by Lorena May
After lunch they ride into the hills, a breath-taking wonderland of frosty trees and glistening snow. Galloping with abandon, they’re lost in the thunder of hooves and the thrill of it, then trotting, they follow one another through the breath-taking landscape. The afternoon is spent blissfully. All their cares slip away.
After they’ve watered and groomed and put their horses away, Jim suggests dinner at Grillers Restaurant. It’s a merry affair. Darby sits back and watches him joke and tease. She can’t help but see how enchanted the girls are. Does he notice they look at him through adoring eyes? How they blush and giggle? There’s no doubt he’s attractive with his twinkling eyes, sculpted features, deep dimples and broad smile. He’s a charmer all right. But she’s been there before.
It’s dark when they leave the restaurant, and say their good-byes. “I enjoyed today,” Jim says. “Let’s do it again soon.” The girls agree enthusiastically, and Darby can’t help but laugh at their energetic nods.
“Thanks so much for dinner, Jim,” she says, as she shuffles them into her car. “We’ll do it again soon.”
Ravneet lives in a small house nearby, and Darby drops her off first. “I’m so glad you’ve made such a nice friend,” she says as Skye moves to the front seat. “And she rides horseback!”
Skye is beaming. She chatters happily all the way home. At school she and Ravneet have joined the swim club. They are part of a group working on the year-book, and both made the basketball team. While they may not be part of any social clique, they are not ostracized any longer. “And,” she says as Darby pulls up to the group home, “I’m kind of seeing a boy I like.”
Darby feels her stomach clench. She treads carefully. I can’t foist my hang-ups on her. “You seem happy about that.”
Skye’s smile is bashful. “He’s really nice. We don’t go on dates or anything – not yet - but we like each other.”
Darby smiles, hugging her little sister good-bye. “Just don’t get hurt. Remember you are a strong young woman of your own accord. He’s very lucky.”
As she drives home, Darby is taken back to the summer of 2008. If only she’d taken her own advice.
AFGHANISTAN. THE HEAT was oppressive, and she could almost feel the dust particles in the slight, dry breeze that ruffled his dark hair. He held her face in both hands, his eyes boring into hers; glassy, passionate. “This is not good-bye, my love.”
Almost doubled over with the pain of parting, she watched him walk to the plane, doors open, ramp ready, on the runway. Beyond the concrete arches of the Kandahar airport she could see bleak, sandy hills and dusty-blue sky. They had fought and worked and loved each other in this land for almost a year. Soldiering in the relentless heat, carrying loads that sapped their energy with every step, digging wells, rebuilding schools, and checking for improvised explosive devices, knowing that any moment may be their last. That some unknown force was itching to kill them.
She’d never been in love before. Sam was her first. He’d captured her attention just outside the ‘green zone’, twenty-foot high concrete walls, where she found him talking and kibitzing with two young Afghan boys sitting in the dusty streets begging for some meagre bit of anything at all. As Darby walked by they called, “Salam dooet e man!” And she and Sam were introduced.
The love they shared gave them respite from the horrors of war. It was a hot-blooded, intense eight months, and when the time came to go home they parted. Her flight to Ottawa followed his to Minneapolis by an hour. Sitting in the departure lounge, she closed her eyes, evoking his presence. Tanned skin, crinkling around his eyes when he smiled. Full sensuous lips, strong, nubby fingers, muscular body, arms pulling her into him. She could see and feel him, hear his chuckle, taste his salty skin. She’d never met anyone quite like him. Never connected on such a deep level. They were both going home for a short while, and then she’d join him in Madison, Wisconsin. She imagined a small wedding; just a few close friends and family.
DARBY SHAKES HERSELF from her reverie as she pulls up to her townhouse, a functional little place she’s gathered some furniture and appliances in. Her now home. Not the one she’d planned.
Chapter 24
~ Darby~
Darby’s eyes sparkle as she bursts into Mel’s office waving the paper that has just come to her desk. “Voila! It’s a match!”
He raises his eye-brows. “Ballistics report already?”
“Jed Andrusyszyn ’s rifle matches the bullet found in Rick Mullen’s body. Yes! With two witnesses and a match. I found a picture of him and Jed together in Rose’s picture album too. Jed’s goin’ down!”
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. Now we just need to root him out.”
Mel looks up, smiling, as their co-worker, Stacey, steps into the office, plopping herself down in a parody of exhaustion.
Darby smiles broadly “Aha! Hunter’s new smokin’-hot waitress, I hear!”
“In the flesh! On a Monday morning! After a week-end of busting her ass waiting on people, I might add.” She winks.
“How’s that going?” Mel asks.
Stacey toys with a lock of her hair. “Very interesting. They’re serving up a lot more than hamburgers and beer at that little old bar and grill, let me tell ya.”
“Do! Tell us!”
“Well,” Stacey leans back, crossing her legs, “There’s a certain table in a certain section that only one waitress, a gal named Cherry, waits on. You’d be amazed at the variety of people she serves. Sure there are your rednecks, cowboys and head-bangers but there are also fancy schmancy businessmen, housewives, and the sad thing is, lots of younger people.” She frowns.
“And what do they get at this special table?” Mel asks.
“Take-out. In pizza boxes. And they pay cash. Then Cherry takes that cash to the back, not the till.” She taps her fingers against her lips. “Now, what do you suppose might be in those pizza boxes? I haven’t gotten a chance to look, BUT Cherry hinted to me that I could make a lot of extra cash at that place if I was interested. Of course, I am.” She winks.
“Of course,” Darby agrees. “Has she mentioned Scarlett?”
“As a matter of fact she has. Apparently she and Scarlett were close. She seems genuinely sad about her death, and maybe a little scared. She said that Scarlett was totally immersed in a relationship. Deeply in love.” She dramatically holds her hands to her heart. “Very secretive about it, though. She wanted to get married or at least live together, but her lover couldn’t afford it or something like that. Cherry hinted that Scarlett might have been skimming some money from somewhere.”
“Skimming? Was she selling drugs and skimming off the top, do you think?” Mel says. “That could account for the money her sister found.”
Darby shrugs. “Maybe waited on the special table? Kept a little extra for herself before she took the money to the back.”
Stacey grips the arms of her chair. “I could see that getting you killed.” She rises. “I’m off today, but back on the job tomorrow. We’ll see what we see.” And with a little wave of her hand she breezes out of Mel’s office.
Darby chews her lip. “A lover. No one we’ve talked to has mentioned a boyfriend. One who couldn’t afford – what? To move in with her? If he was truthful with her, that is.”
LOVE, DARBY DOES NOT trust. Not the romantic kind. Familial, friend-love, love for mankind . . . Those she believes in. Darby was raised in a loving home. Her father was an accountant from England, her mother, a Mexican nurse. They met through mutual friends at a wedding in Mexico, and it wasn’t long before they followed suit. Settling in Canada’s capital city, Ottawa, they went on to have two boys and a girl. That girl was Darby. Alongside her brothers, Darby grew up playing soccer in summer, street hockey in winter, skiing, sledding, skating on the Rideau River . . . A happy, healthy childhood. When, at the age of nineteen, she told her parents she was joining the army and going to Afghanistan they were devastated. “Don’t worry, Mom and Dad. It’s only a peace-keeping mission. We’
re going to work alongside Afghan soldiers and police to help them rebuild.”
Of course, they heard when Canadian soldiers were being killed, one-by-one, and the relief her family felt when Darby returned a year later was palpable. She never told them of the comrades she watched shot and blown up, of the fear that she could be next. She, or her lover, Sam.
He was American, part Mexican like she was. She’d grown up with men and boys, played sports with them, kibitzed and hung out. But she’d never been in love, and she fell hard. Sam was brave and honorable, with a strength and depth that drew her to him immediately. When she first met him he was helping street urchins; the same boys that she had befriended. Darby and Sam became close friends and eventually lovers. They worked and played together. There was nothing they didn’t talk about. The stories they shared, their experiences and views, created a kinship that was special. He was the balm that soothed the horrors of war. Her soul-mate. One true love. How could she have been so wrong?
And so, when she returned home with pictures of him, and accounts of his kindness and love of life, her family accepted that she would soon join him in the States. They were just glad she was alive.
When she discovered that she was pregnant she couldn’t wait to tell him. Would he be happy? It would speed up their plans, but he loved children. They were both strong, capable people. They could make it work.
That very day she received the letter. Though it was post-marked Madison, Wisconsin, and addressed to her, she didn’t recognize the hand-writing. Had something happened to him? She took it to her bedroom. Her insides quivered as she tore open the envelope and pulled the letter out.
Dear Darby,
My name is Lisa. I’m writing for Sam. He has told me of your relationship while you were both stationed in Afghanistan. Because you were so far away from home, and in such a terrifying place, I understand how things happened between you the way they did. Both of you were lonely and distressed.
What Sam didn’t tell you is that he and I are engaged to be married. We have been for two years now. I faithfully waited for him, and I’m glad I did. Being home again, he’s come to his senses, and I can forgive him knowing the circumstances. I know it wasn’t real.
I hope we can be friends. If you’re ever in Madison give us a call. Sam speaks highly of you, and I feel like I know you already.
Sincerely,
Lisa Grant
Darby’s gut roiled, and she was overcome. But she was never one to mope and cry. A week later she miscarried. After the surging pain, blood and regret, she picked herself up, applied to the RCMP and, after two years of training, she kissed her family good-bye and moved to Rockydale, Alberta. There, she bought herself a little townhouse and focused on work. She’s seldom looked back.
NOW SHE LOOKS ACROSS the desk at her partner. She loves Mel with the only kind of love she’s willing to feel. He’s steady, strong and good. A man who works every day to make the world a better place; an honorable man dedicated to his wife, children and grand-children. He works hard, but his family is his life. She envies him.
“Let’s ask around and see if we can’t talk to this lover,” Darby says. “And I want to get out to Sims’s and take a look around.”
Suddenly there’s a commotion in the hallway. A man’s voice bellowing obscenities. Opening the door, Darby sticks her head out. Mel is right behind her. It’s Jed. Two officers hold his arms on either side, while he is propelled down the hallway toward the holding cells. When he sees Darby his eyes blaze with hatred. “Fuckin’ bitch!” he screams, his voice rough and coarse. The officers march him onward. They hear him yelling, “I want my god-damn lawyer now!”
“Not a happy camper,” Darby quips, winking at Mel. She walks jauntily down the hall to the reception area.
Sergeant Jill Becker is there, talking to Rose, who sits, bent and forlorn, on a chair in the waiting room.
Darby rushes to Rose, and sits beside the distraught woman. “Rose. Hello. This is tough for you.”
Rose nods, takes a tissue from her pocket, wipes her eyes, and looks into Darby’s. “We were having coffee in a café and they just came and took him. Why?”
Darby rises. “Let’s go in my office and talk. Would you like coffee?”
In Darby’s office, Rose sits, head down, sipping coffee, muttering to herself.
Darby pulls the chair from behind her desk to sit facing her. “Rose, he’s here because we found a gun in his shed. That gun was used to kill a man twenty years ago or so. Do you know anything about that?” She leans forward a little.
“What man?”
“His name was Rick Mullen. Did you know him?”
Rose appears deep in thought. “Rick Mullen.” She closes her eyes. Finally, “No.”
“Rose, do you remember Dave Sims? He and your husband were in business together.”
Rose nods. “I remember Dave. Green eyes. Handsome.”
“Can you tell me anything about the business they were in together?”
Rose’s eyes twinkle, and she giggles. “Monkey business I always said.”
Smiling, Darby asks her, “Did you know his girls? Scarlett, Em and Abi?”
Rose is enthusiastic now. “Yes, I loved those little girls. Yes, Scarlett, Em and Abi. Where are they now?”
“Em and Scarlett think they saw you at the Hogshead Pub a couple of weeks ago. Did you see them?”
“Em and Scarlett? Oh, no! I would’ve loved to see them.”
“Do you remember being at the Hogshead Pub with Jed that night?”
Rose rubs her nose a moment. “Yes. Jed and I came to Rockydale for a change. I didn’t know they were in Rockydale.”
“When you left the pub did you and Jed go home together?”
“Yes. I don’t drive.”
“Did he stay home after driving you there?”
“Yes.” Rose gives her an ‘of course’ look.
“If I take you home will you be okay on your own for a while?”
“Yes. Please take me home.” Tears rise in Rose’s eyes. Darby takes a swipe at her own.
As they head out, Sergeant Jill Becker calls Darby over to her desk. “The autopsy report on Scarlett Sims just came in. Drowned, it says. The contusions on her head and body wouldn’t have been fatal.” Jill’s eyes widen as she gawps at her computer. “And she was four weeks pregnant.”
Chapter 25
~Scarlett~
My sister’s a peach! Well, peach may be the wrong word for her. She doesn’t look like one – not at all. She’s dark and skinny and kind of glowery. And her heart’s as big and sweet and plump as a ripe cherry. No shrivelled up pit in there. (Though until you get to know her you might think so!)
When I asked her to go to the Hogshead Pub with me that night I could tell she didn’t want to. She was crouched up on the couch with one of her lah-di-dah books. Hag Seed or something like that. She looked pretty settled in.
“I’ll be forever grateful.” I gave her one of my prettiest wide-eyed looks – the one I know she can’t resist – and she agreed. She could see how important it was to me. I had on my sexy new red dress, and I hoped she might take the hint and dress in kind. But, no. Of course not. She yanked on her old green sweater and jeans, stuck a pair of boots on her feet and waited at the door for me while I put on just one more touch of lipstick. Checked my eye-lashes – new this afternoon – to see how fetchingly I could bat them.
“Aren’t you going to even comb your hair?” I asked her as I stepped into my brand new strappy heels. Grunting her disapproval as she looked at my shoes – Yes, I know it’s winter, but . . . – she marched to the bathroom, grabbed a comb and tried to pull it through her thick curls. “Oh just come,” I whined. God, she’s an enigma! “Let’s go.”
I sprung for the cab. She was doing me a favor, after all. And it’s not that far from our funky little house just outside town. The Hogshead was lively when we got there.
‘It’ll be the best place to meet,’ he’d said in a text. ‘Ther
e will be so many people no one will notice us. I’ll text when I get there.’ But I didn’t want to wait. I took a hard look as we walked through a small crowd gathered outside. For winter, it was warm and lots of partiers were out having a cigarette. Inside the place was hopping. Em and I managed to find a table in the corner behind where the band was setting up.
What a babe the bar-tender was! In a different sort of way. He was rugged-looking and well-built, his shirt-sleeves rolled up to show off muscular arms and smooth, dark skin. He had full lips, wavy dark hair, a sexy stubble on his face and teasing, playful eyes. If I wasn’t already taken . . . He was fun to flirt with, though.
“Hmmm What would you suggest for a girl like me?” I asked, winking up at him.
He laughed at that, holding his hands up, “Ho ho ho – A girl like you belongs at the Ritz!” But he had a cocky self-confidence that told me he was glad I was there at the good old Hogshead being waited on by him.
Em, of course, just sat, practically scowling. “I’ll have a Trad draft,” she said.
“Make that two.” I said, enjoying the sight of his perky butt as he walked back to the bar, a little swing to his gait.
I did sit with my sister for a while, but she’s definitely not one for small-talk, and I just didn’t have the energy for it. My mind was elsewhere. Finally, I could stand it no longer. He hadn’t texted, and I needed to go looking for him. Em just nodded when I said I had to go to the can. I took the long route, skirting the edges of the pub, hoping he’d show up. He didn’t, but I ran into some friends and got way-laid a bit. Quite a bit, I suppose. By the time I looked over at Em she’d finished her second beer and was grabbing mine. The band was playing by then. A really talented group of guys that rocked the place. I remember them playing, ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’ fast and hard. The way I like it. I danced my way back to our table, fully aware of Em’s disapproving eye. Enjoying my peevish little sister’s disapproving eye, I have to admit!