by Lorena May
“Yes,” I say. “I do expect you’ll make it up to me. The kids and I will stay in this house, and you will support them in the manner in which they’re accustomed.”
He gapes. His mouth hangs open. “You expect me to move?”
I look at him through dead eyes. “I do. Immediately.”
He jumps up and stands on the bottom step, looking up at me through glassy eyes. “Jen, please. It was just this once. I’ve never been unfaithful to you before. Think of our kids!”
My heart, my body, and my mind are rocks; hard, cool and detached. I look at him, my face deadpan. “I am thinking of our kids. I don’t want them raised in a loveless home. You can take them places, attend their activities, see them as often as you like. But it’s over between us, Darren. I realize now that it’s been over for a long time.” I stand and walk into the house. “I need to be alone. Please stay away from me.”
Sadie is in the living room looking up at me with her big, brown eyes and I pick her up in one fell swoop, heading to the back yard. She cuddles against me as I sit in my favorite lawn chair, and run my fingers through her hair, feeling numb.
I don’t know how long I sit there, just staring into space, the world twittering and rippling around me. Slowly, thoughts come to me in waves. I think of my own childhood.
MY PARENTS WERE BOTH well into their forties when they had me. They’d lived sheltered lives; products of religious country folk, naïve in the ways of the world. Strait-laced. I was their only child, and they were determined I wouldn’t be sullied by the influences around me in this big, bad town. They meant well. I realize that. But I always felt dowdy and so uncool. As a young child I wore skirts much longer than fashion dictated; blouses that were high-necked and puffy. My shoes were sensible, my hair cut with a bowl. Once I was out of my mother’s sight I rolled my skirts up at the waist so that they’d be more fashionably short.
My first few years at school were agonizing. Even little kids were aware that I was different, and they shunned me. I was a fashion disaster, terribly timid to boot. By the end of grade three, though, I convinced my parents to let my hair grow long and to buy me a few t-shirts. I carried forbidden jeans with me to school and changed in the garage, sneaking down the driveway out of view. I shed my frumpy clothes.
I’d viewed my mom and dad as millstones around my neck, but when they were killed in a car accident during my second year of University, I was devastated. I wished I’d found out more about their childhoods. I wanted to talk to them; to watch them drink their evening tea, sitting in their matching arm-chairs. To see my dad digging potatoes in the yard. To listen to his corny jokes. To watch and learn how to make my mom’s cinnamon buns. And her creamed garden peas and potatoes. How did they grow such an abundant garden, anyway? I wished I could watch Dad tinkering with our old Chevy. I miss them still.
Yet our home was a strained one. My parents didn’t fight exactly, and never swore (of course), but there was a tension in the air. Mom was a strong-willed woman. Dad was a weak man. Nothing he or I ever did was good enough. We walked on egg-shells. Like my children do, I realize. I don’t want that for them. Not any more.
Chapter 31 ~ Darby
Sunday, May 27, Monday May 28~epilogue
Bojangles gallops full-on. Through squinty eyes, Darby can see brawny, black flanks surging, powerfully pounding the ground as Duke races ahead of her, his mane and tail streaming behind, with Jim, flattened against his shoulder. Darby hoots, “Whooo hoo!” loving the freedom; at one with her horse as they race across the grassy meadow. Her senses are alive. Wind whooshing against her face, thundering hooves, golden hills in the distance, the warmth of her horse’s withers, his powerful body beneath her. . . it’s exhilarating! Heavenly!
Jim’s horse is bigger, and he leads the way back to the corral. Walking side by side, he turns to grin at Darby. “I think you pushed Duke to his limit. That little horse of yours can run!”
“Darby glows. “It was fantastic!” she crows. “We flew!”
His laugh is deep and rumbling. “You and Bojangles are like one being. It’s beautiful!”
Together they finish up, giving their horses water, walking them around the corral, untacking and grooming, wetting them down . . . comfortable; companionable. Nice!
They agree to meet at the funky little restaurant where Darby first met Kim. She shivers. The memory of Kim sitting in that motel chair, goading, gloating, laughing . . . sends chills up her spine. The interview with her later that evening repelled Darby even further. Not today. I’m not letting her into my head today.
IT’S GREAT SITTING back, enjoying a beer, shooting the breeze; casual talk. Jim has an easy, confident air about him. He speaks of his boyhood on a ranch nearby. He and his two brothers helped his dad with the cattle, got into trouble in school, joined the rodeo circuit for a while, but never won. Darby finds herself laughing at his foibles, entertained and relaxed. They order burgers and fries; comfort food.
She likes the way his face crinkles around the eyes when he smiles. And the deep dimples in his cheeks. His laugh begins deep in his chest and brings her to laughter. Hours slip by before Darby glances at her watch and says, “It’s been a gas, Jim. But I’ve gotta go. Morning comes early.”
Disappointment flickers in his eyes a moment. “Can I see you again?”
“That would be nice.” Darby smirks. “Very nice.” She lowers her eyes, feeling herself blush.
She rides home a-glow. Then it hits her. I know nothing about his current life. . . Only that he has a horse named Duke he boards at Lecole Stables. Get a fucking grip, girl! Yet . . .
MONDAY MORNING DARBY leans back in the chair across from Mel’s desk, her long legs stretched out in front of her. “Adrian – slash Kim – slash fucking Kristin’s an enigma, Mel,” she says. “One minute she’s charming and sweet as pie. The next she’s the devil.”
“When I saw her come in that snarl screamed devil,” Mel says. “She’s nobody fool, though. I can see that.”
“She had things pretty well planned. She came back to town about nine months ago, a new woman. After years spent years remaking herself, nobody recognized her. Right away she set about getting a job with Peer Homes to get close to Darren. She became a client of Erin’s, and made friends with her. Erin knew her new friend as Kristin. She wore a blonde wig and blue contacts”.
“Aha,” Mel says.
Darby continues. “She met Mia at the golf club. As blonde, blue-eyed Kristin. They became friends almost nine months ago so, of course, Mia wasn’t at all suspicious of her. For a while she left Jen alone, concentrating on getting close to Erin, Mia and Darren. It tickled her pink to have an affair with Jen’s husband along with setting him up. Apparently he was an easy mark. Fucking men!” Darby looks like she could spit right there in Mel’s office. But she doesn’t.
Mel scratches his chin. “So neither Erin or Mia were suspicious of her at all. They’d let her into their homes, would go anywhere with her. She became a close friend.”
Darby nods, “Fuckin’ piece of cake getting to them. As it was to Jen a little later.”
“So who was it that had dinner that last night with Erin?”
“Apparently Kim slash Kristin slash Adrian - and Erin had dinner plans Let’s just call her Kim.” She winks. “Well, Kim had other plans as well. A guy friend of Erin’s came into town. Erin asked Kim if it was okay for him to join them. Kim had no problem with it. In fact, she said they had a great time. Even though she had plans to kill Erin later that night!”
“A regular belladonna!”
“So they had dinner, went back to Erin’s for more drinks and had a lovely evening. Erin got so comfortable she changed into her lingerie. I’m not sure for who’s benefit. Or exactly what happened then.” Darby shakes her head. “Crazy bitch! Sometime after the guy-friend left, she pulled her gun, made Erin go into Facebook and put up the hideous picture and the words ‘I am not who I seem to be’ post. Then she unceremoniously shot her.” Darby’s exp
ression is one of incredulity. “Well, I guess there was some ceremony. I’m guessing she enjoyed a lot of reminiscing and jeering. We do know she took out the rose she had in her purse and placed it in Erin’s hands.”
Mel’s brow puckers. “How did the receipt for a rose end up in Jen’s lingerie drawer?”
“Kim stuck it in Darren’s pocket one night when he was with her.” Darby shivers. “You should see her face when she tells it, Mel. Triumphant, gleaming eyes . . . fucking twisted face . . .”
“She’s a piece of work all right,” Mel agrees.
Darby continues. “Every once in a while she’d use the payphone at the hospital to call Erin, Mia and Jen. Breathing heavily, hoping to terrify them. Different nights, she stuck the dead butterfly and the threatening notes first in Erin’s mail-box, and later in Mia’s. To scare them and fuck up their lives She only managed the butterfly in Jen’s. No note until the motel. Of course, Erin and Mia voiced their fears to their friend Kristin, and she was the epitome of sympathy. All the while loving it!”
“She must’ve had Mia drive into the country, then shot her,” Mel mused. “But how did she get Darren’s hair in the car? And how did she get back to town?”
“Aha. Fucking well planned that.” Darby’s eyes flicker. “She and Darren always met at the Mountain Springs Motel outside of town. He stayed over sometimes and had his toothbrush and shit there. She took some hairs from his comb and planted them in Mia’s car. Not obviously. The car looked clean to the naked eye, but she knew the CSI’s would find the hair. She parked her car at the motel and took a cab to the golf course where she met Mia for a game and lunch. Then she had Mia drive into the country. Told Mia she had a secret surprise or some bullshit thing to show her. She shot her after what she called ‘fun conversation’ – fucking vengeful taunting, I’d guess. Then she walked back to the motel that was less than a kilometre away.”
“So she confessed to Erin and Mia.”
“Oh, yeah. She loves to talk,” Darby says, nodding. “It’s like her whole life since High School has been centered around revenge. And even though she’s beautiful, accomplished, intelligent, charming . . . It’s like it’s all a fucking façade. Her only goal’s been to get even. Wouldn’t you think that with all her gifts and talents she’d want to use them to build a happy, successful life?” She throws her hands in the air. “Shit. She’s done that, in a way. She’s an accountant; apparently a good one. But she’s sure as hell not happy.”
“So she’s spent the last twenty years grooming herself for revenge? She’s had a plan all along?”
“Apparently. She left home right after the rape. It sounds like the only close relationship she had here was with her older brother. She didn’t go into it, but I think she was abused. It seems she and her brother were allied against her parents; against the world, really. He got into a lot of trouble defending her when she was raped. He and a bunch of his friends almost killed the rapists. Spent a stretch in jail for attempted murder. No witnesses came forward over the alleged sexual assault, and Tom and his friends were never charged. Her brother, Jim, drifted for a while after he was released, and within a year he committed suicide. Kim showed real pain – she cried - when she talked about Jim. And she blames the three butterflies. They killed him and ruined her life, in her mind. And she couldn’t have that.” Darby shakes her head. “She got a job waitressing in a strip joint and, apparently, tried to put her life together. She couldn’t. PTSD. So she put her considerable talents into a plan to get even. She spent years working, going to University, becoming a chartered accountant. She turned her body into a fine-tuned machine, had a little plastic surgery, and voila. She became the woman she is today; more than capable of worming her way into Darren Cox’s business and seducing him. Befriending Erin and Mia was a breeze for her. She can be damned charming. Even during the interview!”
Mel cleared his throat. “So, the past seventeen years or so she’s been working on herself in order to pull this off.”
“And she almost did!” Darby jumps up from the chair. She raises her hand to high-five her partner. “Thank God we finally got her.” Her face falls and her eyes fill with tears. “We sure fucked up with Mia, though.”
Chapter 32 ~ Darby
Saturday, June 2
“Cheers!” Darby raises her glass to Jim’s. A day to celebrate. Time off. Case closed.
They met at the stables early that morning and spent the day cantering through woodlands, galloping across meadows, stopping to rest their horses and dip their toes in a cool, clear stream. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. A mild breeze broke the heat of the day. It couldn’t have been more perfect.
Now they sit enjoying a beer. Rocky Alehouse’s patio is sectioned off from the main street of town, letting patrons casually glance at the street as they sit and enjoy the weather, the company and the casual ambiance. Darby leans back in her chair, breathing in the fresh air, relishing the warmth of the sun on her face. “Aaaah,” she sighs. “I could stay here forever.”
Jim chuckles. “Tough week. You deserve this!” And he holds his glass high in a toast.
Darby grins. “And how about you? What did you do this week?”
He tilts his head, his dimples puckering in his cheeks. “Not a lot. Lawn mowing, grocery shopping, eating, sleeping – all the exciting stuff.”
Darby sniggers. “I know so little about you. Do you live in town?”
“I do. In a little house near the river.”
“And do you work here?”
“No, I work on construction in Fort McMurray mostly. So I’m here and there.” Looking away, Jim spies a young girl carrying a little terrier up the street. “Aw, the little one’s tired!” he chuckles.
Are you married? Engaged? Why do you always change the subject when it comes to your life? Darby asks none of those questions. She only titters, watching the little girl struggle to hold onto the dog and continue walking. Finally, the child kisses the top of its head, and sets the dog on the sidewalk. It struts happily along beside her. “If we come back as animals I want to be that little girl’s dog!”
They talk about horses and dogs and people. They joke and tease and laugh the afternoon away, drinking beer, dining on ribs, fries, salad and corn-on-the-cob. Surrounded by a jovial crowd, friendly waiters, and a cheerful environment, the day turns to evening.
Jim raises an eyebrow as he looks fondly at Darby. “And how about you? I know you work hard. An RCMP investigator. Do you live in town?”
Darby nods. “I have a little condo just a few blocks from here.”
“Have you lived here long?”
“About five years. I did a stint in the army before joining the RCMP.” Darby stands abruptly. “Just going to powder my nose.” She winks and retreats to the restroom. The leisurely afternoon crowd has drifted away, and a more boisterous evening clientele is gradually filling the pub. Darby has to swerve through raucous partiers to find the Ladies room.
Cat-calls assault her as she searches the wall for a restroom sign. “Hey, baby! Lookin’ good!” and, “Come on over here, gorgeous!” Gritting her teeth, giving the pests her middle finger, she charges into the brightly lit washroom, already filled with women re-applying make-up, laughing giddily over the goings-on with friends.
Sitting in her stall, Darby’s mind races. Too many beers have made her vulnerable. Too many years alone. Too much time devoted to making Sergeant. Jim’s easy-going way, laughing eyes, joy of life . . .. Angst stirs like a current through her belly.
He sits back in his chair, watching her as she returns to the table. Smiling, he asks, “What do you think? A night-cap?”
Darby laughs, sitting, her body erect; poised to leave. “No, I’m good. It’s been nice.”
His eyes blaze with affection as he looks into hers. Leaning across the table, he brushes her cheek with his hand.
Darby rises suddenly. “I need to go,” she says, her heart in her mouth. “Can we get the bill?” she asks the waiter as he approache
d.
Jim’s gaze clouds; becomes distant. After what seems an eternity he asks, “Are you okay?”
He must think it’s him. That he’s done something wrong. But she can’t overcome the panic that is building inside her. She struggles to sound reassuring. Normal. “Yes, Jim. I’m sorry. I’m fine. Just a tough week and it’s hitting me now.” She pulls her wallet from her pocket, grabbing bills to leave on the table. Jumping up, she glances at the stricken man sitting across from her. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.” And she rushes from the table, across the floor, dodging patrons, and through the door into the balmy night.
Darby runs, pell mell, to the street corner, gasping. What’s wrong with me? She stops and looks back. No one is following her. Small groups stand on the sidewalk outside the bar. The laughter and chatter of pub patrons fill the street. She pictures Jim’s face when she bolted. The hurt. The last thing I want is to hurt anyone. She stands there, bent over, her hands on her knees, panting, willing air to fill her lungs. Rapidly at first, then slower and deeper. Breathe. In. Out.
WHEN DARBY UNLOCKS the door to her condo it is dark and empty. Her boots clatter on the parquet entrance as she kicks them off, reaching to turn on a light. As she does so, a shadow outside the window catches her eye. Swiftly, she closes the blinds. Is someone out there? Did Jim follow me home? He wouldn’t.
She edges her way out the door and scans the lawn, now lit with a street light. Nothing but the slight swish of leaves on a tree. No shadow. No movement. Darby walks back inside, adrenaline still pumping through her body. She flicks on the TV, wanting company. Comfort. But the grating voice of an announcer isn’t what she needs. Fucking hell, she splutters, turning off the television set. She bends to pull out a picture album sitting on a shelf under her black Ikea coffee table.