and turned on the radio. “That’s it, we’re going to do something fun.”

Seventies music flooded the car and Sarah rolled her eyes. “What are you, one hundred years old?”

“Ouch,” Tom held a hand over his chest in mock pain. “Such cruelty from such a sweet girl.”

Sarah laughed, sitting up straight. “So where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Tom winked at her. “Somewhere that’ll make you forget all your worries. Leave it to me.”

He had been such a help through all of this. The day he found her sobbing in Tommy’s room he had insisted on knowing what was wrong.

“Is it something Tommy did?” he had asked her. “Did you two have a fight?”

When she had covered her face and shook her head he had sat down beside her, put a fatherly arm around her shoulders. “Listen Sarah, you can talk to me. If it’s some sort of disagreement with Tommy, I’ll talk to him.”

Mr. Logan’s kindness had just made it worse, and Sarah had completely broken down in front of him. If only it was that easy, if only it was something as simple as a childish fight with Tommy. But none of this was Tommy’s fault, it was a mess she had made all on her own and now she had no idea how to begin to fix it.

Mr. Logan’s shoulder smelled like freshly laundered cotton, and Sarah felt herself strangely comforted, lulled by the rhythmic motion of Mr. Logan’s hand on her back. Maybe she could confide in him.

For two months now she had been telling herself that her entire world would be destroyed if people knew what had happened. But Mr. Logan was different, he always took the time to talk with her, and seemed like he would understand almost anything. He was Tommy’s father, Sarah had reminded herself, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands. He would be disgusted, would likely throw her out of the house and tell Tommy everything.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself in the end. Whatever happened, she couldn’t keep it to herself anymore.

Now Sarah opened her car window all the way, reaching her hand out to trail it through the warm summer air. Wherever Mr. Logan was taking her, it would be somewhere that made her feel special. It always was.

Her relationship with Mr. Logan had changed after Sarah got the abortion. She had expected it would be awkward, sharing a secret with her future father in law that no one else could know. It wasn’t surprising that it had brought them closer, this shared knowledge, but she hadn’t been prepared for the direction things took.

Shortly after the procedure Tom began taking her on outings, insisting that it would take her mind off things if he took her out to have some fun. The first time he had taken her to a fancy restaurant in a spa not far out of Tobermory. Maybe next time we’ll stay for the night, he had joked, describing the room service and outdoor hot tubs. She had been nervous throughout the meal, waiting for Mr. Logan to tell her that she had to tell Tommy about what she had done, but he didn’t mention the abortion at all, and she gradually relaxed and was able to enjoy the food in front of her.

It wasn’t until their third outing that she figured out what Mr. Logan wanted from her. It wasn’t to provide parental guidance, or someone to confide in, or at least that wasn’t what it seemed like when he slipped his arm around her shoulder as they were watching a movie he had brought her to, letting his fingers trail down her arm, bare in the sleeveless shirt she was wearing. And she knew exactly what it was when he reached over in the car and ran his fingers through her hair, telling her he wanted to make their special relationship even more special.

*

Olivia stretched out on the living room couch, eyeing the blank TV screen and the remote control on the coffee table for a moment before deciding to forgo it for some peace and quiet. The girls were fast asleep in their beds upstairs, a whirlwind of flying pajamas and ‘one more time’ book reading, and they were in the land of slumber seconds after their heads met the pillows.

She was used to Tony working late these days and didn’t mind the evening routine with just her and the girls; they had established a system that worked for them. And the evening after, with a glass of wine in her hand as she read a book or watched a mindless show on the television, that was fine too. But maybe she should wonder, she considered, looking up at the ceiling as she rested her head on a throw pillow, if it was truly the demands of work that were keeping her beloved husband so much away from home.

It wasn’t really that she pictured Tony having an affair. She let her mind ponder the possibility and almost laughed out loud at the thought of Tony carrying on a torrid fling with his secretary Jackie. She was a lovely woman Olivia had met on numerous occasions, however her steel grey hair and nylon knee highs didn’t seem like likely fodder for office romance.

What she missed more than time for romance in their relationship was the easy closeness and laughter they had shared in their early years. That closeness had definitely been challenged by the arrival of twins and the full time demands that came with them. And while things had calmed down to some degree with the girls now at the preschool age, they had never returned to that intimacy where you knew what was in the other person’s mind without asking. As much as you ever knew what was in someone else’s mind, Olivia reminded herself.

She had tried to broach the distance, purposefully asking her husband how his day was, or curling up to him on the couch like they used to when watching a movie. She didn’t think she was being paranoid in thinking that his answers were inordinately short, or that he tilted the screen of his laptop imperceptibly away from her or minimized the screen when she got close.

Maybe I should be more concerned, she told herself, rousing herself from the couch. It wouldn’t hurt to have a bit of a snoop. When they first moved into the house seven years ago Tony had turned one of the upstairs bedrooms into an office for himself. After the news of the twins arrived they had decided to turn it into a third bedroom so the girls could have separate rooms, and Tony had moved his desk and files to the basement, creating a makeshift office opposite the laundry room. He didn’t end up spending a lot of time there, but if there was somewhere he would keep anything private she guessed that would be it.

Am I actually snooping on my husband? Olivia shook her head at herself as she descended the stairs, like some laughable character in a made-for-TV movie. Well she could always blame it on the glass of wine, although this wasn’t likely a joke she’d be able to share with Tony.

Standing in front of her husband’s desk she scanned its tidy surface. She opened the top drawer and found the expected supplies of pens and staples, highlighters and tape, neatly organized, as this was Tony after all. Scandalous, she mocked herself, opening the lower drawer to find files labelled alphabetically from Automobile to Utilities. A box of cigars sat on the top shelf, a guilty pleasure Tony used to enjoy but found little time for these days. That might be an idea for a gift, Olivia thought to herself. Christmas, or maybe a just because gift, a suggestion to Tony that they could still find time for the things they used to enjoy in the changed structure of their lives.

Lifting the lid of the cigar box to see how well stocked he was, her eyes caught on something shining beside the two remaining cigars. She took the box down to have a closer look and carefully picked the delicate necklace up to examine in it. Her stomach felt suddenly sour as the humour of the situation disappeared.

She hadn’t thought she would actually find anything askew, she realized now. And maybe she was jumping to conclusions. A necklace hidden in her husband’s cigar box. Did it mean he was having an affair after all, was this to be a gift for the other woman? It didn’t look like much, Olivia thought, examining the thin gold chain and simple charm that hung at its end. It looked like an infinity symbol, more suited to something a teenager would wear, but if it was meant as a future gift for the girls, surely he would have purchased two.

Maybe there’s a simple explanation, Olivia told herself. The chain could have been there for years had she not thought to snoop around. What was that old wives’ tale, Olivia asked herself, as she replaced the lid to the cigar box and put it back on the desk shelf. Something about not liking what you find when you looked where you had no business looking. How very frustrating when there was truth in those patented sayings.

*

George had taken to staying after hours at the hospital morgue, going through the old files. He paid special attention to victims whose cases had gone unsolved, his amazement at how someone could do such violence to another and never be punished for it never diminishing. Time passed quickly in the silence of his office, a quiet that was preferable to the quiet of his home, and he would often look up to see that evening had arrived, and the sky outside his small office window had darkened.

Placing the glossy photos that were spread across his desk carefully back into their folders, George returned the files to their correct drawers. It was still early but he didn’t fancy going home. It crossed his mind that a number of the station staff often met for a drink after shift, and George made up his mind as he collected his jacket and keys and turned the lights off, locking the door behind him. He would see if anyone was at the pub, he told himself, walking across the emptying parking lot towards his truck. It was likely that a bit of socializing would be good for him.

He had been right in guessing that a handful of his colleagues were at the pub, and he received a few surprised glances as he pulled up a stool to join them at the bar. He wasn’t known to join in much off the clock socialisation,

“Nothing doing in the morgue tonight, George?” Ronald Knapton asked him.

“Nope, not much,” Aldershot responded, giving the bartender a nod. “Coffee, if you’ve got it”, he requested. He could see the enticement of peace some people found in a bottle, but it wasn’t a route he wanted to take.

“How are you doing, George?” the bartender asked him sympathetically as he handed him the steaming mug. It seemed that everyone spoke to him sympathetically these days. He wondered what the time line was for the sympathy to wear off. It had been four months since Joyce’s death, so it must be nearing its expiry date.

Nadia approached George and pulled up a stool beside him, tapping her pint against George’s coffee mug lightly in a cheers. A junior lab assistant at the morgue, George knew she was eager to learn the job. If things had been going better he’d put more into giving her some guidance, become a kind of mentor. He’d be sure to do that, now that things with his wife were settled.

“Oh, not bad,” George told the bartender now. “I’m keeping busy.” In truth, no one wanted the real answer. No one wanted him to share with them the images his mind was full of, a constant reel playing Joyce’s last days. All of the last times he had gone through with her, from watching his wife move from the simple enjoyment of eating to ingesting her food through a tube, to hearing her give consent to be catheterized, accepting the procedure without acknowledging that this meant she would never urinate on her own again. So many random, insignificant tasks people complete in a day without a second thought that had become insurmountable for her.

“How about you and I have a sit down soon, go over any questions you have come up with since you started with us?” George asked the woman beside him, suddenly feeling better as he did. No time like the present.

Nadia beamed at him in response. “That’d be great George. I’d appreciate it.”

Paying the bartender for his coffee, George allowed himself a half a smile as he tried to find a comfortable way to sit on the stool. He’d be able to get through things it seemed, he’d just have to go about filling his time differently.

*

She’d taken to checking his pockets every day, also the car. She hadn’t found anything besides crumpled tissues and scraps of paper, the papers she carefully smoothed the creases from to see if she could make sense of the scribbles on them. The numbers and arrows looked likely to be construction site notes, but she kept them anyway, pressing them in a neat pile in her underwear drawer.

The trail walks had replaced her urge to go into town for company. She had never followed up on her plan to take driving lessons, and it wasn’t practical to push Tommy in his stroller all the way down Everett Road. She’d tried it once, and the loose gravel had gotten stuck in the stroller’s small wheels and the bumpy ride made the baby unusually cranky.

So she preferred to keep a distant eye on things, watching the town’s comings and goings like a hawk from above the trees. In summer she’d sit on the forested hill behind the Marina beach and watch people busy with their activities; for the most part tourists bringing their children to splash in the warm water, sheltered from the cooler currents of the Georgian Bay. The town’s people often stopped for lunch here, sometimes a municipal worker having his coffee and sandwich in his van, or one or two of the nurses from the nearby hospital eating their Tupperware salads at the picnic table.

And one day she saw Tom, taking a coffee break with two of the men from his construction crew. It was funny to observe him like that, when he had no idea he was being watched. So free of care, with one hand jammed in the front pocket of his jeans, throwing his head back to laugh at something one of the men said. Shaded by the pine trees screening her from view, she also laughed. This must be how forest animals feel when they look down from their hillside perch to watch people busy with their obscure business.