Dark August

by Katie Tallo

  Gus tries to get inside Gracie’s head, but she can’t see her way past the fact that Gracie called someone her father. That she pulled some sort of scam or trick on him. And if her father wasn’t Todd, if this person she brought into the bank was her real father, then was he the man who raped June?

  “Do you remember her father’s name?”

  “Desmond Oaks.”

  Manny says it so matter-of-factly that it skips in one of Augusta’s ears and out the other before flitting back inside her skull then burrowing like a knife into the back of her brain. As if paralyzed, Gus loses all the feeling in her arms and legs. She drops her diet cola. It pools around the legs of her lawn chair. She stares down into the black foaming puddle forming at her feet, can see her face distorted in the murky slick.

  Gus manages to croak out his name.

  “Dez.”

  That charred shell of a man sipping cream soda by the pool? That Dez? Maybe that means he wasn’t some random stranger passing through town like the fire marshal’s report said. Her mind reels with a million questions.

  “What did he look like?”

  “Jet-black hair. Big man. Stocky. High cheekbones. He was sporting a cauliflower ear. The left one, I think. Or was it the right one?”

  Manny tips his head as if he’s trying to picture which one of Desmond’s ears he’s looking at. Gus shakes the shock from her limbs, opens and shuts her eyes, trying to refocus.

  “Cauliflower ear?”

  “You know, sort of chewed up. It’s what happens to a rugby player’s ear when it’s been ripped to shreds one too many times.”

  Gus pulls her phone from her satchel and scrolls through her photos until she finds the image from Shannon’s wall. She holds it up.

  “Like this?”

  Manny looks at the picture of the man crossing the street in Elgin. The picture taken from inside Shannon’s car through the front windshield.

  “Yup, that’s a cauliflower ear. Same build. That could be him. I would have to see his face to be sure, though.”

  Gus is having a hard time picturing Dez as anyone other than that frail and deformed cripple by the pool. Definitely not a rugby player or a rapist or a grease monkey, whatever that is. For the moment, it’s just a term Shannon wrote on the back of a blurry photo. And yet Dez has suddenly become all these things and more.

  Manny leans forward in his lawn chair.

  “You’ve met him.”

  Augusta nods.

  He takes her hand and closes his eyes. Gus winces. She doesn’t want him reading her mind. Seeing her pain. She pulls her hand away. She gets up to leave. Her lawn chair topples.

  “Sorry. I should really get going.”

  “She’s proud of you, Augusta Monet.”

  Gus cringes away from him and makes her way down the steps. Why do people keep saying things about her mother like they knew her? Manny pulls himself up from his chair, with some difficulty.

  “It’s okay.”

  Gus hates pity. She flips out.

  “Is she really proud of me, Manny? Did she tell you that? Then ask her why she left me all alone. Why she made such a mess of things. Why she left me to clean it all up. I didn’t ask for this. She did this.”

  Gus realizes she’s shouting at a sweet man she’s just met. She’s woken the dog. Levi’s barking from the car. Manny looks startled and quite hurt by the unexpected outburst. She feels terrible.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not myself. Please forgive me.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m a complete fraud. I looked your name up online. Found your mother’s obituary. Made it all up. Just felt like telling you that. I’ve been wanting someone to tell me that for years and thought you might like hearing it.”

  He looks like he might cry. Gus climbs back up the steps toward him and takes his hand in hers. Just like he did when she arrived. She holds it.

  “It’s okay. You’ve been really helpful, actually. You’re a good medium. And I’m sure your mother’s proud of you too, Manny.”

  He smiles and lowers his glistening eyes. She tries to pay him for his time, but he refuses to take her money. She gets in her car and Manny guides her vehicle as she backs out of the narrow lane. As she pulls slowly past him, he stops her. She rolls down the window.

  “She didn’t leave you. She’s right next to you.”

  Augusta knows Manny is full of shit, but his words are just what she needs to hear. Driving out of Glen Tay, she tries to focus only on the long road ahead. On her sweaty hands on the steering wheel. The hum of the pavement under the Buick’s bald tires. Levi’s hot breath on her neck.

  But as much as she tries to leave him back there with Manny, Dez has come along for the ride home. Gus definitely talked to him about Gracie. Asked him about her and he didn’t let on that he was her father or that he went to the bank with her weeks before the fire. Desmond Oaks was after her money. And if Manny’s story is true, it seems Gracie might have known it and got the better of him.

  A couple of miles past the town of North Gower, Augusta merges right into the slow lane as a black car approaches fast in the left. She’s coming up to the overpass, aiming to cross the highway then merge onto the 416 north to Ottawa. Levi rests his head on the seat just beside her shoulder. He pants lightly in her ear.

  The black Impala gets closer. Its windows are tinted so she can’t make out the driver. She watches as it approaches. It’s about to pass on her left, when Augusta hears a pop like a firecracker. She’s not sure if a rock hit her car. The Impala noses next to the Buick, then swerves and slams into her bumper. She fishtails across the overpass and thumps against the guardrail. Levi tumbles behind the seat. Gus grips the steering wheel tight. Her wheels catch the edge of the pavement, the car lists and careens into the deep median, bumping across the rough grass then abruptly jerking to a stop. Gus lurches forward, her chest slamming against the steering wheel, her head bouncing off the windshield before the seat belt whiplashes her backward. No airbag.

  The Impala slows and U-turns, kicking up gravel from the shoulder and taking off in a cloud of debris. She watches as it gets smaller and smaller in her rearview mirror. She catches an A and a V on the license plate. Nothing more.

  It’s hard to breathe. She turns to check on Levi. Spots a hole in her back windshield. A bullet hole. Levi scrambles up from the floor and jumps back onto the seat. He sniffs the passenger headrest, tail wagging. There’s another hole in the headrest, likely where the bullet ended up. Her neck begins to ache. Her breathing is shallow.

  “You okay, dog?”

  Levi rests his chin on the back of the seat and pants. She dials 911, then lifts her hand to gently touch her dog’s nose. It’s warm.

  29

  Grease Monkey

  SHE’S IN SHOCK.”

  “Get her some water.”

  Gus is slowly helped from the car. Levi stays close. She’s not sure how long she’s been sitting there. She remembers going off the road, but why it happened is a blur. A blanket is draped across her shoulders and someone hugs her. She pushes away. Then she realizes it’s Rory and stops pushing. Collapses against him. Lets him hold her weight.

  “You’re okay, Little Monet. Thank Christ, you’re okay.”

  She doesn’t want to go to the hospital. Seems like overkill to her. The paramedic isn’t convinced. He says if she refuses to come with him in the ambulance, she needs to stay with someone who can watch her. She shouldn’t sleep right away. She likely has a concussion. Rory says he’ll watch her. His place is close by. As luck would have it, the accident happened on the highway near Kemptville. A few miles from his place. He tells her she can stay at his little house on Harris Road as long as she needs to.

  It’s the hospital or Rory’s house, so she agrees to go with him even though she just wants to go home. Rory takes charge. He arranges for her car to be towed to his house. He thanks the paramedics and gently puts her and Levi in his police cruiser. Gus rests her head against the window and lets him take control.


  The house backs onto Kemptville Creek. Levi discovers his love of dog-paddling and mud-rolling that first day at Rory’s. His house is far enough off the road that Gus doesn’t have to worry about the dog wandering the property off leash. For two days she binge-watches old movies from Rory’s VHS collection on the ancient VCR that sits atop the PVR that he has no idea how to operate. Just like Rose’s house, Rory’s world is stuck in another time.

  Gus gives him her new cell phone number so that he can check in on her when he’s out at work or running errands. When Rory comes home after work, they watch one of his favorites. The Godfather, Serpico, or Chinatown. Gus stares at the screen without really watching, Levi curled at her feet. His wet fur stinks of creek water. Rory brews her chamomile tea and brings it to her in a yellow happy face mug.

  “Here you go, Little Monet. This’ll warm your belly.”

  Rory tries to tidy up the place. Neatly stacking his Sports Illustrated magazines. Dusting off the TV with his sleeve. Or brushing crumbs under the sofa or toward Levi. He even bakes chocolate chip cookies from premade dough.

  Their third night staying at Rory’s, Gus sits in her usual spot in his den. She drifts in and out of tonight’s movie. Some guy has Jack Nicholson up against a wall with a knife shoved inside his nostril. Then the man slices Jack’s nose open.

  “That’s my favorite part,” Rory says, ducking his head into the room from the kitchen. He’s got oven mitts on his hands, but no cookies. He smiles an evil smile at Gus. She rolls her eyes.

  “You know you can stay as long as you want. You hear?”

  “You don’t have to keep telling me that, Rory.”

  She can smell the cookies.

  “You think I’d kick you and Mister Levi out? Not a chance. Not me. Nope.”

  Now Rory’s acting weird. Talking too much.

  “Did you burn the cookies?”

  “Heck no. They’re cooling.”

  He coughs.

  “You seem nervous.”

  “Who me?”

  He flings his arms about in protest and one of the oven mitts goes flying.

  “What is it?”

  He looks down. She knows he’s done something she won’t like.

  “What?”

  “Stanton’s coming by. She needs to talk to you.”

  Gus pouts and folds her arms.

  “I really don’t get her. What’s so fascinating about me? She’s an RCMP sergeant in charge of Youth Services. Has she got nothing better to do? I’m not some troubled youth that needs a good talking-to, am I?”

  “Look, I’ve known her a good long while. Since I joined up. She got sidestepped early on in her career. Passed over. One too many herniated discs and messy divorces, and I think she’s just bored pushing pencils. Humor her. She’s not all bad.”

  Rory pulls off the other oven mitt and folds his arms while he waits for the cookies to cool in the kitchen. Gus mutes the movie and props herself up.

  “Why did you join up, Rory?”

  “The force?”

  He flushes a little like he’s surprised she’s interested. Rory can be sweet. In this moment, she feels like she’s seeing the real him. The young cop. The friend to her parents. The quiet one. The good guy.

  “Well, here’s the thing of it, Little Monet. I grew up in a rough part of Toronto. Jane and Finch. A housing experiment gone wrong. Gangs. Drugs. I got into sports at school. That’s how I stayed out of trouble. I also got lucky. I had both parents at the dinner table. A warm bed. At least compared to some of my friends. One kid I knew, his mom was a drug addict. She started dealing and doing worse. All to support her habit. His house was full of good-for-nothings. He snuck in my window and slept at my place most nights. He kept his nose clean awhile, then he went off the rails. He got into dealing. Then there were a couple of arrests. Juvie. Unlucky. That was him.

  “So there you have it. Two kids from the same neighborhood. Life gave him lemons and me lemonade. I guess I joined so I could help kids like him stay outta trouble. Does that make any sense at all?”

  Augusta nods and smiles.

  Rory walks to a bookcase propped against the far wall. Yearbooks, a couple of dusty trophies, and a collection of paperbacks clutter the shelves. Mostly western novels. She can make out a few names across the worn spines. Zane Grey. Louis L’Amour. A photo sits on the top shelf. He picks it up and hands it to her. It’s a picture of three young boys.

  “That you?”

  She points to the kid on the right. Unmistakably Rory.

  “That’s me. And that’s my buddy. The one I was talking about. And his kid brother. They had different dads, I think. It seems a lifetime’s gone by since this was taken.”

  Gus examines the small black-and-white picture. Rory looks about the same age as the bigger kid. Both about eleven or twelve years old. The little one in the middle. He looks three at most. They’re perched on overturned milk crates in an alley next to a brick wall. They’re making peace signs and smiling at the camera. Messy hair. Dirty faces. Bruised knees. Boys being boys.

  “What happened to them?”

  “Oh. Lost touch a long time ago.”

  There’s a rap on the screen door off the kitchen. Rory jumps to attention. Augusta hears the hinges whine as Stanton lets herself in.

  “Anyone home?”

  Rory heads to the kitchen to greet Stanton. Levi drags himself off the sofa to investigate. Augusta hears mumbling but can’t make out what’s being said. She clicks off the TV. Pulls the blanket around her. Tries to shake off her sulky eight-year-old self, but she won’t budge. She hangs on to the edge of the blanket.

  Sitting across from Stanton in Rory’s den, Gus waits for the sergeant to explain her visit. Levi is stretched out on the floor sniffing Stanton’s shoe. Too tired to bother begging for belly rubs from the company.

  “Looks like someone ran you off the road.”

  Coming out of the kitchen with a steaming mug for Stanton, Rory gasps. He places the mug on the coffee table, wanders back toward the kitchen, but doesn’t leave. Instead, he leans on the doorjamb. Stanton continues.

  “Any idea who might want to cause you some harm?”

  Augusta’s mind dances immediately to Lars, then just as quickly dismisses him. The penis pic was definitely his last hurrah.

  She shakes her head. Stanton persists.

  “No jilted boyfriend?”

  “Nope.”

  No point in siccing the cops on Lars and making that loser feel important.

  “You been anywhere unusual recently?”

  Stanton’s playing with her. She knows damn well Gus has been out to Elgin.

  “Nope.”

  Gus looks away.

  Stanton glances around Rory’s cramped den as she sips her coffee. Sweat dimples her forehead. She’s having a hot flash.

  “Well, if you think of anything.”

  She leaves it at that. Puts down the mug and backs up her chair to rise.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Your friend had an accident.”

  Stanton catches her off guard. Just like she meant to. Gus stares at her.

  “What friend?”

  Stanton nods for Rory to give them some privacy. Rory skulks into the kitchen.

  “The Happy Medium.”

  Stanton had been holding on to this nugget since she arrived.

  “He was taking a walk. Seems he got hit by a vehicle, dragged, and then left for dead in a ditch. A passerby found him and got him to Emerg in Perth just in time. Hit and run.”

  “Holy shit. Manny? Is he okay?”

  “Looks like he’ll make it, but someone did quite a number on him.”

  Gus can’t speak. She flashes to the figure across the crater in Elgin. And the one on the hill beyond the cemetery. Then she sees her movements of the past few days and a jumble of thoughts flood her brain at once. Images of a stranger visiting Renata, a black Impala trying to run her off the road, shooting at her. And now Manny. Poor Manny. Dragged by a car. She can al
most see his purple sweat suit tattered and covered in blood.

  She shivers. Someone doesn’t like who she’s been talking to. What she’s been looking into or what footsteps she’s been following. Gus wishes Stanton would leave so she could think this all through, but her head is throbbing from the effort.

  And Stanton’s not done yet.

  “I understand you had just come from Mr. Clocktower’s residence when your car went off the road.”

  “How do you know that?”

  She wants Stanton to admit Lashey is still following her.

  “Manny’s got a nosy neighbor who likes to photograph license plates. And we checked his appointment schedule on his computer. You were in it.”

  Gus knows she’s caught.

  “Mr. Clocktower worked in Elgin once upon a time. Seems you’ve been digging into what I told you to leave alone. Neighbor said there was yelling.”

  “What? I didn’t hurt him. Manny was fine when I left.”

  “And that bullet hole in the back windshield of your car?”

  Stanton nods toward the driveway where Rory had her Buick towed.

  “Guess you don’t know how that got there, either.”

  Augusta shrugs.

  Stanton looks pleased with herself. With how she’s played her cards. With how she’s made the young woman in front of her feel inferior and young and stupid. Gus can’t stand her.

  “Your mum and I had our differences, but she was a good cop, until she wasn’t.”

  Gus opens her mouth to speak, but Stanton cuts in.

  “Shannon bent the rules till they broke.”

  Gus looks away. Stanton’s voice softens.

  “I get it. You’re looking for answers about your mum. But there are some things you don’t know.”

  “Oh, I know. Rory told me everything. All about the night Kep Halladay went missing. The tire tracks from her car found out at his house. About how she drove her car into the water and how he pulled her out. I know the whole story.”

  Stanton’s eyebrows rise.

  “Someone’s painted himself a hero.”

  “You’re not a very nice woman, are you?”

  “No, probably not.”