by Alex MacLean
“I’ll be right back, honey.”
She found Daniel in their bedroom, hanging up his tie in the closet. She gently closed the door behind her.
“Are you staying home with her?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He turned to her, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. “Someone has to.”
“I know,” Audra agreed. “But what will the office say?”
Daniel shrugged it off. “It’ll be fine. There are some statements I can do here. Besides, when have I ever taken a day off?”
“Never.”
He nodded. “Exactly. I’ll keep an eye on Daphne. Make sure she eats something.”
“How was she last night?”
Daniel puffed his cheeks. “Quiet. Barely touched her supper. Then she went up to her room and never came out all night.”
“Something’s going on at school,” Audra said, lowering her voice. “She skipped Monday and Tuesday. Went back yesterday. I could tell when I dropped her off she was reluctant to go in. Now she’s sick today. And there’s no school tomorrow.”
“Why not?”
“Teachers’ in-service.”
Daniel fell silent. He took off his shirt, draped it over a hanger in the closet. Then he gave her a sideways look.
“Think someone’s picking on her?” he asked.
Audra shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe.”
“I thought about that.”
“Me too.”
“Whatever happened to her friend, Tabitha? You never see her come around anymore.”
“Daphne won’t talk about it.”
“Maybe it’s over that.”
Audra spread her hands. “Could be. They were pretty close.”
Daniel folded his arms across his chest and fixed Audra with a thoughtful gaze. The room fell silent for a few moments.
“Well,” he said finally. “We need to find out what’s bothering her. Try to help her. It’s hard when she won’t talk about it.”
Audra looked down at the floor. Looked back up at Daniel.
“I know,” she said. “I know.”
> > > < < <
Daphne could hear the faint whispers coming from her parents’ bedroom. Even though she couldn’t make out their exact words, she knew they were talking about her. Wondering what was wrong with their precious little girl. Couldn’t they see she was a complete failure? Dumb. Ugly. A screw-up from birth. The kids at school knew it, they saw it, they understood. Why couldn’t her parents? Why couldn’t they just admit it to themselves?
Someone sliced that blade into her brain again, and Daphne winced. She rubbed her temples, hoping she wouldn’t get sick again.
She heard her parents’ bedroom door open, footsteps coming. Her mother walked in.
“Honey,” she said. “I have to get ready for work now. Your father’s going to stay home today.”
Daphne blinked at that. “What if he gets in trouble?”
“He won’t. And you can’t stay here by yourself. You’re sick. If something happened to you, we’d never forgive ourselves.”
The expression on her mother’s face was one of pity and sadness. Eerily similar to the look Tabitha had occasionally given her at school, and Daphne felt a cry form in her throat, swelling, wanting to break out. She clenched her teeth against it.
“I have to jump in the shower,” Audra said. “I’ll be back before I leave for work. Okay?”
Daphne managed a small nod. She watched her mother leave the room and hated herself even more.
Now her father had to miss work because of her. Daphne shook her head, and tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. She was making her parents’ lives a living hell, becoming a burden, an embarrassment. Neither one of them deserved this. They’d be better off if she’d never been born.
God, she wished she could just die. Die and be gone. Forever.
23
Toronto, June 10
5:20 p.m.
The birthday cake was cut into the shape of a football, frosted with chocolate icing for the skin, cream cheese icing for the laces and stripes. Simple decorations marked the occasion: balloons tied to the backs of the kitchen chairs, floating at the ends of two-foot strings; a Happy Birthday banner draped across the wall.
Brian sat at the table, nibbling his upper lip, as Melissa flicked a lighter and lit the seven candles on the cake.
“Let me get a picture,” she said. “Before you blow them out.”
Standing by the cupboards, Allan took out his cell phone and brought up the camera feature on it. He waited until Melissa snapped off a photo with her Nikon, then he shot one for himself.
There were just the four of them—Brian, Melissa, Allan, and Tom Godfrey. Since Brian’s birthday fell on a school day, Melissa had promised him a small party with his classmates on Sunday afternoon.
Tom stood by the refrigerator, quietly sipping coffee from a glass mug. He kept to the outside of the occasion, playing more the role of observer than participant. Allan could sense his awkwardness, one similar to his own. How did you walk into a broken family and try to create a place for yourself? To establish a relationship with a small boy who already had a father? And now that father was here in your home.
Melissa began singing, “Happy Birthday to you...”
Allan and Tom gathered around the table, joining in the song. Embarrassment soaked color into Brian’s cheeks. He shifted in the chair, covered his face with his hands, and removed them again, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Time to make a wish,” Melissa said. “Blow out your candles. Get them all in one try, your wish comes true.”
Brian paused a moment. His gaze leapt from Melissa to Allan and settled on Melissa again. Allan could see the hopeful charge in his pupils, and he felt a stab of sadness as he pondered the wish circulating inside his son’s head.
Brian squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled a deep breath, and blew out all the candles in one long blast of air.
Allan applauded. “Good job.”
Melissa kissed Brian on the cheek. “Happy Birthday, Pumpkin.”
The time came for presents. Melissa laid a box on the table in front of him, roughly two feet long and more than a foot wide. The paper wrapped around it had a pattern of racing cars and checkered flags. Excitement danced in Brian’s eyes like a child on Christmas Eve anticipating the arrival of Santa.
“This is from Tom and me,” Melissa said. “Hope you like it.”
“What is it?”
Melissa mussed the hair on the top of his head. “Open it up, silly.”
Brian tore off the paper to reveal a LEGO police station complete with cars, cops, and robbers.
“Cool,” he said, beaming. “I love it, Mom.”
He got off the chair and gave her a hug. Went over to Tom and gave him one too.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You bet, little buddy.”
Melissa said, “You can pretend you and your father are out catching bad guys.”
Brian returned to the chair. “We can be partners. Right, Dad?”
Allan smiled at the innocence of the remark. “We’d make a great team, wouldn’t we?”
Brian grinned, and it was his mother’s grin—genuine, adorable, with a tightening of the face as if trying to hold back a rush of laughter.
“Yeah,” he said. “We’d catch all the bad guys.”
Tom turned to Allan. “Would you like to see Brian someday go into law enforcement?”
Allan’s eyes were steady, holding his, as disturbing memories came shooting up from his subconscious: a mother letting out an anguished scream and doubling over when hearing her son had been murdered; a straight-A student with the whole world ahead of her lying dead in a bedroom after failing to beat the demons of heroin addiction; an old man’s wrinkled face staring up at him from the depths of an acetone bath.
Allan clenched his jaw. He glanced at Brian on the other side of the table. No, he wouldn’t like to see his son go into law enforcemen
t. Not see the things he’d seen. Life itself would download enough shit onto Brian’s clean hard drive without him being exposed to an underbelly of society few people got to see or be part of. It wasn’t a place of smiles and gifts and hugs, but grim and heartbreaking with only rare glimpses of beauty.
At last, Allan said, “I’d support Brian in whatever he decided to do.” He gave a light shrug. “By then he might want to become a doctor or something else.”
“Or Spiderman,” Brian said.
They all burst into laughter.
Allan said, “I see you eyeing the bag I brought over.”
He picked up the gift bag off the counter and carried it to the table.
“Happy Birthday, Little Man,” he said. “I don’t know where the last seven years went. I still remember the day you were born like it was yesterday.”
Brian smiled up at him. He pulled out the blue tissue paper from the bag and looked inside. His eyes suddenly opened wide, and his brows jumped up his forehead.
“Oh wow,” he piped. “This is awesome.”
He reached in and brought out the box.
“Four-by-four monster truck,” Tom said, drawing a little closer to the table. “How cool is that?”
“I know.” Brian hugged his father. “Thank you, Dad.”
“You’re most welcome,” Allan said, hugging him back.
Melissa shot a photograph of Brian holding up the box and another one of him with his father.
Brian asked, “Can we get a picture of me and Dad and you together?”
The request, natural in its delivery, made all three adults pause. Melissa’s quick glance at Allan, skipping across his face and away, hinted at her awkwardness. Allan felt his throat constrict. Tom just stood there, looking at the floor.
At last, Melissa ventured a tiny smile. “Sure, Pumpkin.”
When she handed Tom the camera, he hesitated before taking it. Melissa walked around the table and squatted to the right side of Brian, Allan already on the left. Brian draped his arms around both of them, pulling them close.
Tom held up the camera, his mouth twisted to the side, one eyebrow arced higher than the other. Allan found himself wondering what Tom was thinking as he framed the shot.
“Say cheese.”
In unison, all three said it. The sudden flash made Allan blink. He rose to his feet and sighed. Melissa cleared her throat and began removing plates and forks from the cupboards. Tom placed the camera on the table, head down, eyes crinkled in thought.
Among the three adults, things became oddly hushed after that. They had cake, then Allan and Brian took the monster truck out to the street. Allan had never been so happy just to be out of there.
The guy who sold him the truck had been right—it was fast as hell. With a quiet whine from its engine, it tore down the street at incredible speed. At times, it looked like it wanted to become airborne, lifting off its big wheels for brief seconds. The controls took some practice, especially the brakes. If you hit the button too hard, the brakes would lock up and send the truck tumbling end over end down the asphalt. He found the truck did wheelies best from a standing start, not so much when it was moving.
Allan stood on the curb, watching Brian have fun with it. He guided the truck over the front lawn, down the driveway, and back out to the street.
“Do you like it?” Allan asked him.
“I love it,” Brian said.
He turned the truck around in the neighbor’s drive and brought it racing back toward them.
“We should have a ramp,” Allan said. “Then we can see how far the truck can jump.”
Brian stopped the truck at his feet. “That would be cool, Dad.”
“Does Tom have any old boards in the garage we could use?”
“I’ll ask him.”
Heart swelling, Allan watched his son run into the house. He inhaled a deep breath of evening air that was mild and tinged with the smell of blooming flowers. The sun warmed the side of his face, and a light breeze rustled his hair.
Allan’s world seemed like it had righted itself. For once, he felt happy, healthy. Free of Halifax and the bad memories. He realized now he never wanted to return.
Brian came back out with a set of keys in his hand. “Tom said you can check.”
Allan did. He found a small piece of plywood and some bricks to prop it up on. He and Brian set up the ramp in the backyard. The monster truck tore through the grass with ease. It would leap several feet off the ramp, sometimes landing on all four tires, sometimes crashing.
They played with it until 7:45, at which time they put the plywood and bricks back inside the garage.
As Allan walked Brian to the back steps, he asked, “How about a movie tomorrow night? Something different.”
“What one?”
Allan chuckled, spread his hands. “I don’t know. Is there one you wanted to see?”
Brian frowned. “Shrek. Forever...uhm...” He fidgeted, struggling for the word.
“Forever After?” Allan said.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“I’ll check the paper tomorrow to see if it’s here.”
“Okay, Dad.”
Allan kissed the top of his head. “Good night, son. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
Brian laughed. “We don’t have bedbugs.” He climbed the steps to the back door. “Bye, Dad.”
“See you tomorrow. Have a good day at school.”
Brian went inside with his truck and controller in his arms. When the door closed, Allan’s gaze shifted to the kitchen window, and he noticed Melissa there, watching him. There was something sad in her eyes, he saw. At once, she looked away and drifted from view.
Allan continued to stare at the empty glass.
24
Dartmouth, June 10
5:33 p.m.
The kitchen light was on.
Seth stood in the wet parking lot, staring at the back door of the apartment. His mouth was dry, his stomach clenched tight. Rain pelted a deafening cadence on the hood of his raincoat.
For months, Todd Dory had been a face with no name. A face Seth had seared into his brain and saw in his dreams every night. A face he’d wanted to pound with his fists until he heard the bones crunch into pieces.
He had seen that face again on TV a few weeks ago, emerging from a Halifax courthouse alongside a greasy shyster in a cheap suit and striped tie.
The news anchor told viewers, “Suspected gang member Todd Dory is a free man today. Charges of armed robbery were dropped after the Crown’s sole witness recants her testimony.”
Charges dropped. Free man. That was perfect. Seth could hardly believe his luck. Where the court failed, he would make sure Dory received his due punishment. Make him wish he had gone to prison.
Finding him in Halifax turned out to be easier than expected. Seth went online and checked the virtual white pages. It listed the address of the building Dory lived in, just not his apartment number.
In a rental car, Seth began staking out the place. He’d sit and watch for two- or three-hour stretches. Eventually, Dory showed himself, opening his door to a dark-haired woman with colorful tattoos on her arms. In that moment, Seth fought the impulse to kill him right there and then. That would’ve been a mistake; the woman was a witness. He didn’t have it in him to kill her too. She had nothing to do with this. She probably never even knew what a shit stain on humanity Todd Dory was.
Seth continued to watch him over the coming days, switching up rental cars so no one in the neighborhood would notice the same one hanging around.
He needed to learn Dory’s movements. The car he drove. Where he went. When he was home alone.
Like he was on this night.
Seth took the shotgun from the duffel bag and thumbed off the safety. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he approached the back door. His heart pounded as he raised his fist and knocked.
A voice, hard to hear over the rain, called out from inside. “Who is it?”
“Police,
” Seth said. “We received a nine-one-one disconnect at this address.”
As the words spilled from his mouth and entered the atmosphere, he wondered if the ruse would even work. Who else would you open the door to at one thirty in the morning, if not the cops thinking you were in trouble?
“Never came from here, my man.”
Seth knocked again. “We have to respond to all nine-one-one hang-ups. Open the door, please.”
It grew quiet inside.
Ten seconds passed.
Twenty.
Worried, Seth said, “Sir, I need to make sure everything is all right. If they gave me the wrong address, I need to let them know right away. Time’s a-wasting.”
Thirty seconds.
Seth heard the metallic scrape of the deadbolt sliding free, and his grip tightened on the shotgun. Adrenaline surged through his blood like fuel. He moved back a bit, unlocking his knees and bracing himself.
Dory cracked the door an inch, and Seth threw his shoulder into it, knocking it open. Dory went stumbling back, wide eyed, holding both empty palms to the air. In one fluid motion, Seth brought the shotgun up into a firing position, training the bead at the end of the barrel on Dory’s forehead.
“Whoa,” Dory said. “What the fuck?”
“I knew I’d find you,” Seth said in a voice tight with anger.
Eyes locked on his target, he swept the door shut with his foot.
Dory’s hands shook. “Easy, man. I don’t know you. Whatcha want?”
Seth’s finger tightened on the trigger. He wanted to shoot. Blow this man’s brains all over the wall behind him. Eight months he had lived for this moment. Dreamed of it.
Slowly, he took his left hand off the fore-end of the shotgun, reached up, and pulled his hood back. There was a sharp intake of breath as Dory’s mouth fell open and recognition crept into his eyes.
Seth nodded. “Now you remember.” He motioned the shotgun toward the kitchen table. “Sit the fuck down.”
Seth snapped out of his reverie. He was back on Primrose Street, sitting in a different rental car, a low-end sedan this time. Nothing too fancy for this side of town.
He had parked in the lot of a Sobeys grocery store, half a block away, choosing a spot by a maple tree with large, overhanging branches. The thick trunk blocked him from people’s view as they drove past on the street.