* * *
That night I confronted Nicole at home.
“Why are you hanging out with those skanks?”
“What do you care?”
“The only reason she’s hanging out with you is to piss me off.”
“Oh, get over yourself, Toni. She’s fun—and she likes me. Just because you hate her doesn’t mean I have to.”
“You’re not going to think it’s so fun when she decides she doesn’t like you anymore. Why aren’t you hanging out with Darlene?”
I’d noticed that Darlene wasn’t calling but hadn’t given it much thought until now.
Nicole shrugged. “We’re not friends anymore.”
That was weird. They’d been friends since they were kids. “What happened?” Darlene was okay, a little quiet and boring and not as pretty as my sister, with a freckled face and an upturned nose, but she was still nice.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Now she looked close to tears. “What does it matter to you anyway? You’ve never cared about any of my friends before.”
“I’m just trying to help. Shauna will drop you soon, but not before she makes sure that no one else wants to talk to you.”
“Shauna told me what happened between you guys when you used to be friends—you shouldn’t have messed around with her boyfriend.” Nicole frowned at me. “She was really hurt that you betrayed her like that.”
“Is that what she told you? She’s lying, Nicole.” I sat on the bed beside her, held her gaze. “You have to listen to me. Brody and I were just talking one day and she flipped out—she turned into a super-bitch overnight and they made my life hell for a year. They’re still making it hell.”
Nicole looked doubtful. “But she’s been really nice to me. All the kids in my class are jealous.” She smiled, looking proud. I remembered being in Shauna’s circle, feeling like I was on top of the world, powerful and cool. I also knew how much it hurt when she dropped me back to earth.
“Fine, figure it out for yourself. Just stay out of the restaurant.”
She turned back to her homework. “Whatever.”
CHAPTER NINE
ROCKLAND PENITENTIARY, VANCOUVER
MARCH 2010
I had been in the joint for twelve years and would soon be allowed to have escorted temporary absences. I was scared and excited. Over the last year I’d been taking some life-skills classes, learning how to balance a checkbook, how to look for jobs, things like that. And Margaret had been teaching me stuff about grocery shopping, budgeting, finding apartments. But I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to last on the outside, that I’d screw it up somehow. It was safe inside. I had friends, I knew the routine. Inside I had status. Outside I’d have the stigma of being an ex-convict, a murderer. I still remembered how brutal it had been while I was out on bail, the whispers and the shame.
Margaret and I talked a lot about it. “You’re going to do fine,” she said. “Damn right it’s scary—a lot has changed in twelve years. But you just keep your head on straight and you’ll make it through. You’re a survivor.”
She was right about a lot changing. Whenever we watched TV, I studied the clothes and the gadgets. We weren’t allowed Internet or cell phones inside, and I worried about finding a job when I got out. Who would hire me? Once I was on day parole and living at a halfway house, I planned on taking some computer classes, but I had a lot to catch up on. Now that I was getting closer to parole and had been showing good behavior, I was allowed to participate in a couple of work-release programs and had picked up a few skills. I was chosen to be part of the Puppy Program, training service dogs—which I loved, though it was hard to let them go. I swore one day I’d have a dog of my own.
I also worked a few hours every day at the prison mechanics shop, where I liked using my hands, the physicality of it. The smell of oil reminded me of Ryan, how he used to work on his truck or motorbikes. He’d also be nearing his parole date and I wondered how he was doing and whether he’d be released soon too. I worried that he might have screwed things up and added time to his sentence.
Sometimes we worked outside in groups, cleaning up parks and streets. It was nice, feeling the fresh air and sun on my face. I’d turn my back on the officers and the other girls and pretend that I was in a real job somewhere, or working in the yard of my very own house. However I imagined the outside world to be now, though, I knew it would probably still be completely overwhelming. An idea that became even more apparent when I had my first escorted temporary absence.
You’re only allowed four hours on ETAs, so I went to the beach and sat staring at the waves, the correctional officer close behind, watching. I walked down to the shore and jammed my hands into the cold water, weeping because I’d forgotten what cold salt water felt like, smelled like. I threw my head back, inhaling the air, sucking it down in big gulps. I even licked my hand, my eyes closed as I pretended I was back in Campbell River. I felt happier than I had in years, but then we returned to Rockland and I saw those big iron gates and thought about how I wouldn’t get another pass for months, and I cried.
The second time, I asked to go to a mall. I was excited at first, giddy and exuberant to be outside, with real people in the real world. I caught some stares and wondered if I looked weird or something, then I realized they were sensing my excitement, my joy. I felt a giggle welling up in my throat, the desire to shout, I’m free! But then the noises, the voices, the bright colors and lights, the scents of perfumes and food, people jostling me, crowding against me, became overwhelming. I had to leave.
For the rest of my time, I asked the officer to drive me around. I sat in the back of the car, looking out at the world, feeling safer with the glass and metal between us. I asked him to stop at a park near one of the high schools, where some kids were clustered. I studied the girls, their clothes and hair, their constant texting, remembered being young. It felt like a million years ago. Then I saw a young couple kissing on a bench, the boy brown-haired like Ryan, the girl with long black hair like me. I caught my breath at the stab of pain sharp under my ribs. The couple finally pulled apart. It wasn’t Ryan and me. We didn’t exist anymore, not like that. I asked the officer to take me back.
By my third ETA I was frustrated and impatient, angry with just four hours of freedom, wanting more. I was still on the outside, looking in on the rest of the world. I wanted to be a part of it. This time I bought a hot chocolate and sat on a bench in the center of the mall, forcing myself to absorb the chaos. I had to freeze my legs in place and ignore the urge to run and run and run. Eventually my pulse settled, my body relaxed a little, and I started watching people. I thought about Christmas shopping with my parents, how Nicole and I would save up to buy the perfect shirt or pair of jeans, thinking we’d die without them. I saw some young girls in a store trying on dresses and wondered if they were getting ready for a prom. I watched them preen in front of the mirror and felt the old anger coming back again, the memory of the things that had been stolen from us.
I studied women who were about my age, their clothes and their mannerisms. If I hadn’t gone to prison, would I be like them? Would I work in a bank or some business? Or would Ryan and I have gotten married, maybe even had kids? Would we have lasted? It was an impossible question. I thought of Nicole again. Would she have become a wife and mother? My mind drifted to Shauna and her friends. Where were they now? I imagined them all married, happy with families, and another hot stab of anger shot through me.
The officer came over. “Toni, time’s up.”
I threw my drink into the garbage, the taste now bitter in my mouth.
* * *
For the year after that, I was allowed unescorted temporary absences. I had to stay at the halfway house on the island and I was only allowed four a year, each one lasting seventy-two hours. It was all part of a gradual approach to integrating inmates back into society. The first UTA I had to stay inside, had to watch everyone come and go, hating the smell of fresh air on them. But after that I was al
lowed to wander around and get to know the city. I wasn’t able to look for work yet, but I introduced myself at a few of the animal shelters and took a couple of brief courses at the employment office on basic computer skills and building a résumé. The Internet had been completely overwhelming at first, but then I found I loved zipping from Web page to Web page. I resisted Googling my own name, though, or anything to do with Ryan and my family.
Mostly I liked to walk around the parks along the ocean or sit on a bench and people-watch or read a book. I tried to take mental snapshots of everything so I could describe it to the girls when I got back to Rockland. I’d thought they might not want to hear it, but they said they loved my stories, so I made special note of different things I’d eaten, like a pumpkin scone with cream cheese icing, or weird people I saw. Margaret loved hearing about the food, Brenda liked hearing about hot chicks, and Amber wanted to know about boys. But I never looked at men, always too scared to see someone who reminded me of Ryan.
Finally, the middle of March, I was granted day parole. I was going to the halfway house. If I did well in the next year, I’d have another parole hearing and hopefully be granted full parole. The night before my release I was antsy, both excited to be leaving and terrified I’d mess it up somehow, and anxious about leaving Margaret and my friends. I didn’t know what I was going to do without them. I could tell Margaret was also upset, because she’d been cranky the last couple of weeks before my hearing and snapped at me about stupid stuff. I’d been hurt when I saw her spending more time with the other girls and a new inmate who’d just joined our cell block. But then I remembered how I had to get angry and hard to let go of Ryan. Maybe it was the same for her.
I was in my cell, taking down the magazine photos I had on my wall—dogs I wanted one day, places I wanted to see, the ocean—when they all showed up wearing funny hats they’d made out of cardboard and carrying a cake they’d made from Twinkies. I burst into tears, and cried even harder when Margaret enveloped me in her arms and said, “I’m going to miss you, girl.”
I gave Amber any treats I had left from the canteen, and Brenda and Margaret got my music collection. I also gave Margaret my TV and wrote each of them a letter. In the morning they stood on the range and waved me off as I followed the guard down the hall, carrying my few belongings. I didn’t see Margaret at first and was hurt, then I noticed her downstairs by the doors. She held me for a long time.
“Stay safe out there, honey. And remember, you have to make it for all of us, okay? I don’t want to see you back in here again.”
We broke apart, tears in our eyes.
I said, “Don’t worry. I’m not coming back.”
CHAPTER TEN
WOODBRIDGE HIGH, CAMPBELL RIVER
MAY 1996
Nicole was at the restaurant the next weekend, ordering countless cups of coffee, sharing eye rolls with Shauna and the girls when I brought them over.
“No offense, Toni, but those jeans don’t do a thing for you,” Shauna said. “When you walk away, you look like a boy!” Nicole seemed embarrassed, her eyes shooting to my face. But then Shauna gave her a look and she laughed along with them. I was careful not to show that the words hurt, but I spent a lot of time in the kitchen trying to calm down. It hurt even more that my own sister was just sitting there, listening and not saying anything.
Ryan told me Shauna would get bored with Nicole soon, but Nicole started spending more time with them, going to movies, even having sleepovers at Shauna’s on the weekend. When I heard Shauna’s car pull up outside our house, music blasting, I’d disappear to my room, hating the sound of Shauna’s voice as she politely talked to my mom in the kitchen. Once, Mom even came to my room and told me that Shauna had apologized for the fight that had happened at school and said there were no hard feelings on her part.
“I’m glad you girls worked things out,” Mom said.
“We didn’t work anything out, Mom. She’s just saying that.”
“Well, she’s not upset with you. She’s grown up to be a very nice girl.”
The air left my lungs and I stared at my mom. “They’re awful to me, at school, work, everywhere. They even messed up my friendship with Amy.”
“I heard Amy was upset because you spend all your time with Ryan. You can’t drop the rest of your life because of a boy.”
“Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, and I wondered if it had been Nicole. If so, she had to have gotten it from Shauna.
“It does matter. They’re lying. Shauna called Amy’s boyfriend and told him that she cheated on him—but she pretended to be me, so Amy would blame me for it.”
Mom paused, like she was thinking about what I’d said. I actually hoped for a minute that she’d see my side of things, might even be angry on my behalf.
“I can’t keep up with everything that’s going on with all you girls,” she said with a sigh. “When Shauna’s at our home, I’d like you to at least be polite—she’s one of your sister’s friends. Nicole says you’ve been really rude.”
I was about to tell her how they’d been treating me at the restaurant, but the phone rang and my mom ran to get it. At dinner, I again thought about bringing it up, but then decided there was no point in saying anything else. No one, especially my mom, believed that Shauna was a bully and a liar.
Soon the girls started driving Nicole to school, and I left earlier so I didn’t have to see them—sometimes I took my car, sometimes Ryan picked me up. I couldn’t get away from them anywhere. At home Nicole and I avoided each other. Only speaking, and barely, when our parents were around. In the morning, Nicole would look normal—hardly any makeup, a T-shirt and loose jeans—then at school she’d morph into one of Shauna’s girls, hair rippling down her back, tight jeans or skirts, full makeup, walking confidently down the hall—and never making eye contact with me.
She’d also started sneaking out again at night. I’d hear her window opening and shutting, then in the morning she’d be in the kitchen, talking and laughing with my mom about something, cheerfully greeting me with a “Good morning, Toni!” And when I didn’t respond, she sighed. Like I was the problem.
* * *
It got so bad at the restaurant I considered quitting my job, but no matter where I went, Shauna would find me. Plus, I liked working at the Fish Shack and I made really good tips. But every time Shauna and her gang showed up, I’d mess up an order or add something wrong on a bill. I was worried I might get fired.
One night when Nicole was out again with Shauna and the girls, I tried to talk to my dad about it while he was cooking some curry. The air smelled warm and spicy. I grabbed some plates and started to set the table.
“Where’s Mom?” I didn’t want her to know what was happening. She’d turn it around somehow and make it my fault.
“She’s meeting with the Realtor.” My parents had gotten into buying and flipping houses. Mom loved real estate, poring over magazines, crunching numbers, talking to her agent on the phone, trying to get the best deal.
“Dad, I have to talk to you about something.”
“Hmm?” He kept stirring the curry while reading a recipe.
“Those girls that Nicole’s hanging out with are trouble—every time they come into the restaurant they totally mess with me. I don’t know what to do.”
He stopped stirring and faced me, his expression worried. “What are they doing?”
He listened as I talked, then shook his head sympathetically, but my face was hot. I wondered if he’d think I was a loser, which at the moment I kind of was.
“Sounds like they’re being real jerks,” he said. “How does Nicole react when this happens?”
“She just goes along with it. Did you know she’s sneaking makeup to school? You should see what she’s wearing too. Mom would freak.”
“She’s growing up, Toni. She’s like you were at that age, starting to figure out who she is, but she’s not partying and her grades are good.” Unlike m
e.
I didn’t want to tell him she was also sneaking out, partly from loyalty and partly because I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I was supposed to be home at a decent hour as long as I lived at home, so sometimes I came home from work on the weekend, then snuck back out again to see Ryan.
“It’s horrible, Dad. I can’t take it anymore.”
He sat down at the table and thought for a moment, his hands fiddling with one of the napkins. “I’ll talk to Nicole, okay?”
I let out my breath. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Just try to remember that she’s always looked up to you in a lot of ways. I think she admires how brave you are and wishes she was more like you.”
That caught me off guard. I knew Nicole liked things peaceful at home, so I’d never considered there might be a part of her that wished she was more rebellious.
Dad continued, “She’s probably flattered that older girls want to spend time with her, and maybe she’s too intimidated to confront them about the way they’re treating you. But she’ll see them for who they really are soon enough.”
Later, when I was lying on my bed, listening to music, I thought about what he’d said. I hoped he was right, but I worried about what might happen if Nicole tried to break away from that group. And what might happen if she didn’t.
* * *
Dad talked to Nicole when she got home—Mom was still out. They came to my door afterward and Nicole said, “I’m really sorry that I’ve been bothering you at the restaurant. I won’t do it again,” while Dad stood beside her. Her words sounded sincere but her eyes were angry. She was pissed that I’d involved Dad.
“Maybe we should just keep this to ourselves,” Dad said. “There’s no reason to worry your mom.” In other words, he didn’t want to deal with Mom flipping out. Nicole and I agreed.
That Night Page 11