“What are you doing?” I say. She has a sketchpad in her lap, but the page is blank. On the bed her notebooks and binder are spread out. Her laptop is open, the screen dark.
“Just thinking.” She straightens her legs so they run alongside mine. When she was little we often sat on the couch like this, our heads at the pillows at either end, our legs tangled. We’d read our books or watch movies, just happy to be with each other. “I miss our house,” she says.
“I want to talk to you about something.”
She narrows her eyes. “I hate when you start a conversation like that.”
“It’s nothing bad. I just have to go home for a day. I need to pay the girls.”
Her whole face lifts. “You’re going to Dogwood? I want to come.”
“You should stay here.”
“No way. I want to see Jared and Delaney and get some clothes from the house.” She tugs at her purple sweater. “I’m sick of wearing the same things.”
“You can make me a list. I just don’t think it’s safe.”
She leans closer. “Mom, if you don’t take me, I’m going to get a city bus and go back myself.” She looks determined, and I’m shot with a memory of her as a little girl. How I caught her packing one day because she wanted to meet Emily Carr, the beloved Canadian artist. It was horrible to have to tell her that the artist had died many years ago. She insisted on visiting her grave on Vancouver Island and bringing her flowers, because, “Even dead people like pretty things.”
She reaches out and holds my hand. “Mom. I’m scared for you. I want to be with you.”
I think it over, imagine her pacing Jenny’s house, alone and worried about me. “Okay. But we’re just going back for the day, all right?”
She’s already picking up her laptop. “I’m going to tell Jared now.” Her Skype is ringing. He’ll be online soon. I stand up. “We’ll take the early ferry.”
“Sure.” She’s smiling, excited about going back. I stand at the door for a moment, watching her face brighten when Jared answers her call.
“Hi, babe,” he says. “Did you get my texts? You didn’t answer.”
“Sorry, I was talking to my mom.” She looks up at me, clearly wanting me to leave. I close her door, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t like the way he asked about his text messages, and how much it reminds me of my life with Andrew. It’s not the same, I remind myself. Sophie isn’t me, and Jared isn’t Andrew.
* * *
We take the first ferry over, both of us groggy and clutching at our coffees. Sophie’s cell vibrates with a new text every five minutes, and I pretend to read a book while remembering how simple things used to be when she was young and told me all her secrets, when I was her greatest confidante. Now she’s a mystery to me, and this relationship with Jared is uncharted territory.
Marcus is waiting on the front steps when we pull into the driveway, our car tires crunching on the snow. Most of it has been shoveled away. Piles of snow line either side, and he’s even scraped off the front steps. He waves and walks toward the car, opens my door.
I climb out. “Thanks for clearing the driveway.”
“I got here a little early.”
“You must have been a lot early.”
He shrugs. “I like the exercise.”
Sophie comes around to the front, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. “Hi, Marcus.”
“Sophie.” He gives her a quick hug and I can see her relax, her hands coming out of her pockets. I’m grateful he’s here today.
Angus jumps out of the car, runs to greet Marcus, then starts doing zoomies all over the yard, burying his nose in the snow and leaping into the air. Sophie laughs.
While she’s distracted by Angus, I glance around the yard, looking for boot tracks, but it’s snowed overnight and the ground is covered with a fresh layer.
As we move up the front steps, Marcus says, “I checked your outside tap and made sure it’s turned off. It’s been cold this week.”
I’d left the heat on low in the house, but I’m still hit with an icy draft when we walk inside, and a scent I can’t identify, something rotten. Marcus looks at me.
“You smell that?” he says.
“I must have left garbage under the sink.” I flip open the panel for the alarm. Angus bounds into the foyer, finds one of his balls that has rolled into the corner, and wiggles around our legs, squeaking it madly. Sophie brushes past me and heads into the house.
The red light on the alarm isn’t blinking. I stop, my fingers over the keypad.
“Something’s wrong. The alarm is off.” Angus chases after Sophie, his toenails scrabbling on the floor. Seconds later I hear him barking. I spin around. I’ve never heard him bark like that—so deep and frantic it vibrates inside my own chest. Now Sophie is screaming.
I drop my purse and keys and sprint toward her voice, Marcus close behind. When we come around the corner, Sophie is backed against the wall, still screaming and gasping some words I can’t understand. Her face is a flash of panicky white in the dim hallway. Angus is yelping and circling something on the floor. The smell is worse. So much worse.
I flip on the switch beside me and the hall is bathed in light. It’s Andrew.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I recognize this room at the police station. The fake wood table, the pale green cement walls, the color of hospitals. Nothing good ever happens in rooms this color. This is where I sat with Corporal Parker and filled out the paperwork for the peace bond. It feels like months ago.
Sophie and Marcus are in other rooms, giving their statements. I hate that Sophie has to go through this alone, begged and argued with the police to let me stay with her, but they insisted they had to speak with us individually. I keep replaying the sound of her scream when she found Andrew, that terrible anguished look in her eyes. She hadn’t knelt down or touched him. She was frozen in the hallway, staring at his body with her hand pressed over her mouth. I wrapped my arms around her, held her close. I wished I could have stopped her from seeing him like that.
The congealed blood around his head had soaked into the oak hardwood and dried almost black in spots. One of his arms was outstretched as though he were reaching for something, his hand so white it looked like a leftover Halloween prop. His right leg was at an odd angle—was it broken? I wanted to walk over and pull it straight, but I just closed my eyes, held Sophie tighter.
Marcus called 911 and the police arrived in minutes. We waited outside, shivering in the cold, none of us talking. Marcus kept reaching out to touch my hand, or wrap his arm around Sophie’s shoulders. Angus sat beside her, making a soft whine.
On the way to the station Sophie stared out the window, her expression blank, her body shaking. She was in shock, cocooned from the horror for a little bit longer, I hope. I remember when my mother and father died, how everything felt distant and unreal, until it became very, very real. I have to get her home, have to be there for her when she breaks.
“You okay?” Parker says. She’s wearing a pale blue blouse today with a slim-fitting black pencil skirt and high heels, but she doesn’t look any less official.
“Yes. I think so. It’s cold in here.” I rub at my arms. When I get Sophie home and settled, I’ll have a hot bath, or drink a rum, or both, but then I realize we don’t have a home anymore. There’s no way either of us can ever spend a night under that roof again. And we probably won’t be able to go back to our house to get our things for days, maybe weeks, while the police finish their investigation. The thought hits me hard in my stomach. Where are we going to go?
“You’re in shock.” She already offered me a coffee or tea, which I declined, not sure my stomach could handle it.
“I don’t know what he was doing in there.” I shake my head, still trying to process everything that’s happened. I guess she’s right. I’m in shock too. How can he be dead? A sudden image: Andrew at twenty-seven, standing at my cash register, his smile and blond hair lighting
up my world. “I can’t believe he fell down the stairs. I wonder how long he was in there.…” A horrible new thought scurries through my mind. What if he didn’t die right away?
“You were going to drive past the house,” I say. “Did you see anything?”
“I didn’t get a chance—I worked double shifts all this week.” Her gaze flicks away, over to a corner of the room, and I wonder if there is a camera or something set up. She mentioned that our interview might be recorded. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to offer to drive past. “You said the alarm was off when you entered the house. So who else has the code?”
I try to focus on the question, but her voice is tinny and distant-sounding. I’m surprised at the ache of grief in my chest, the desire to set my head down on the table and cry. Why do I care? I shouldn’t care. He hurt me. But I loved him once. God, I loved him so much.
“Lindsey? You okay?”
“Sorry. What did you say?”
“The code?”
“Right. Just me, Sophie, my brother too.”
“What about…” She looks down at her notes. “Greg?”
“I never gave him the password.”
“Did he ever see you setting the alarm?”
I hesitate, remembering all the times he stood beside me in the foyer, waiting for me to shut the alarm off when we came home from a date, then I realize why she’s asking.
“You think Greg did something to Andrew? That’s absurd.” Greg might look tough, but he’s the least violent person I know. He’s the kind of guy who breaks up fights. Not starts them.
“Forensics still need to process the scene and there’ll be an autopsy, but right now we’re treating his death as suspicious. When is the last time you spoke to Greg?”
Forensics. Autopsy. Suspicious. I want to write down the words and stare at them, because they can’t be right. She’s watching my face. What is she looking for?
I think of Sophie in another room, with some police officer she’s never met asking all these excruciating questions. Is she crying? Is she asking for me? I have to get this interview over with and get her the hell out of this place before I go ballistic.
“Greg and I broke up.”
“How did your brother feel about Andrew?” The question is past tense. It throws me again, this realization that Andrew is gone. He was a presence in my life for almost twenty years. Good or bad, he was always there. In my thoughts, my memories. In my daughter.
“They don’t talk.”
“It must have been hard for him to see how Andrew treated you and Sophie.”
We hold gazes and I feel a trickle of unease. “The same as any brother, I suppose. He has a girlfriend. She’s pregnant. They’re very happy.” I’m rambling, telling her things she hasn’t even asked about, but I can’t seem to stop. I hope that Chris hasn’t been telling any of his friends how he should have gotten rid of Andrew years ago. It won’t look good. He’d been so angry when I told him about Greg getting hit with a truck. The trickle of unease swells to a river.
“So what do you think happened to Andrew?”
“He broke into my house so he could figure out where I’d gone—he was probably checking my e-mails again. Then he tripped on something. Angus always had bones and toys at the top of the stairs. He piles them outside my bedroom like gifts.” I feel more confident now, sure this is right. She will see the truth in this explanation and stop asking ridiculous questions.
“My alarm code—it was the date of my divorce. He could have guessed.” I pause, thinking. “He worked in construction. Maybe he knew how to disable it.”
“Would Sophie have ever met him at the house or given him the code?”
“God, no.” I think about Jared and wonder if Sophie has given him the code or if he’d ever seen her press in the numbers. I almost mention it, then decide not to. It’s too unlikely.
“And your friend can verify you’ve been in Vancouver all week?”
“You think I had something to do with it?” I’m incredulous, though my face infuses with guilty heat when I remember the conversation I’d had with Jenny.
She looks at me evenly. “You were very angry with him.”
“Of course I was angry, but I didn’t kill him.”
“Was Sophie with you the whole time?”
“I can’t believe you’re asking these questions.” Panic digs sharp teeth into the base of my neck. Sophie is alone with a police officer. Should she have a lawyer?
“I know this is upsetting, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask.” She leans forward. “We just need to rule you both out, okay? It will help us know where we should focus.”
That may be true, but I still resent her, even if she does look sympathetic. It’s probably a ploy to make me think she’s on my side so I let down my guard. Is the other cop twisting and turning Sophie’s words? What if she tells them how angry she was at her father?
“Sophie was alone at Jenny’s house for a few hours sometimes, but that’s it. She didn’t have any way back to the island. We only came back this morning because I have to pay my employees—they’re still waiting.” I sit back in the seat, exhausted and overwhelmed and close to tears. “I was supposed to meet one of my girls an hour ago.”
“Once the officers have finished and his body has been removed, you can go back in for your belongings. Someone will accompany you because it’s an active crime scene.”
“I want to see Sophie. If you keep her any longer, I’m going to sue.” I don’t have a clue what I would sue for, but the threat feels good. I meet her eyes, and for the first time I notice she looks really tired, her skin pale with puffy circles under her eyes. She said she was working double shifts all week, but she still came in today. Did they bring her in just to interview me because we’ve been working together? Maybe they thought I’d trust her more. They were wrong.
“I’ll check if they’re finished.” She stands up, then pauses with her hand on her chair. “I’m sorry things had to end this way. I really hoped he’d leave you alone.”
I look up at her, startled by her words. Then I’m angry.
“You hoped he’d leave me alone? You knew that was never going to happen. You were going to keep an eye on him. You should’ve checked on my house. He might still be alive.”
We’re staring at each other. Her face is flushed and I realize what I’ve just said. I’ve placed the blame at her feet, and I don’t know why. I just know I didn’t want Andrew dead, and that might be the most terrifying thought of all. I’m remembering the night of the accident, the pills in my hand, and then getting that phone call from my brother. My first thought had been dizzying relief. Andrew was alive. I’ve never admitted that to anyone. Not even myself.
Her face changes, turns harder, and I see the cop side of her. “Whatever happened to Andrew,” she says, “he brought it upon himself. Just remember that.”
The door closes behind her and I’m left looking around the barren room thinking about what she said. I know she’s right, but I’ve never heard her talk like that. Like this was personal. I still don’t understand why she didn’t drive by my house—she’d done it every other time. But what does it matter now? She probably wouldn’t have seen him hiding inside anyway.
He brought it upon himself.
* * *
“Why haven’t they closed the case yet?” I say to Marcus. “It’s been almost a week. I feel like they know something they aren’t telling me.” We’re sitting at a corner table at the Muddy Bean, having spent the day looking at rentals for Sophie and me.
The café is crowded, people clustered at tables or in the leather chairs, surfing their laptops and iPads, their heads close together in conversation. Normally I love the scent of roasted coffee beans and fresh baked goods, but today the air smells too sweet, cloying. “I drove by the house yesterday and there’s still yellow crime scene tape across the front.”
“It takes time,” he says. “They have to wait for autopsy results and follow up on every det
ail, and the coroner has to make the final ruling, but it’s just protocol.”
“I want to move on with our lives.” Mostly I want to stop waking up in the middle of the night thinking about Andrew. I want to still be angry—furious—at him, but instead I’m being haunted by memories of our early days, how sweet he had been. Then I remember how tender he was to Sophie when she was a baby and I can almost grab on to the anger again, especially when I see her drifting around the house, sadness exuding from her like a perfume. How could he do this? He’s broken her heart all over again and I don’t know how to put her back together.
Marcus reaches over and holds my hand. “I know it’s frustrating. This will be over soon. I promise. Then Sophie and you can begin to heal.” His hand is warm on top of mine, his fingertip pressing against my pulse. I wonder if he can feel it racing, then calming at his touch.
“Thanks for letting us stay at your place.”
“Of course, and don’t rush into signing any rental agreements. You can stay as long as you need. Timing is everything.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Our eyes meet. We’re sitting here, holding hands, but I don’t know what any of it means. I don’t know what I want it to mean. It just feels comforting.
He gives my hand another squeeze and reaches for his coffee mug, takes a sip. “How do you think Sophie is doing? She seems really quiet.”
“I know.” Somehow it seems even worse that he’s noticed. “The only person she wants to talk to is Jared. They never stop texting. He was waiting outside school this morning when I dropped her off.” I pause, remembering that moment, how he took her backpack from her and tossed it over his shoulder, then put his arm around her lower back and pulled her close. “I should be relieved that she has someone in her life who can support her, and he seems to be treating her well, but something about the way he was holding her this morning … it felt protective.”