by Katie Tallo
“Not Dez? But the bank manager told me that Gracie said Dez was her father.”
Stu shrugs.
“All I know is the file said Senator Kep Halladay was the one who bailed him out. Not the team. Not his own family. The accuser’s father. You said Halladay had a cop on his payroll. Well, the way I see it, it doesn’t matter how many years go by, you’re always gonna owe a debt like that. Sooner or later you gotta return the favor.”
Augusta follows Stu’s train of thought.
“You think my mother was the favor.”
He doesn’t answer.
“And Tommy Oaks. Anything?”
“Not yet.”
Gus feels sick. They go inside. Levi is curled up in the corner. He grumbles when they enter. Gus shoots him a look, then softens.
“Sorry about him. He’s still getting used to being away from Rose’s. Misses her bed, I think.”
Her room’s a total mess. She can’t deal with any of it right now. Gus ponders their conversation. She doesn’t want to believe what her gut is telling her. Her head spins, and her stomach lurches.
Stu tries to help her clean up a little, but she’s exhausted. Gus nearly throws up. She’s been up all night and hasn’t eaten since yesterday. Stu makes her a cup of chicken noodle soup and puts her to bed. He eventually stretches out beside her, on top of the covers, while she buries her head under them. He watches TV. The comforting hum of a hockey game blankets the room. The buzzer sounds. The crowd chants. The commentator shouts. The cheering fades as she drifts off to sleep.
MOONLIGHT SLANTS THROUGH A GAP IN THE THICK BLACKOUT curtains of the motel room. Gus wakes, hot and stiff-necked. Stu’s asleep beside her. She slips out of bed. Still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Or maybe today’s. She’s not sure what day it is. Her room is a slightly neater mess. Stu did his best. Sweet of him to stay. She feels bad for what she’s about to do. He’s been kind and helpful. But she needs him here in Ottawa. Needs that accident report.
She pulls a hoodie over her T-shirt, puts on her jean jacket, then grabs her satchel from the bathroom. Doesn’t remember how it got there. Doesn’t remember much about the past few hours or how it turned to night so quickly. Gus finds her notebook and pen in the bottom of her bag. Scribbles a note for Stu. Brushes her teeth, then steps over Levi as she heads for the door. The dog stirs, lifts his head, and looks at her. He lets out a small whine. She shushes him, and he huffs through his nostrils, lowers his chin, and pouts. Stu hasn’t moved. She leaves the note on the dresser.
Back in a couple of days. Please keep an eye on Levi for me. One cup of kibble, twice a day. Sorry about this, but I’ll explain when I get back. Red.
She slips out the door and drives to the bus terminal. Thunder Bay is too far for a road trip, plus she’s got some reading to do on the way. After finding a spot in the paid parking lot of the Catherine Street terminal, Gus grabs Gracie’s diary from the glove compartment and some cash from the trunk. Leaves the gun under the seat, knowing it’s probably not a great idea to travel armed.
Nestled in a seat at the back of the bus by the window, Augusta Monet hurtles out of town, west toward Toronto, then all the way around Georgian Bay and along the shore of Lake Superior to Thunder Bay. Farther than she’s ever been in her whole life. Yet closer than she could have imagined to the people who once lived in the small town in Leeds Grenville County called Elgin, Ontario.
For now, the less Stu knows, the less trouble he can get into. Especially if he’s caught snooping into old records. She wants to trust him, but she’s used to going it alone. Wandering this life on her own. She’s still that eight-year-old girl who doesn’t fully know how to trust. And the terrible shit that’s now coming up about Rory tells her that her instincts might have been way off. So she’s treading lightly and holding on to what she’s got. An address, a bank draft in her back pocket, a diary, and twenty-four hours to kill.
Augusta doesn’t know who planted the diary in the car or why. Perhaps it was the mystery man lurking around Elgin. The one who left her a dead possum. She hopes the answers lie somewhere in the pages of the small pink book.
Gus can’t bring herself to open the diary for the first leg of the trip. She stares out at the passing scenery. She eats chips and thumbs through the images on her phone. But as the sun sets, she’s ready. She turns to the first entry in Gracie Halladay’s diary. It’s dated September 16, 2002. Two weeks after June’s death. Gracie was just seven. Augusta’s hands shake. She rests her knees up against the seat in front of her, scrunches down, and pulls her hoodie over her head and begins to read.
Dear Ma,
Miss Lois says you are up in heaven now and you are looking down at me. I don’t like that because I can’t see you. When I look up all I see is clouds and no Ma. Gracie’s eyes are pearls. Gracie’s hair is licorice. That’s what you used to sing to me every night. Gracie’s smile is sweet as pie. Gracie’s kiss is heaven. You were right and I wish I could take it back. I ask Miss Lois and she says you are in heaven now. I should never ever have kissed you, Ma.
Gracie
The diary has only a few entries. Some about how much Gracie misses her mother. Some about her animal friends. Crude sketches of birds and raccoons and squirrels are scattered along the margins of each page.
Gus connects deeply to the little girl’s heartbreak at being motherless. But much of the diary, she can’t relate to. Little Gracie’s world is a dark one. She speaks of strange men’s voices, of shadowy passageways, of wandering mysterious gardens, of hours spent hiding or locked away, talking to the dead. Gracie writes of imaginary friends. All of them wild animals. She writes of the conversations they share, of the secrets she tells only them, and of the comfort they give her when she’s scared.
One entry in particular catches Augusta’s attention. It’s dated July 21, 2003. A few days after Henry was reported missing.
Possum came back to life today, Ma. Once I got his insides out and put in his eyes, he spoke for the first time. He has the funniest laugh. Possum is my favorite. But don’t tell Rabbit or she’ll be jealous. Possum watched me dance and put on my nightie and brush my teeth and say my prayers. Possum is a good friend. He told me he can’t wait till Henry comes back. Henry is going to like Possum.
Gracie
Gus can barely turn the pages. A lump growing in her throat. But she can’t stop. With each sad entry, all written to her dead mother, the years go by. And Henry never comes back. Some entries are months apart. One year turns into two, then three, then four. Gracie grows up little by little, but her handwriting and her sentiments remain childlike. She rarely writes of her grandfather. Mostly she inhabits an invented world where animals come to life and people are absent. Other than the rare mention of a visit to see Miss Lois or to play with her son, Edgar, she appears to spend most of her time alone. At one point she writes about a nice woman taking her for ice cream, but it’s a short entry that’s mostly scribbled over. Gus recalls what Rory told her about how her mother got transferred for kidnapping Gracie.
Later Shan tells Stanton she was just taking her for ice cream on account of it being the anniversary of her mom’s death and all.
The “nice woman” in Gracie’s diary was her mother. Gus is sure of it.
Gus turns to find the last entry. It’s well before the end of the book. She flips ahead but the rest of the pages are empty. After four years of writing in the small diary, Gracie simply stopped. At the age of eleven. This last entry is dated August 3, 2006. The date catches Augusta off guard. She gasps out loud. The woman sitting next to her on the bus looks over. Gus sinks deeper inside the cave of her hoodie and pulls the diary close so the woman can’t see the pages.
She takes a deep breath.
The entry was written the day before Augusta’s mother died.
The day before Kep Halladay disappeared, apparently murdered.
It’s short and sweet, like the others.
Dear Ma,
Today I was sitting in the tall gr
ass out front when I saw the police lady’s car coming down the road again. Remember I told you about her. She took me for a chocolate sundae one year after you went to heaven. I had sprinkles on mine. She had hot caramel sauce and peanuts.
But this time, I lay down in the grass so she wouldn’t see me. She drove away. I saw her another time. She got out of her car and came right onto the front porch. Grandpa and her were yelling. I heard her say Henry’s name. And your name too. Grandpa went and got his shotgun and the police lady left. I don’t like her yelling or Grandpa getting so mad. I see her sometimes when I go out at night. I see her watching the house. I wish she would leave us alone.
Gracie.
38
Lana
STEPPING OFF THE BUS IN THUNDER BAY, AUGUSTA SHIELDS her eyes from the morning sun. She breathes in the dewy lake air, flips through the photos on her phone. Finds the picture she took of the letter she found in Lois Greenaway’s inbox. Checks the address.
125 Cottonwood Crescent.
Gus jumps in a cab. Fifteen minutes later, the cab turns onto a crescent lined with rows of emerald ash. It rolls slowly down the street. Before even seeing the number on the house, she knows which one it is. The front porch is dripping with pink wisteria clusters. Just like the ones draped over the front of Lois Greenaway’s Dance Academy back in Elgin. She imagines the sisters shared a love of wisteria, sending seeds in their letters to each other.
Gus pays the cabbie and approaches the front door. Taking a deep breath, she knocks. A shadow crosses the peephole. Augusta puts on her best girl guide smile. The door opens a crack, still chained. A wrinkled eye peers out. A woman. Early seventies. Robe pulled high around her fleshy neck. Same eyes as Lois. Same dark eye makeup rimming her eyes.
“Can I help you?”
Her aging voice claws for uniformity.
“Are you Lana Henning?”
“Who’s asking, dear?”
“My name is Augusta Monet. I was hoping to talk to you about your sister.”
Lana’s eyes flit upward. Accessing a memory. Gus prompts.
“Lois Greenaway. She was your sister?”
Lana nods. Gus waits for her to say something. Anything. The morning breeze wafts down the neck of Augusta’s hoodie, sending a chill down her stiff spine. And yet she feels strangely hot. Feverish almost. Sitting for too long on a stuffy bus, thinking too much about everything she’s uncovered, not sleeping for the last twenty-four hours. She’s getting sick.
“You work for the gas company?”
It’s going to take more than a smile to get Lana to open this door. Gus reaches inside her satchel and pulls out Gracie’s small pink diary. She holds it up.
“I found this. It belonged to Gracie Halladay.”
“Where?”
“Elgin.”
Lana looks at the diary. Puts a hand to her mouth. Then she closes the door. Shit. That was a mistake. Gus puts the diary away. She isn’t sure what to do. Knock. Go round back. Leave. She’s come too far. Then she hears the chain rattle as it’s being unlatched. The door swings open. Lana’s wearing a white terry cloth bathrobe and fluffy kitten slippers. She motions for Gus to come inside. The smell of coffee brewing almost brings Augusta to her knees.
“Cuppa?”
Gus nods eagerly like a bobblehead. Lana motions for her to take a seat in the front room as she heads to the kitchen. A dark blue linen sofa sits in front of the large bay window. Gus leaves her sneakers at the door and sits. She scans the room. Reminds her of Rose’s house. A cabinet displays a collection of porcelain dolls wearing pink and yellow dresses with petticoats. Each holds a porcelain parasol in one delicate hand. In the corner of the room is an antique desk with a roller-top similar to Rose’s. A blue-and-orange Persian rug lies across the center of the floor. Orange throw cushions accent each end of the blue sofa.
Gus hears the light jingling of a bell. A black-and-white cat wanders into the room, spots Gus, and freezes. Wrinkles its nose then darts across the carpet and skitters up the stairs. The bell on its collar continues jingling even after it disappears.
Dishes clink in the kitchen. Gus rises and walks over to get a closer look at the framed photographs on the mantel. Wedding photos. Some baby pictures. An old black-and-white shot of a family. Two parents and two young girls. One photo catches her eye. She recognizes Lois immediately. Late fifties, standing between a young man and a girl. The girl is Gracie Halladay. She’s about eleven years old. About the time she stopped writing in her diary. When her grandfather went missing and Lois took her in. Gus doesn’t recognize the young man in the photo. He’s the only one not looking at the camera. Slightly vacant gaze. Gus roots through her satchel for her notebook. Flips pages. Finds a name. Edgar Greenaway. Could be him. He died in the fire, along with his mother, Lois Greenaway.
Next to this photo is another one of Lois with a woman around her age. The family resemblance is obvious. It’s Lois and Lana. The sisters are posing in a large square crowded with people and surrounded by skyscrapers. Colorful billboards tower behind them. Their arms are raised as if they can’t believe where they are. They’re both glowing. In their early twenties.
“We were so young.”
Gus jumps. Lana is right behind her. She giggles and hands Gus a coffee mug. They both sit, one at each end of the blue sofa.
“The pair of us had all these grand ideas about how life was going to turn out. Big Apple dreams. We thought we’d get discovered at a soda counter like Lana Turner and both end up with leads dancing on Broadway. We thought we’d never look back.”
“You were both dancers?”
“For a spell.”
They sit in an awkward silence. Gus was hoping the diary and some light chitchat would open Lana right up, but nothing’s that easy. Lana is far away. Gus tries to get her to come back.
“I understand Lois took Gracie in after her grandfather disappeared.”
Lana hesitates then nods.
“I’m sorry if it’s painful to talk about your sister.”
Gus glances at the pictures on the mantel.
“Is that her son, Edgar?”
Lana nods. Words seem to be stuck in her throat. Gus realizes how presumptuous it was of her to come here. To just get on a bus and arrive unannounced. She’s a stranger who has no right to sit here asking this woman questions about her dead sister and her dead nephew. But she’s here. Shannon would tell her to stay the course. Gus squares her shoulders. Figures it’s only fair to put her cards on the table.
“My mother was a cop. She was the first officer to arrive after June Halladay’s accident. I know she always felt protective of Gracie after that. Like Lois did. I’m just trying to figure out what happened the night Kep Halladay went missing. Maybe Gracie confided something to Lois about that night. And Lois shared it with you? You see, my mother was killed that same night and I think her death had something to do with Kep’s disappearance.”
Augusta’s voice wavers at the mention of her mother’s death, but she pushes on.
“I know all this must sound crazy, but anything you can tell me would help. Anything about Gracie or Kep Halladay or Elgin.”
Lana looks down. Examines the age spots on the backs of her hands. Considers them carefully as if they were a map to a foreign land where she once lived.
Then the woman lifts her chin.
“Oh, dear child, I can tell you everything there is to know about Elgin. My sister and I were born and raised there.”
Lana’s eyes brighten as she looks over at the picture of her and her sister.
“She always said it was better to be a big fish in a small pond than a minnow in New York City. That’s why she stayed and started her dance academy.”
“I’ve been there. To the dance academy. I broke in actually.”
“Well, aren’t you a go-getter. How’d the old girl look?”
Lana sits forward in her chair.
“Pretty much the way Lois left it, I think.”
“You sure you
’re not with the gas company?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“Well, even if you are, that settlement money is long gone.”
Lana sits back with a sigh, tucks a stray strand of hair back into the messy bun on top of her head, and tells Augusta all about her sister.
“She and I were the best of friends. Both married local boys in our late twenties. One marriage held tight. One came undone. Only two months into it, her Bernie ran off with the dentist’s wife. Lois was pregnant with Edgar and left to fend for herself. Only good thing about Bernie was his teeth, she liked to say. Lois wasn’t one to be blue for long. She started giving dance lessons out of the local bowling alley and she worked part-time at the mortuary giving makeovers to the dead. She made ends meet any way she could and built up her savings so she could open her own studio. Lois never remarried. She was laser focused on that business of hers and on that son of hers. Edgar was born with an affliction that caused his mind to never fully grow up, but Lois felt blessed to have him in her life. She liked taking care of people. Took care of that boy and took Gracie in when no one else would have dreamed of it.
“Then Roger got an offer to go work in Thunder Bay at the new generating plant and what with Elgin dying a slow death, it was time for us to move. It broke my heart to leave Lois. We wrote every week without fail for years. We told each other everything. The good, the bad, and the oh so ugly. Distance made no difference. We were two peas.”
Lana pauses to sip her coffee. And again, that faraway stare appears. Just like Renata, Manny, Todd, and even poor Ollie, Lana has the look of someone burdened by what they know. An aura of déjà vu seems to wash over Lana as she slips into the past, fully immersed in her memories of Lois.
Gus knows in her heart that she’s meant to be sitting in this very room, at this exact moment, across from this woman. Her doubts from earlier dissipate. A fog lifts. She can see her mission clearly now.
She is meant to help others make peace with the past. To rid themselves of regret or doubt or fear or whatever has settled deep into their bones. And she knows that if she does this enough times, she’ll learn how to do it herself.
