Storm Lines

by Jessica L. Webb

  “In psychology we talk about protective factors, things within and around a person that make it likely they will succeed and grow and thrive, despite their history. What are Aimee’s protective factors, do you think?”

  Carla’s eyes lit up. “She’s smart, that one. Curious, when it’s safe to be curious. She loves to laugh, though sometimes I catch her looking worried. Like at any moment that laughter is going to get her in trouble. But it’s at the core of her, that laughter.”

  “And you,” Devon said. “You are a critical protective factor in her life.”

  Carla was silent, her eyes far away.

  “It’s the strangest thing. It feels like I’ve known her since she was born, even though I haven’t. I met her for the first time six months ago when my son let it slip his daughter was living with him. Eventually I didn’t give him a choice and just came down to see her. We got on like a house on fire, us two.” She looked up at Devon. “I’m going to try and be good for her. And hope I’m not too late.”

  At that moment, Aimee came running over and handed Devon her phone, then she took off again. Devon juggled the phone and saw the video chat was still connected.

  “Hey,” she said to Marley. “How was that?”

  “Dizzying,” Marley said, laughing. “That was a wild Aimee ride.”

  Devon laughed and Carla did, too. “You still good if I stop by?”

  “Definitely,” Marley said. “I wouldn’t say no to a Mountain Dew Slurpee if you happened to have one in your back pocket.”

  Devon shook her head. “I’ll see what I can do. See you in half an hour?”

  “Eleven hundred hours, yes ma’am.” Marley gave a lazy salute and signed off.

  Devon pushed her phone into her back pocket.

  “She’s a good one, that Marley,” Carla said. Devon nodded her agreement, and Carla seemed to take this as invitation to say more. “She’s the only one who listened to me. Everyone else was giving me things. Information and instructions. Warnings. Reassurances. Marley brought me a coffee and found some sandwiches for me and Aimee and just…listened. When I asked her if my son would know I was being made Aimee’s legal guardian, she told me he would likely find out. And when I said he would use whatever influence he had to make sure Aimee was not with me, she heard me. She went to a supervisor or someone. Everyone else told me not to worry. They told me to focus on Aimee and not to worry about any of that.” Carla fiddled with the cup in her hand. “Out of everyone, I should know to worry about Randolph West.”

  Devon looked across the room to where Aimee seemed absorbed in her book again. She sensed Carla wanted to open up about her son, but it absolutely could not happen in front of Aimee. The look they shared confirmed that.

  “Enough about that,” Carla said, hoisting herself out of the chair. Devon drained her iced tea and followed Carla into the kitchen. “We found some baking soda and vinegar in a cleaning cupboard downstairs, so Aimee and I are going to do some science experiments today.”

  Devon laughed. “Sounds messy. And fun.”

  Aimee trailed into the kitchen and started poking around in the bags Devon had brought.

  “Anything you want next time I come?” Devon said.

  “Girl’s going to get spoiled,” Carla said, as Aimee ran off and returned with her notebook and a pen.

  They waited as Aimee wrote her note, ripped it out, and handed it to Devon.

  “Grandma gum, coffee creamer, berries,” Devon read out, impressed there was only one spelling mistake. She looked up at the beaming little girl. “It’s good you take care of your grandma.”

  Carla pulled her granddaughter tight in a one-armed hug. “We take care of each other.”

  Ten minutes later, Devon was back in her car, heading to Marley’s. She was deeply absorbed in her own thoughts about Carla and Aimee and how she was going to bring up her concerns to Marley. She was almost to Marley’s apartment when she remembered the Slurpee. Finally, with sticky takeout cup in hand and a bank of grey clouds following her, Devon knocked on Marley’s door.

  “You’re the gayest angel I’ve seen today,” Marley said when she opened the door.

  Devon laughed and acknowledged the heat in her belly at the words as she handed the sticky cup to Marley. Devon went to wash her hands in the sink as Marley slurped her drink. Marley was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and cut-off track pants and looked comfortable for the first time since Devon had met her. Devon also noticed the definition in Marley’s arms, and the blood pounded a little harder in her veins.

  “Feeling okay today?” Devon said, refocusing.

  “Stronger, yeah,” Marley said. “No nausea, moving around better.” Marley made a face. “You don’t want a patient update. It’s boring. Tell me about Carla and Aimee.”

  Devon steadied her breath and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her thighs and her hands clasped together. Marley cocked her head to the side, looking curious.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  “No,” Devon said. “Carla and Aimee are good.”

  “Okay,” Marley said. “You got a really serious look on your face, that’s all.”

  “I have some concerns about them living there long term. It’s not a good environment for Aimee, and it’s a real stressor on Carla. They’re okay for now, but I’m not sure how long that will be true.”

  Devon watched annoyance flicker in Marley’s grey eyes, quickly replaced by consideration.

  “I suppose this is what happens when you ask a psychologist to deliver groceries,” Marley said. Devon gave a half-smile, acknowledging Marley’s attempt to ease the sudden tension in the room. “And it’s not long term. It was never intended to be long term, anyway.”

  “I understand that,” Devon said. “But Aimee needs somewhere to settle. She needs to be in school and seeing a therapist. She needs to be able to leave the apartment.”

  “I know that,” Marley said sharply, sitting up in her chair. Then she drew in a sharp breath and closed her eyes.

  Devon’s heart ached at the sight. She hated adding this to Marley’s plate right now. But she couldn’t ignore her concerns about Carla and Aimee. Marley opened her eyes.

  “How long will you give me?” Marley said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Marley took a breath and pressed her hand lightly against her side. “I know I need a plan for Carla and Aimee. I’ve been working on that. Carla is afraid to go back to Thunder Bay because Randolph still has too many connections there, and it would be too easy for him to track her down.”

  “Even from prison?”

  “Yes, even from prison. It takes one phone call. And besides, he’s only being held on bail right now. He could be out any time.”

  Devon leaned back in her seat. “I didn’t know that,” she said. There was a lot she didn’t know. And she was beginning to recognize Marley was carrying most of it on her shoulders.

  “So, this whole time I’ve been trying to figure out if I should help Carla set up somewhere brand new where she has no connections.”

  “Which is good and bad.”

  “Yes, exactly. Or should I keep them here? Randolph hopefully wouldn’t look for them because the paperwork says they left weeks ago. And at least here I can look after them.”

  “And me,” Devon said. Whatever compulsion she had to help, to fix, to make better, was now a commitment.

  “I guess what I’m asking is how long until you are no longer comfortable with Carla and Aimee’s current living situation? Until your instinct or your ethics won’t allow you to support this, and you feel the need to report me.”

  “What?” Devon said, startled. She leaned toward Marley, who remained very still. “No, that’s not what I—”

  “You already know Sergeant Crawford. He would be the best person to contact with your concerns.”

  “Marley, stop.” Devon said. “Please just give me a second.”

  They sat in silence. Devon felt a faint rumbling through the walls and floor
—a truck on the upper road, maybe, or the storm that had been following her all morning. “I don’t need to report you. I know you’re trying to balance the risk to Carla and Aimee with their well-being. I trust that.”

  Marley nodded without saying anything, and Devon gave an inward sigh. She’d blown this, taken the wrong approach and alienated Marley.

  “I’d like to help,” Devon said. “Not just do you a favour while you’re recovering but really be part of this. Which means I need to be able to bring up my own concerns. That’s all this is. It’s not judgment or a threat. I want us to work together.”

  Marley’s eyes softened, her guarded look replaced by speculation. Devon relaxed as well. Obviously, she’d said something right.

  “You’re not good at breaking rules, are you?” Marley said, eyes twinkling.

  Devon let out a short laugh and ran a hand through her hair. “No, not particularly. But I always want the rules to make sense.”

  “In my experience, rules almost never make sense,” Marley said.

  “Interesting perspective for someone tasked with upholding the law,” Devon said. She moved through this conversation tentatively, aware of their now loose connection.

  Marley shrugged. “I want things to be right, but I’m fully aware I’m not always the holder of right. I’m comfortable with not always having the answer. I’m uncomfortable sticking to rules or laws that have the potential to hurt.”

  “Which is why you gave me permission to tattle to your supervisor?”

  Marley laughed and held her side with her hand. “I used to make my little brother, Caleb, be ready to tell on me to an adult. Whenever I was about to do something stupid, I’d make him list two adults he could go to if he felt something was wrong.” Marley smiled and shook her head at the memory. “He almost never did. He usually just stood back and watched and cried as I jumped off the garage or stole raspberries from the neighbours. Probably traumatized the poor guy. No wonder he went into academia.”

  Devon laughed along with Marley, happy they seemed to be building a bridge over their disagreement and happier still they seemed to be building a foundation. Of what, she wasn’t sure. Right now, it didn’t matter. Devon felt connected and happy.

  “You’ve got an interesting approach to the world, Constable Marlowe,” Devon said. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

  Marley kept a straight face and, maintaining eye contact with Devon, picked up her Slurpee and took a long, loud slurp. Devon leaned her head back and laughed.

  “Okay, enough about me,” Marley said. “You were going to tell me about your morning.”

  Devon felt herself go still, felt the immediate resistance to being the subject of the conversation. She fought it for a moment, as she’d fought the impulse to curl up and not move this morning. “A panic attack,” Devon said, before she could talk herself out of it. “As I was leaving the house. I haven’t had one in a few weeks.”

  “You used to get them more often?” Devon was relieved Marley’s expression hadn’t changed.

  “Not all the time, but frequently enough that it began to impact my life.” Devon took a breath. “I’ve been on medical leave from work for the past few months. The day…you were hurt, I was on my way to meet with HR about extending my leave and making a back-to-work plan.”

  “You needed a break,” Marley said. “These jobs are hard on the soul.”

  Exactly. And I couldn’t stand up to it.

  “It just overwhelmed me,” she said. “Everything seemed to get away from me, and I was completely overwhelmed. I couldn’t get above it.”

  “It feels that way sometimes, doesn’t it?”

  Devon noticed the slight correction in Marley’s statement, moving Devon away from being self-critical and blaming. Marley opened up the circle and Devon heard the unspoken “me, too.” Us, too. Marley was effortlessly empathetic.

  “So, I took a leave. I’m seeing a therapist. And only occasionally struggling to leave the house, like this morning.”

  “Sounds like a tough way to start your day. Was it okay once you were out?”

  “I think it helped to have somewhere I needed to be,” Devon said. “Once I could think again, it helped pull me out of the hole more quickly than before.” Devon shrugged, forcing herself to look into Marley’s eyes. She wondered if Marley understood how hard this was, how little experience she had in formulating words about herself.

  “But being out isn’t easy for you yet,” Marley said. It was part statement, part question but all gentleness.

  Devon leaned back a little, needing distance because she didn’t know what to do with needing closeness.

  “Not yet,” Devon said. She let the silence stretch, then opened up the vulnerability wide. “Was it that obvious?”

  “Obvious? No, not at all. Remember, I’ve had nothing better to do this last week than watch the people around me.”

  “And grow scar tissue,” Devon said with a smile.

  Marley gave a small laugh but kept talking. Devon hadn’t really expected to distract her. “I notice you always arrive tense, then relax, then get tense again when you’re leaving. Like you’re constantly putting on and taking off armour.”

  “Yes. That’s how it feels.”

  “Sounds exhausting,” Marley said quietly.

  “It is.” Devon felt something in her chest, the smallest of vibrations as she looked into Marley’s eyes and saw happiness and fear and worry and connection.

  Silence filled the space between them, and Devon could hear the sound of rain pattering against the window in the kitchen.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Marley said.

  She could interpret those words in so many ways with the light in Marley’s eyes and the tone of her voice. Devon smiled back.

  “I am, too.”

  Chapter Six

  Mikayla had stopped for three weeks. She’d been proud of herself because she’d done it on her own. Her parents still helped out so much with Ava, but this she had kept to herself and done on her own. She was a little shaky. It didn’t feel great knowing she didn’t have the drugs to fall back on if she had a tough day. Just keep going, she told herself. And she did.

  It wasn’t stress that sent her back. It was celebration. The victory of a good month, feeling on track, feeling like a good mom and an adult. Feeling like she deserved something to relax. She thought about finding time to go out with friends, meet up at a bar or dance all night or sit and smoke pot in someone’s backyard. But her friends were either stuck in the grind of surviving like she was or were still partying like it was high school. They didn’t have a clue what Mikayla was dealing with in her life.

  Mikayla felt bad she had no one she wanted to celebrate with. So, she texted Jaxon. He said he’d missed her, and she told him she was feeling good and wanted something that could make her feel a bit better. It felt like a confession, an offering of her worth as a mom and a productive member of society, as her dad always said. But Jaxon seemed to understand, even told her she was a good mom and she was doing great. He told her taking a break was allowed, and he had something new she might like to try. A great high, he said. Smooth and lasted a long time. More expensive, but worth it.

  Worth it, Mikayla repeated it over and over, as the smoke hit her lungs and her fingertips tingled and her legs went soft and her head felt like a pillow and her body succumbed to weightlessness, even as it dragged her down, down, down, to the floor.

  * * *

  Marley clutched her beat-up silver travel mug full of coffee and tried to keep her expression flat. The office buzzed around her in a chaos of noise as she sat at her desk, everything feeling painful and wrong as she absorbed the news from Sergeant Crawford.

  “He made bail?” Marley repeated.

  “Yesterday,” Sergeant Crawford said in his deep voice. “He already checked in with his parole officer this morning. He’s playing the game for now.”

  Randolph West had made bail and was now free—or as free as y
ou could be while on parole and awaiting trial—to wander the streets of Hamilton. Hopefully nowhere near Carla and Aimee. Marley felt cold, but she suppressed a shiver. She couldn’t look weak in front of her sergeant, not as he scrutinized the letter from her doctor she had submitted to HR the day before.

  “Constable Simms has taken over the back boardroom, you can go ahead and check in with him.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re on desk duty, Marlowe. No street work, no ride-alongs. Nothing. You’re sitting at a desk, and you’re going to like it.”

  Marley straightened carefully, still conscious of the ripped layers of tissue in her side.

  “No, sir,” she said with a straight face. “I’m going to love it.”

  Sergeant Crawford walked away shaking his head, and Marley went back to the boardroom, tucked away in an inconvenient but quiet corner at the back of the building. Her work pants felt loose, her plain leather belt almost inadequate to hold them up over her hips. Maybe it was the lack of utility belt—she didn’t need any of the holstered weapons or tools to ride a desk—but more likely it was the weight loss from her hospital stay. Either way, nothing felt right about the way she moved or felt. None of that mattered, she reminded herself as she entered the boardroom. She was back at work, and Randolph West was out on bail.

  “Marlowe, good to see you on your feet,” Simms said, greeting Marley with a welcoming but distracted smile. Marley liked Simms, though she didn’t know him well. She’d heard the rumours of his impending burnout. Bets were on for Simms to transfer to a school safety officer any day, an easy slip into retirement. But he was here today, focused.

  “Where should I start, Constable?”

  “Simms is fine,” the officer said, waving Marley to a seat. “You want to start with paper copies or computer files?”

  “I may have been born in the 80s, but I can handle paper.”

  He gave a short laugh. “You’re a funny kid. We don’t get a lot of funny in the drug squad.”