“My pretty girl has become a hobo.” Rick put a hand on the banister, and his daughter stepped back, eyes riveted to the pale hand on the polished dark wood banister. “I’ll deal with your attitude later, Cathy. Right now, you need to get to school.”
And it was all so ordinary except that it wasn’t.
“I checked the website that we found Cathy working on, Angels of Tranquility,” Callisto said. “The homepage looks innocuous, even pretty. It has angels floating on a blue background, and all the links are password protected.”
“Did you call the Child Exploitation Unit?” Brigitte asked.
They’d discussed it at the last session, the therapist claiming that this time they—Callisto, Alec or whoever was out for this—would be believed. Not everyone inside was persuaded. “Yes, I called, without giving my name. The detective said to bring her to the local station if I could. I promised Cathy we’d help and we have to do it soon, before we lose her trust. Tomorrow if possible.”
“From what you’ve been telling us, porn is big business,” Eleanor said. “These people have money. They’ve got resources. They’re violent. What if Rick starts thinking she’s getting in his way? What if something happened to her?” She pointed at her sister-in-law.
“If he finds out, I wouldn’t be the one to pay.” Callisto spoke to those inside as much as those around the table. “The perpetrators who get caught are the obvious ones. Rick and Debra know what they’re doing. They wouldn’t hurt a neighbour and chance being revealed. But they would punish their daughter so thoroughly that she wouldn’t think of trying this again.”
“You see how it is, Dr. Felber,” Jake addressed Brigitte, unwilling to call a doctor, even a psychologist, by her first name. “The Pit Gang fought and they lost. You think they lost because they didn’t know how to fight? You think the Italians and Jews won because they fought better? Let me tell you. It isn’t rocket science to swing a pipe. Everyone could fight. It’s nothing new.”
“Dad, this isn’t anything to do with Christie Pits,” Dan said as patiently as he could.
“Boychik, those people are bullies, too.” His mouth twisted as if he might spit. “You tell your kids, stand up to bullies. Show them how. Not with this.” He smacked his liver-spotted fist into his hand, surprising his son with the sound of it as if he still had his old strength. “With this.” His father tapped his forehead. “Don’t have a goyisheh kop. No offense, Bram.” He smiled at his gentile son-in-law.
“None taken,” Bram said. Wiring was a quiet job. You only had to say, Check the breaker. Or I’m here, pull. But you saw unexpected things when you cut out plaster. “I did the wiring at the Edwards’ house.” Everyone was looking at him. He stopped talking, embarrassed.
“Go on,” Brigitte encouraged.
“It had knob and tube and their insurance company gave them sixty days to replace it. Their basement was soundproofed, but it was set up as a guest room, so I didn’t think anything of it.” His quiet voice was tinged with regret.
“You’re speaking now,” Brigitte said. “It isn’t too late.” She was writing notes on her yellow pad, Mimi looking over her shoulder to make sure she left nothing out. “If you want to do this tomorrow, how would that work?”
“I could pick her up after school when she’s home with the baby so I can take them both,” Callisto said.
“We still have a car seat in the basement,” Dan said. He started making a list on his smartphone.
“I’m concerned about getting Cathy alone,” Callisto said. “Debra might leave work early as it’s her last day. Then there’s Rick. What if he’s at home?”
Dan was still tapping with the stylus. 1. Put infant seat in car. 2. Fill up car. 3. Meeting with Rick?
Deleting the question mark, he said, “I was supposed to go over the fundraising campaign for the Committee for Youth tomorrow. I haven’t yet cancelled it because I didn’t know what to say. How about if I go? It was set for two but I could ask him to meet at four instead.”
“Well,” Eleanor said, “I could put together a surprise party at Magee’s at the same time. A send-off for Debra.”
“On such short notice?” Brigitte asked.
“Easy.” Eleanor crossed her arms, and eyed her sister-in-law as if she’d read their thoughts. “Just don’t turn your house into a refugee centre. Let the kids go to foster care.”
Callisto blinked, feeling Sharon surge forward, ready to protest. But it was her father-in-law who said, “Let? There’s no letting. Why do you think we all ended up right here around this table? It’s not for nothing.”
“You have enough room for two more kids in your house,” Mimi said, “if you’d only clean it up. The basement used to be an apartment. Now it’s full of boxes. Put this on your list, Danny. Your daddy and I will pick up Emmie and then we’ll get Judy and Nina from school.”
“That would be great, Mom.” Dan made a note of it.
“We can’t let Cathy down,” Callisto said, putting her hand on his.
“We’ll get those kids out,” he said. “They deserve better.”
“Now you’re using your head,” Jake said. “If there was only God then who would God love?”
Stars are usually born in molecular clouds. But when a giant gas cloud encounters a giant black hole, it is not entirely destroyed. It is ripped, torn, reshaped into a spiral that takes energy from deep in and moves it far out, birthing stars even here in this most dangerous of places. This is what can be seen through scientific instruments: a necklace of brilliance around a darkness darker than night at the heart of our galaxy.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
On the fifth floor of the former Ford factory, Rick was waiting in reception, hands clasped behind his back as he studied the framed photographs of the building in its previous glory: the testing track on the roof, cars being painted on this floor, the assembly line on four, repairs on three, and on the second floor, the salesroom where now his wife had her pediatric practice.
“Hello, Rick,” Dan said as he came into reception. “Thank you for changing the appointment time.”
“It’s totally fine, we can go straight from here to Magee’s. It was nice of Eleanor to organize that.”
“That’s my sister. Organized.” Wearing his second best suit and the girls’ ugly birthday present, which had become, against all odds, his good-luck tie, he guided Rick toward the corner office. One window faced the railroad tracks, the other window looked across the overpass to Best Foods. Bushes trembled in the light breeze.
“Have a seat, please. I’ve got everything here,” Dan said. The floorboards creaked as they settled in chairs on either side of his desk.
Rick crossed one leg over the other. “I liked what you did for Families Against Guns even though the mailing was late. I hope you can do as well for the Committee for Youth.”
Several samples of mailing designs were spread out on the oak surface of Dan’s desk: exterior envelope, reply envelope, letter. Dan explained the benefits of a handwritten envelope, though it was more expensive, but Rick was restless, hardly listening.
“It’s up to you, though,” Dan said, eyes on the letter copy so he didn’t have to look at Rick.
“I want to discuss this.” Rick flapped the telephone script. “You haven’t put anything about Heather’s suicide in here.”
Dan looked around his desk for something to occupy his hands, thinking of how good it would feel to take a swing at Rick. He picked up his pen. “I thought it would be effective to focus on the programs you want to set up for teens.”
“I want people to remember Heather,” Rick said.
“Right.” Dan took the script from Rick and scribbled on it.
“We’re all set,” Alec said. In the school playground half a block down, kids were climbing rope ladders and sliding down slides, shouting with after-school freedom, anticipating summer. The diaper bag was in the trunk, the baby buckled into the infant seat, facing the rear of the car, her young auntie in front. His
bag was on the back seat.
“I forgot the tablet,” she said, turning off her cellphone and placing it in her backpack.
“We’ll get you another one.” He pressed the button to lock the doors. If she went back in, she might not come out again.
“You’re sure that Dad is occupied?”
“He’s with Dan. You want to see the text?” He reached into his pocket and took out his cell, flipping it open so she could look. Rick here go 4 it.
“What if the baby poops? Cathy’s the one who changes diapers.”
“I’ll do it,” Alec said, adding, as Ceecee raised her eyebrows, “Okay, so I’m not Sharon. But I can handle a bit of shit.” He turned the key in the ignition.
“The last couple of days, Cathy can hear when I’m out. She thinks we’re crazy or lying. I don’t know if I can keep her back,” Ceecee said
“Hang in there.” Alec looked over his shoulder as he pulled away from the house. You had to be watchful here. The sky was grey, the road was grey, and all you’d see was a flash of colour if some kid ran out of the school yard and across the street, expecting a ton of steel to stop on a dime.
Built in the same year as the Ford factory, the police station was A-shaped, stairs leading up to the ornate wooden door, brick arms stretching to right and left. Inside, several uniformed officers sat among the computers behind the counter. A female officer, short sandy hair, the blue collar of her uniform blouse standing above her jacket, was attending to the kettle while her colleagues relaxed, hands loose, teasing her as they waited for tea. Behind the desks was the mailroom, and behind the mailroom were holding cells with green bars.
In a large room on the second floor, a male detective in a brown suit, his hair buzz cut, sat at one of the desks. Several chairs were empty except for notes taped onto them that said COURT or SPRAINED ANKLE. Near the window overlooking the alley, a female detective with long black hair spoke on the phone. She was slender and well dressed, her shoes flat in case she needed to move fast. “Uh huh. Yes. I’ll be right down,” she said. There was a whiteboard on the wall behind her desk. In black marker were two headings, CHILDREN MISSING and ABDUCTIONS. Nothing was written underneath.
She let the door swing shut behind her as she came into the narrow waiting area, where a red-haired woman and a pretty girl with a baby in a baby carrier stared at the posters on the corkboard. The woman wore pants with many pockets, a messenger bag slung over a shoulder, one thumb hooked through the strap; she was trying to act casual, but her face was strained. The girl chewed on the ends of her hair. She wore sandals, her toes were wriggling as if she couldn’t stand still and only the weight of the baby, lolling against her chest, kept her from taking flight.
“I’m Detective Chan.” Beside the corkboard was a blown-up photograph of the Christie Pits riot, farther along the wall a smaller photo of the Metro Police West End Hockey Team, a thank-you from the boys and girls club, a calligraphed poem from the wife of a deceased officer. “You must be Mrs. Lewis. And you’re Cathy Edwards?”
“Cathy Dawson-Edwards,” the girl corrected.
“I have to apologize, Mrs. Lewis. I don’t know why you were told to come to the station. We never do interviews with kids here.” She thought of joking about the claustrophobic prisoner interrogation rooms they had, but the expression on the girl’s face made her think that wasn’t a terrific idea. “We have a child-friendly location on the lakeshore. It’s a great place to talk. I’ll give you the directions, and we can meet there.”
Alec took the address from her, then turned to Ceecee. “It’s just fifteen more minutes. Maybe twenty.”
Her face was sullen as she followed him out. “They tell you one thing and then they tell you another,” she grumbled suspiciously. They walked back to the car and Ceecee got into the front seat, slamming the door.
“Seat belt.”
“Fine,” she said as he leaned over the infant seat, buckling Linny in. “No, wait. Stop.”
“What’s up?” Alec straightened and she turned around to face him.
“This is crazy. I can’t put my parents in jail.” She was biting her nails, which were already bitten down to the quick, a drop of blood on the edge of her thumbnail.
“Let’s talk about it,” he said, keeping his voice level as he opened the door on the driver’s side, and got in behind the wheel. So she’d switched. Better now than at the police station. He just had to deal. “You aren’t putting them anywhere.” His lips were numb and his hands cold on the steering wheel; too many of his own inside folks were scared to death of cops. Tough shit. He wasn’t taking her back to that house. No way. “You’re just going to say what you’ve got to say.”
“You think they’re bad, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
“It’s not like you think. They came to all my dance recitals. And they clapped hard.” She shook her head. “I love my mom and dad. What kind of person says terrible things about their parents?”
“The kind that has terrible parents.”
“But they’re not,” she insisted.
“Not to you. Because you get to live a normal life while the others of you take the crap. But let me tell you, the worst isn’t what is done to you. It’s what you see done to others you care about. I couldn’t do shit on a stick for my sister Pauline when we were kids, but that didn’t stop me from trying. So don’t think I’m sitting on my hands now. Somebody’s going to jail. Is it gonna be me or are you going to let me do this?” He met her gaze until she looked down, and nodded.
When he checked the rear-view, he saw a nanny pushing a stroller through the parking lot, probably taking a shortcut to the library across the street. As soon as the rear-view was clear, he backed out, turned right to the exit and left onto the street past the library. He was leaving Seaton Grove, heading south toward the lake. On the floor above Magee’s, the odour of onion rings wafted through the vent in Dr. Dawson’s examination room. She didn’t see her patients in tiny cramped spaces. Her office was big, with several chairs for conversation, and a good-sized examination table. Dolls from around the world sat on a corner shelf, smiling at young patients. On one wall was a gallery of photographs, from babies to adolescents, all of them adorable.
“Do you have any other concerns?” Debra asked as she filled out the camp check-up form for Bonnie Yoon’s son. There was an insulated mug on her desk, which she used for coffee from Magee’s.
“Eric’s still very small for his age,” Bonnie said, her son leaning against her, playing with the stethoscope.
“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, but I can refer you to an endocrinologist. If he were my child I’d want to rule out everything.”
In the waiting room, the chairs were covered in faux leather, and a tickle trunk overflowed with toys. But nobody was playing with them now, regular hours over. The room smelled of perfume and talcum powder and baby pee and a trace of bitter disinfectant.
The door opened and Eleanor walked in. “Hello,” she said.
“Can I help you?” the nurse asked. She was new, otherwise she would have recognized Eleanor, whose daughter was a patient of Dr. Nash’s. If he hadn’t been such a stubborn old goat, he would have retired five years ago, and Eleanor’s daughter would now be a patient of Debra’s. The thought of it made Eleanor sweat.
“I’m Eleanor Lewis. I called earlier to invite you to the goodbye party.” She waved as Bonnie Yoon came into the waiting room, her son sucking on a lollipop.
“Oh yes.” The nurse leaned forward conspiratorially. “Everyone’s downstairs waiting. That’s her last patient. Let’s pop in and surprise her.”
Debra was sitting at her desk, writing something in a file, and didn’t look up as Eleanor walked in. “Where’s my next appointment?” she asked.
“Right here,” Eleanor said.
“I thought Judy was Dr. Nash’s patient. Is something wrong?”
“Only that you’re leaving us too soon,” the nurse said, fol
lowing close behind.
“I booked Magee’s so everyone can say goodbye,” Eleanor said.
“But I still have so much to do. I have to pack up everything here.”
“I could help you, after Bram gets home. If you’d like.” Eleanor’s eyes were on her cellphone as she checked for messages. Maybe it isn’t true, she thought. Maybe there is another explanation. She had to think so, at least for the moment, or she would never be able to face Debra.
“I’m sure I can manage.” Debra took off her lab coat, and hung it on a hook behind the door. “I hope you’ll excuse the way I’ve acted toward you, Eleanor. Blaming you for Ingrid living next door was unreasonable, but I’ve been so stressed. This move is long overdue. I can’t wait to get to the cottage with my baby and just relax.”
“Dr. Nash and Dr. Kim and everyone from the breakfast club are downstairs,” Eleanor said. “We should get going.”
Perhaps it was all a mistake. A troubled girl, her troubled sister. Teenagers lie all the time. And if Cathy was telling the truth? Eleanor pretended to admire the cabinet of dolls, walking over as if she needed to see them closer, then turning to look at the gallery of photographs on the wall. No one would notice if she snapped some shots with her cell. On Debra’s desk was a family portrait and beside it another photograph: inside a silver frame, a man and a boy with a gap-toothed smile and cowlick. The boy was holding a fish. While Debra took a bottle of pills from a drawer and deposited them in her purse, Eleanor took another shot with her phone and slipped it back in her bag.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“Rick’s brother and my godson,” Debra said. “Isn’t it a great picture?”
The child-friendly location was a small wood-frame house overlooking the lake, with a playroom for young children and an interview room for older kids, furnished with an Ikea couch and armchairs, a couple of plants hanging from the ceiling, and a two-way mirror opposite the couch. In front of the couch was a coffee table and on it a pad of paper and pen. Alec put the infant seat on the coffee table and the diaper bag on the floor.
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