Up ahead a sign read: Danger. Keep Clear While Bridge Swinging. Beyond that, the road had disappeared, leaving a drop into the water, as the elderly swing bridge swiveled away from the road with an arthritic stiffness. It would continue to do so until it was in line with the shore, opening a passage for waiting boaters.
“The bridge usually closes for fifteen minutes at the top of the hour,” I told Olive. “It may take a little longer now. Looks like we’ll have to wait until all these boats are through.” There were more boaters on the water than usual this evening, tourists here for the Canada Day holiday.
My phone rang and I picked it up from the seat to see who it was: Madison. Of course it was Madison. She had called every hour since she broke into the house that morning, trying to wear me down, I imagined. When I didn’t answer, she immediately sent two texts. I knew I should just block the woman. I really should. But I felt a sick urge to see what Madison would say or do next. It was the same morbid fascination I might have when encountering a dead body: an instinct to turn away, countered by the compulsion to look.
I looked.
Kira, please, for god’s sake, answer the fucking phone!
Madison rang again and I dismissed the call. She immediately texted again: ANSWER THE PHONE!
I texted, FUCK YOU! but deleted the message before sending. I had resisted the urge to reply all the way up. I glanced in the rearview mirror at Olive and tried to keep my voice level. “If Madison texts you, don’t respond,” I said, as I had several times that day.
“I told you, I’m not texting her.”
“Who are you texting, then?” I smiled in a feeble attempt to tease her, to avoid an argument. “Your boyfriend?”
She lifted one side of her lip in an elegant snarl. “No.” She flipped up the hood on her jacket and buried her chin in her chest so her face was hidden as she peered at her phone. She bit a nail. Olive’s nails were chewed to the quick. But then, so were mine.
I texted Aaron. Reached Manitoulin. Having a wonderful time. Olive is such a dear.
He immediately texted back. Liar. Then: Can I phone? Good time to talk?
I hadn’t really expected him to answer. I’d assumed he would be out to dinner with his client.
We’re still in traffic at the bridge, I texted. Olive will be listening.
Understood. Call later?
The phone rang, and when I refused to pick up Madison’s call, it buzzed again and again like an angry hornet caught in an upturned mason jar. I tossed the phone to the seat, then, compulsively, picked it up again to read the latest text. I know you’re at the bridge. I can see you.
Shit. Madison was here. I scanned the lineup of vehicles ahead. Then I hit the steering wheel repeatedly. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
I gave the wheel a final slap and caught sight of Olive’s worried face, questioning me in the rearview mirror.
She unplugged her earbuds. “What?” she asked. “What happened?”
I stared her down through the mirror. “You told Madison where we were going.” I hadn’t seen Madison on our flight, but then, I hadn’t been looking for her. And she might have taken the one before, or driven up. “Why would you tell her?”
“I just . . .” Olive looked pained, not defiant as usual. “I was just trying to tell her that there was no point coming to the house again because we weren’t there. I didn’t think she’d follow us.”
“Olive—”
“I don’t want to be in the middle of all this.” She sank back into her seat.
Of course, she didn’t. No kid would want to spend another weekend caught in a parental battle. I sure as hell hadn’t.
I texted Aaron. Madison’s here, on Manitoulin.
Are you kidding me?
I wish I was. She’s here at the bridge now.
My phone rang. Aaron. “I’ll meet you there,” he said when I answered.
My heart skipped a beat. No, no, no. “Is there an Ottawa–Sudbury flight this evening?” I asked.
“I don’t know. If not, I’ll rent a car and drive there. It will likely be faster in the end.”
I glanced back at Olive, who was watching me closely, then lowered my voice, though of course she could still hear everything I said. “Aaron, honestly, there’s no need for you to come here. You have things to take care of in Ottawa. I’ll make very sure the place is locked up tonight, and we’ll head someplace else tomorrow. Maybe Niagara Falls, MarineLand. You could meet us there.” We had talked about going there as a family that summer. “In the meantime, I won’t let Olive out of my sight.”
He paused as if thinking it over. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He didn’t sound sure. “Okay, phone if you run into problems with Madison. Anything at all.”
“I will.”
We said our goodbyes and I tossed my phone on the seat. Then I searched the cars, trucks and vans lined up ahead of us, looking for any sign of Madison. On the other side of the bridge, the town was busy with tourists, in cars, on foot. Madison could be in any one of those vehicles, watching us now.
7
I gripped the steering wheel as I waited for the swing bridge to close. Behind us, cars lined up one after the other. Tourists and Haweaters—locals born there, named after the hawberries that grew on Manitoulin—heading to the island to hang out in cottages for the holiday. Even when the bridge wasn’t swung out of the way for water traffic, there was always a lineup here in the summer, drivers stopped by the lights on either end of the bridge, as the deck was only wide enough for single-lane traffic. Other than the ferry that ran between South Baymouth and Tobermory from May to October, and not at all in the winter, this was the only way on and off the island. There was talk, now, of replacing the century-old bridge with a new structure.
My god, Madison was here, in my home territory. I should text Nathan, warn him. I tapped on our conversation. But what would I say? I’m here, after all. Oh, and by the way, I brought Aaron’s daughter, and his crazy ex is here too. A family vacation! I tossed the phone back to the seat without sending him a message. I would just have to find a way to talk to him alone tonight.
“Have you ever seen a swing bridge in operation before?” I asked Olive, trying to make chitchat, trying to ease my nerves. “I think this one at Little Current is one of the last on the continent, if not the last.”
I cringed at my chipper, informative voice. I sounded like a teacher, like Madison. No, I sounded like a mom. I expected Olive to roll her eyes and snort, but she leaned forward and peered over my shoulder at the bridge. It was surreal, swinging back toward us like a giant art installation.
“How long are we stuck here?” Olive asked.
“We should be on our way shortly,” I said. “As soon as the bridge clicks back into place.” It was just about there now.
“Evie stinks,” she said.
Evie did, indeed, stink. I regretted the brief stop in Sudbury at the Scandinavian bakery, the rice pies and fried jelly pigs—animal-shaped doughnuts filled with jelly—that Olive and I had had as a late lunch. We rarely ate anything like that at home, and the rich food, combined with my nerves and the acrid smell of Evie’s dirty diaper, was now making me feel queasy.
I opened the windows, hoping to flush out the smell. But the warm and humid evening air flowed in, making the truck seem even more oppressive.
“I’ll change her as soon as we get to the house,” I said. Which likely meant taking her out of her outfit. For the trip, I had dressed her in a frilly summer dress and shorts set, something I never would have bought her. The outfit had been a gift from Teresa, and seeing Evie wearing it when we arrived would please her. Anything to soften the blow that the news of my engagement would bring.
I picked up my phone. There were more texts from Madison. But I wouldn’t look at them. I wouldn’t.
I looked.
Stop ignoring me! Madison had texted. I have to talk to Olive. Please, let’s meet somewhere.
Like that
was going to happen. I caught Olive staring back at me through the rearview mirror with a haunted expression. My phone buzzed again, and so did Olive’s, but neither of us glanced away, an acknowledgment that we were both receiving harassing texts from Madison. Olive seemed to be asking me for something that she couldn’t bring herself to say out loud. I should have asked what she wanted from me, what she needed.
She finally looked down to read the texts, and so did I.
Fine then, Madison had texted me. Ignore me? Face the consequences.
Olive thumped her head back against the seat. Then she leaned over to kiss Evie, her eyes moist with emotion.
“What’s going on?” I asked her.
She grabbed her athletic bag and, after a last look at Evie, flung open the door and jumped out of the pickup. The line of vehicles ahead of us was already starting to roll onto the bridge.
“Goddamn it.” I got out of the truck but, hesitant to leave Evie, I yelled out, “Olive, what the hell are you doing? Come back here, right now!”
Olive raised a hand to a car to get it to stop so she could cross the road. Then she jogged at a brisk pace down the shoulder, past the line of waiting cars, heading toward a gray minivan that was parked facing the road back to Espanola and Sudbury. Madison. It must be Madison. I quickly pulled the rental to the side of the road, flicked on the hazard lights and slammed the door shut as the car behind me pulled out into the other lane to pass.
“Mum-mum?” Evie asked through the open truck window, reaching for me, her eyes wide with panic.
“I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”
I crossed the road in front of a Rio that honked at me, and sprinted down the shoulder as the cars in line drove slowly by. I was much fitter and faster than Olive, who spent her time in front of one screen or another. But she had a head start, and she jumped into the van before I reached her. The van started moving.
Fuck.
“Hey!” I shouted, waving both hands over my head as I ran after it. “Hey! Stop!”
But the van picked up speed, taking Olive farther and farther away from me.
8
I tapped Olive’s number as I ran back to the rental, my mind racing. “Pick up,” I said out loud. “Come on, pick up!” But she wasn’t answering. I called again and it immediately went to voice mail. I quickly texted, Stop! Then, Is that Madison driving?
Olive still didn’t answer, but of course it was Madison. Who else would it be? My god, what would make Olive get into the van with that woman? What had Madison been telling her, about me?
Or was there something else going on here? All through this crisis, I had assumed Olive was as susceptible to Madison’s warped suggestions as I had been to my own mother’s, and I had felt angry at her for it, but I really didn’t know Olive, what made her tick. Now I wondered if she had given up on both her parents. Was she running away? I had certainly thought of doing that many times when my parents argued.
When I reached the rental, Evie gurgled out a laugh on seeing me, a desperate, joyful giggle that made my heart ache. I should never have left her alone, but what else could I have done?
“It’s okay, Evie,” I said. “Mommy’s here.”
I jumped into the truck and, after strapping in, tapped Madison’s number.
“Come on, come on,” I said. But Madison wasn’t picking up. Payback, I supposed. Or perhaps she was simply keeping her eyes on the road. Was she even driving that van? If not, where the hell was she? And who was Olive with?
I texted, Do you have Olive? and stared at the phone, willing her to answer. When she didn’t, I tried calling again. The call immediately went to voice mail. Shit. What was I doing, sitting here? It didn’t matter who was driving. Olive was in that van. I had to catch up with her. I had to save her. I tossed the phone to the seat and, after checking my shoulder again, did a U-turn and peeled down the road after them.
Behind me, Evie mumbled as if asking a question.
“We’re going to find Olive,” I said. And then, more to myself than Evie, I added, “She’s playing hide-and-seek.”
I pressed my foot to the gas, speeding along the stretch of road that passed over Goat Island and then Great La Cloche Island. On either side, patches of shallow water alternated with flat, cracked alvar, so I could see a fair distance ahead. The road was busy this holiday weekend, but there were more vehicles heading over to Manitoulin than leaving it. I passed the car ahead of me as I rounded a corner, and then saw it up ahead: the minivan Olive had jumped into. At least, I hoped it was the same van. It was a generic vehicle, silver-gray, one of hundreds exactly like it driving around the region, I was sure. I rode the bumper of the car ahead of me until there was a break in the oncoming traffic, then pressed my foot to the gas pedal to pass two cars, swerving back into my own lane as an oncoming pickup honked. But the minivan also sped up, taking a corner too sharply and drifting into the opposite lane before recovering and shooting off down a straight stretch.
I again pulled out to pass, swinging back into the lane as an oncoming semi shuddered by. The minivan was only one car ahead now. On either side of the road, the deer detectors blinked out a warning, but I saw no deer so I didn’t slow. I passed the car ahead and caught up with the van. I honked, then honked again, pulling up within feet of the bumper. When the van only sped up, I pulled out into the oncoming lane, intending to pull up alongside it, but swerved back when a car appeared in front of me. After it passed, I pulled out again and floored it until I had sidled right up to the van. The driver wasn’t Madison. It was another woman, with a bush of overprocessed blond hair. Did I have the right van?
I drove ahead a little until I could see into the passenger side, and there was Olive, looking wide-eyed and scared, staring back at me. She bent her head to her phone, and my cell buzzed with a message, likely from her, but I couldn’t pick it up. I was barreling down the road in the wrong lane.
I honked and honked again. The woman driving turned to me, her brows furrowed. Her face looked worn and lined, like a smoker’s, and she seemed familiar, though I couldn’t think from where. I motioned for her to pull over, and when she looked back to the road, I saw her body tense, her eyes widen in shock. In that split second, the deer leapt out of nowhere. It seemed to hang for an instant in the air in front of us, poised like the image on the deer warning signs. The driver of the van and I both swerved to avoid it, and my rental wove back and forth, out of control. In the rearview mirror I saw the minivan bounce into the ditch and roll to a stop on the cracked limestone near the tree line. A long, low, rumbling warning drew my attention back to the road ahead and I saw a semi barreling toward me from the opposite direction. I swung the truck back into my own lane, my heart hammering in my chest. The semi’s horn droned a long complaint, changing pitch as it sped by within inches of my rental, rocking the truck.
Fuck.
Shocked by the jarring motion, Evie started crying in the back seat, and I slowed and pulled over to check on her. She was still securely fastened in her car seat, but we had come close, so close, to hitting that deer, and the minivan. “It’s okay, sweetie,” I said, leaning into the backseat to offer her a soother. “Everything’s fine.” But I shook with adrenaline and fear.
I checked over my shoulder for cars and did a quick U-turn back to the minivan, parking off the road beside it. As I unbuckled, the woman jumped out of the vehicle, slammed the door behind her and stormed toward me, her hair bouncing. She was too thin, her shoulders bony, as if she had been ill, and her oversized clothes were thrown together as if from a grab bag.
“Are you nuts?” she cried as I got out of the truck. “You almost got us killed! What were you thinking?”
It was only then that the full impact of what had just happened hit me in the gut. The truth was, I hadn’t been thinking. I had acted on instinct. My only thought had been to get to Olive before the minivan disappeared down the road. We could have been killed. Evie could have been killed. I raked a hand through my hair, loosening it f
rom its ponytail. Jesus, I was losing it. I was still grief-stricken over my mother’s death, hormonal, as Aaron said, and my mental state seemed to be getting worse the closer I got to Manitoulin Island and the secrets I’d hidden there.
“What were you thinking,” I spat at the woman, “driving off with my stepdaughter? I should phone the cops.”
“You were the one driving recklessly,” the woman said.
“No!” Olive cried, getting out of the van. “Don’t call the police. This was my fault, not hers.”
I squinted at the woman. “Who are you?”
She hesitated, uncertain, it appeared, of what I was asking of her. “Sarah,” she said, but didn’t offer a last name.
“No, I mean, how do you know Olive? Where were you taking her?”
Olive quickly stepped between us, waving both hands. “This was all my idea, okay?”
“Are you all right?” I asked, smoothing a stray ringlet off her face.
She pulled her head away. “I’m fine.”
“And where’s Madison?” I asked, looking over her shoulder to the van. I couldn’t see into the back.
Olive shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I went around to the passenger side and tried the door, but it was locked, so I banged on the van. I was done running from Madison. “Get out of the van, Madison. I know you’re in there.”
Sarah took a step forward. “Hey, leave my van alone.”
“She’s in there, though, right?” I asked Olive. “Madison put you up to this? Running off like that?”
“No! God, no.” She made a sour face. “I have a brain of my own, you know.”
I banged on the van again. “Madison, come out and face me. You wanted to talk, let’s talk.”
Sarah pushed my shoulder to get me to stop. “I said, leave the van alone!”
I turned to this woman, Sarah. “Are you working with Madison? Did she pay you to pick up Olive?”
Sarah shook her head slightly and looked at Olive, apparently confused.
“Now you’re just being paranoid,” Olive said.
The Almost Wife Page 5