“No, I’m not that kind of doctor. I help people who are struggling with their feelings, when life is stressful and their heads and hearts make it hard for them to feel okay.”
She always gave her friends’ kids that answer when they asked about her job. She wondered if it would be enough for this intelligent little girl.
Aimee put a finger near her lips and held another finger out, then switched them back and forth a few times. Devon smiled at this sign for talking.
“Yes, I’m a talk doctor.”
Aimee’s eyes lit up brightly at Devon’s quick understanding. Then she looked down at the picture again and pointed to Marley before tapping her forehead and then her chest.
“Are you asking how Marley’s feeling? Her head and her heart?”
The young girl gave a definitive nod.
“I don’t really know,” Devon said. “I just met her a few days ago. I know she’s working hard at recovering, I know she has family taking good care of her, and I know she was worried about you and your grandmother.” Devon paused, wanting to completely answer Aimee’s question without adding any sort of burden. “Are you okay if I come by instead of Marley for a little while?”
Aimee took a long time with this question, looking once at the picture, then back to Devon. Then she nodded, gave Devon back her phone, and went back to sit in front of her grandmother’s chair.
Carla placed her hand on her granddaughter’s head, smoothing down the waves with a gentle motion.
“I think you’ve passed the Aimee test,” Carla said.
Devon laughed. “Marley said she usually comes by a couple times a week, so I’ll keep that up if it’s okay with you.”
“That’s fine,” Carla said. The edge in her voice made Devon think of helplessness, not anger.
“Is there anything else I can get you two? You mentioned missing the paper.”
“I’d be grateful for a paper,” Carla said. “Some books, maybe, for the little one.”
Aimee gave a snort. She scribbled on her notepad, then crossed the room to give it to Devon.
“No horses, no princesses,” Devon read. She folded the paper and put it in her pocket. She understood the pull of these two for Marley. They weren’t case numbers or accidents or collateral from the drug raid. They were two people who needed some help.
She looked into the solemn brown eyes of Aimee West and silently committed herself to this cause. “I’ll find you some good stories,” Devon said. She held out her hand and Aimee shook it. “Promise.”
Chapter Four
It was the stress, that’s what Mikayla kept telling everyone. Her mom, her landlord, her best friend. Everything piled up. Not all at once, though. Mikayla was sure she would have asked for help if everything had piled on all at once. But it had been slow, and everyone had been so impressed with how she was raising her daughter on her own. Ava was in school now. Mikayla had two jobs. Her night shift at the House of Beer paid well, but her manager was a handsy asshole and Mikayla hated coming home so late to Ava, smelling like spilled beer and the touch of men. She never checked on her little angel until she’d showered. Even then, she worried she’d brought the evilness of the world into her daughter’s pink and yellow bedroom.
Mikayla remembered the first time she’d wanted a hit of something, anything. To disappear like she used to in high school, sitting in someone’s basement with bad music pumping through shitty speakers. Getting blissed out was what she and her friends used to call it. As if it was something they were seeking, not something they were escaping.
Ava had gotten an ear infection just before her first birthday, and she’d cried nonstop for a week. At first it had felt good to take care of her. Ava would quiet at Mikayla’s touch, and she’d walk around the basement of her parents’ house, bouncing her tiny baby. But soon nothing helped, and the wails of her infant daughter ripped through Mikayla’s body, reverberated through her skull, and made her want to scream.
She hadn’t used then. She’d survived. Moved into her own small apartment. She worked and watched PAW Patrol and tried to get her daughter to eat vegetables.
I was good, Mikayla thought, slumped in the front hallway of her apartment hours after Jaxon left. I was good. She thought maybe she whispered it this time to her empty apartment, afternoon sun blazing around the cheap blinds meant to keep the apartment cool. She didn’t feel good now. Not at all. Whatever Jaxon had brought her hadn’t made her feel blissed out, just blank, as if it removed hours of her day in one hazy chunk. Maybe that was good, though. Hours of not feeling stress or worry. Not feeling inadequate.
This sick feeling wasn’t good, a hungry and nauseous sensation, as if a hole had been opened in her stomach. Mikayla slowly pulled herself up against the wall, tried to remember where she’d put her phone. Her relief at still having an hour until she had to pick up her daughter from daycare turned to self-loathing horror. She’d used again, fallen unconscious again. And she knew, because she knew herself, that soon she wouldn’t only be using on her afternoons off. She was supposed to be dragging laundry up and down the apartment stairs, getting supper started, and paying her bills, not taking hits from the guy who’d been dealing drugs to her and her friends since the eighth grade.
Mikayla stood with her forehead pressed against the wall and felt tears gather and fall. It was the stress. There was just too much stress.
* * *
Marley shifted her weight to try and ease some of the strain in her side as she looked down the eight steps to her basement apartment.
“Now will you change your mind and stay with me and your dad for a few days?”
Grace sounded like she was heading toward no-one-ever-listens-to-me mad. Marley needed to prove this was the right decision. She really, really wanted to be home.
But man, those were a lot of steps. And she was going to traverse them twice today. Grace didn’t know about the second trip. Marley intended to keep it that way.
“Here we go,” Marley said with false cheerfulness, and she took a step down. She sucked in a breath as her stitches stretched, but she took it slow and reached the bottom of the stairs, sweating and a little shaky. But she’d made it without any help.
Her mother opened the door with her key, and Marley followed her in with slow steps. Grace had already been in over the last few days, so her apartment was tidier than when she’d left. It gleamed a little bit, even in this dim light, as if actual cleaning had happened recently. Grace turned on every light, trying to chase the gloom away, but Marley liked the coziness of her basement apartment. It fit her budget and her temperament and was close enough to work that she could roll out of bed twenty-nine minutes before a morning shift, if necessary.
“I’ve stocked up your fridge and changed the sheets on your bed. That dryer in the laundry room is atrocious. I don’t know why you can’t get an apartment set. It would probably fit right here in the hall closet.”
Marley lowered herself into her favourite grey chair and let Grace’s mothering blur into a comforting backdrop of noise. She sighed and pulled the soft blue blanket around her shoulders, the slight chill of the basement and the smell of her own space pulling her eyelids down. Marley resisted for a moment as her mom bustled around the apartment, now talking about the need for Marley’s kettle to be descaled. Then she stopped resisting.
It felt like she’d only nodded off for a few minutes because her mother was still talking, but her phone said she’d been sleeping for almost an hour. Grace couldn’t have been talking for an hour. Then Marley heard another voice. Devon. Marley felt a warmth in her chest. She liked Devon being here. She was getting used to having her around.
Marley slowly stood up, noting every protesting muscle and reminding herself this was temporary. She would get her muscle mass back, and her body would eventually work the way she wanted it to. Marley shuffled into the kitchen. Her mother was leaning against the counter, and Devon sat at one of the barstools with a mug of something steaming. She looked more relaxed
here than she ever had at the hospital, a softening of posture and expression that made Marley wonder how long Devon Wolfe had lived with her guard up.
“Hey,” Marley said, her voice still a little gravelly with sleep. “Can I join the tea party?”
“Good morning,” Devon said, smiling. “Happy release day.”
Marley grunted as she levered herself onto the barstool next to Devon. “That phrase means something a little different to a cop,” she joked, pleased when Devon laughed.
“I hadn’t thought of that. Happy home day, then,” Devon said.
“Tea?” Grace said, holding up a mug.
What Marley wanted was a coffee. Needed one, really, if she was going to get dressed, get to the precinct, and sit through a meeting that afternoon. The thought made Marley the smallest bit nauseous. So, maybe not a coffee.
“Tea would be great. Thanks, Mom.”
Grace busied herself with making more tea, obviously having forgiven the state of Marley’s kettle. Or more likely, having spent the last hour descaling it. Marley turned to Devon.
“How are you?” she said, wishing Grace wasn’t there to overhear. She wanted to know about Carla and Aimee. Had they accepted Devon’s help? Were they okay?
“I’m good,” Devon said. “I went grocery shopping yesterday and hung out with some friends. Nothing too exciting.”
Marley searched Devon’s face for any sign of tension, but she seemed fine. Marley felt herself relaxing a little. Carla and Aimee were okay, and Devon would take care of them until Marley was back on her feet. But she still worried about their future.
“I like your apartment,” Devon said, looking around.
Grace snorted as she pulled the whistling kettle off the stove.
“It’s a bat cave. I raised Batman,” Grace said.
Marley and Devon grinned at each other behind Grace’s back, and Marley felt a moment of giddiness, a tilt back in time to sharing secrets with the girl from tenth grade algebra who was the object of Marley’s every sweet and lustful thought.
“Thanks,” Marley said to Devon. “I’m happy to be home.”
“I can only imagine,” Devon said.
Marley doctored the tea her mom put in front of her and listened to Devon humming under her breath, a habit that was all Devon. She smiled and raised an eyebrow at Devon.
“Sarah Harmer? ‘Basement Apartment’?”
Devon laughed and looked a little sheepish.
“Yeah. You have to admit the song really fits this place.”
Marley looked around her apartment, seeing it a little differently having been away. And having Devon here. Pictures of family and friends and trips were everywhere. Marley felt anchored by those photos, like she needed reminders of who she was. She turned back to Devon.
“You were humming in the hospital, too. I remember that, sort of. I was a little out of it.”
Devon nodded solemnly. “You were. So, let’s pretend I was not by your bedside humming Van Halen’s ‘Doctor, Doctor.’ Agreed?”
Marley laughed, a real laugh that eased the tension in her chest and filled her head with a kind of light that felt familiar but distant. She could get used to this.
“All right,” Grace said, straightening the tea towel on the handle of the oven. “I’m assuming you’re settled and don’t need me anymore, so I’m off to the grocery store to pick up a roast.”
Marley itched at her side. “Dad’s been looking up recipes again?”
Grace shook her head. “I wish that man had never found Pinterest. I’ve gained ten pounds on pork roast alone.”
Marley smiled. “You’re perfect, Mom. And thanks for everything.”
Grace kissed her on the cheek on the way by. “Rest, Bridget.” When Marley started to speak, to assure her in her most earnest tone that she promised to take it easy, Grace held her daughter’s chin in her hand. “I mean it.”
Parents knew when you were lying. They always knew.
“Yes, Mama,” Marley said, swallowing her guilt.
Moments later, Marley and Devon were seated in her small living room. Marley checked the time. Under two hours until Superman came to get her.
“You’re heading out somewhere?” Devon said.
“There’s an update on the drug ring this afternoon. I want to hear it.”
Marley waited for Devon’s protest, but she didn’t say anything. An awkward moment of silence stretched between them, and Marley realized she didn’t really know this woman. Even though Devon had held her hand, held her blood, held her secrets.
“I told Carla and Aimee I’d stop by again tomorrow,” Devon said. “If that’s okay?”
Permission seemed like an odd thing to need to give. “Yes, of course. And thank you. I should be back on my feet soon.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Devon said. “They’re doing okay.”
“I worry,” Marley said as she rubbed her eyes. They were gritty and tired, and she knew a killer headache wasn’t too far behind.
When she opened her eyes, Devon was looking at her like she had questions. Questions Marley likely couldn’t answer about Carla and Aimee and breaking the rules and what exactly was Marley’s plan. Marley didn’t have a plan. Marley was hurting and very, very tired.
“I should go,” Devon said, standing. “I’m guessing it would be nice to have some time by yourself in your own place.”
Marley watched as Devon shoved her hands in her pockets and rocked on her feet. She seemed uncertain, and Marley was sure she’d contributed to that. Made Devon feel uncomfortable when all she’d done was help. And help and help.
“Don’t get up,” Devon said, as Marley began struggling to her feet. She smiled a crooked smile at Marley. “I can find my way out.”
Marley sat back against the chair, breathing against the pain in her abdomen. “Yeah, okay. I’ll text you tomorrow, if that’s okay. To check in on Carla and Aimee.”
Devon tilted her head. “Want to video chat with Aimee tomorrow while I’m there? I think she’d like that.”
Marley grinned. “That could be entertaining.”
Devon returned the smile, her eyes bright. “It really could. I’ll let you know when I’m there.”
“Thanks again, Devon,” Marley said, wishing she could say more but not knowing how.
“You’re welcome. Take your mom’s advice, at least for a bit. Rest, Marley.”
“I’ll try,” Marley said.
“I know.”
And then Devon was gone and Marley was alone.
* * *
The precinct was louder than Marley remembered. Or maybe that was the headache talking. She felt weird walking in without her uniform, her loose khakis and fitted T-shirt about as formal as she could get. Marley had worked hard the last six years to fit in and feel a sense of belonging, all the while wondering if she was really meant to be an enforcer of laws. She’d never been particularly good at following rules. Too often in her life, she had been odd person out. Marley had pushed and molded herself to be part of this. As she walked slowly through the halls, greeting her surprised coworkers, Marley wasn’t sure she’d put her efforts in the right place. Now was likely not the place to unpack it. Especially because Sergeant Crawford was walking toward her, and he didn’t look happy.
“Marlowe, I’m surprised to see you.”
Clearly translated to what the fuck are you doing here?
“I thought there was some paperwork for me to sign?” Marley said, even though she knew full well it was being delivered to her apartment. “And then I heard there was an update on Fleming Street, and I thought I’d listen in, since I’m here.”
Crawford nodded along like Marley was saying something reasonable. “Listen in,” he echoed. “With the intention of…” He let the sentence hang. Marley began to sweat.
“I assume I’ll be back on desk work before I’m back on active duty,” Marley explained. “An investigation like this has hundreds of leads and thousands of pieces of information to sort thro
ugh.” She shrugged, like she hadn’t been obsessing about this for days. “I figured I’d be useful there.”
Crawford stared her down, and Marley felt a trickle of sweat in the small of her back despite the air conditioning in the precinct.
“You sit and listen, then you go home. Any usefulness out of you on this case will be directed by me when I have paperwork in my hand saying you are back from sick leave. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
Crawford looked up and addressed the officers in the room, half of whom were pretending they hadn’t been listening in to Marley and Crawford’s conversation. “Two minutes, Fleming Street update in the IT Room.”
Marley felt some of the tension leave her body as she followed the dozen other officers to the IT Room. The meeting room was the only space big enough to debrief most of the team in relative comfort. It had been painted in shades of brown for decades and, of course, had been dubbed the Shit Room. It had been an inoffensive light grey ever since Marley had worked here, but the name had stuck.
Marley slowly lowered herself into a chair near the back of the room, impossibly trying not to stick out. Injured, out of uniform, and one of only two women in the room. She was also one of very few out queer officers, a distinction which had become obvious last year when Marley had spoken out against how the police force had handled themselves at Pride the year before. She had voiced her opinion that it was their job to protect any people or community at risk of harm, regardless of how that community viewed the police. It hadn’t helped her fitting in, and she still felt the sting of distance from many of her colleagues.
Marley pressed her thumbs against her eye sockets, trying to relieve some of the pain in her head. It didn’t work, and she tried to focus on the front of the room as the drug investigation squad was giving an update.
“We initially considered this a pretty small operation,” Constable Simms, the most senior of the drug squad, was saying. “A few of the high attain street drugs—speed, ketamine, Ecstasy—popular with the university crowd. Our intel showed they’d moved into production about six months ago, which is when we really started to target the place on Fleming Street.”
Storm Lines Page 5
