Storm Lines

by Jessica L. Webb

  Devon suggested they watch the rest of the storm from somewhere safer. And when the storm finally hit shore, fat raindrops making divots in the sand, they were eating donuts in the car. The storm bellowed and cracked overhead, and the rain came down impossibly heavy. And for those few moments, they were cut off from the world, cocooned together in the sweet, sticky heat of Marley’s car.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mikayla’s skin itched, and her nails felt brittle. She dreamed of digging her fingers deep into the flesh of her face, neck, shoulders, armpits, breasts. Imagined she could dig under the itch and lift it out of her body, the grooved tracks on her flesh like her mother’s small vegetable garden, ready for planting. But what if it wasn’t all gone? What if more of this itch grew under her skin, seeding and spreading, an underground network of roots attaching to her flesh? She scratched harder and harder, ignoring the voices telling her to stop. Suddenly she couldn’t scratch at all, her hands bound. She thrashed and fought, her vision blurred by whatever was growing out of her flesh, a jungle of poisoned ivy eating at her body. Then a calm voice and a blanket of nauseating warmth made her muscles go slack, the itch faded, and the jungle receded.

  She woke to voices, the itch dormant but she could still feel it under her skin. The voices were confusing, but she heard Ava’s name so she tried to focus. Something about vaccinations, shots, childhood diseases. Yes, yes, Mikayla wanted to say. Yes, vaccinate Ava against this. She’s late for her booster, she’d had an ear infection the day of the appointment, but give her a shot against whatever was burrowing into her body. Please, give it to her. Mikayla wasn’t sure if she’d spoken, if words passed the dryness of her lips, and the itching was coming back and she just wanted to cry and make sure her baby was safe. Safe from this, safe from her. Safe.

  * * *

  “You haven’t asked her about it? I thought we agreed this was a good lead.”

  Red was beginning to creep up out of the collar of Simms’s shirt, a sign Marley was coming to recognize as agitation.

  “Aimee was in the hospital two days ago,” Marley said, dropping her bag at her desk, where Simms had been waiting to ambush her. “I thought she could use a break. Like I said, I plan on talking to her about Mace today.”

  Simms shook his head, like Marley was speaking nonsense. “Hospitalizations jumped forty percent in the last forty-eight hours. We can’t coddle the kid just because—”

  “Not coddling, Simms. Being cautious and following the recommendations of the intake worker who evaluated Aimee.” Simms looked like he was going to argue, so Marley cut him off. “Are the newest hospitalizations from overdoses or side effects?”

  “Mostly side effects, a handful of overdoses. Public Health is screaming for answers we don’t have. Look, I don’t want the kid to be upset, but I also don’t want to be the reason some disease or whatever spread across this city because we couldn’t get the job done.”

  Fear, a constant motivator.

  “I hear you, Simms. I’ll ask her today.” Simms quieted, though he didn’t look any less worried. “What other leads are we following?” she said.

  She had become Simms’s sounding board in the last week even though he’d worked longer with other guys on the drug squad. Maybe she listened better. Or maybe she wasn’t stuck in tackling one problem one way.

  Before Simms could start talking, an officer Marley didn’t recognize interrupted. He was tall, hair cropped short, good posture. Marley pegged him as ex-military.

  “Are you Simms?”

  “I am. This is Constable Marlowe.”

  Titles and hard-grip handshakes were exchanged.

  “Dennis Olsen. I’m Randolph West’s parole officer.” Marley’s adrenaline kicked up a notch. “I was told you were the person to see.”

  “We’re investigating West and his associates. That investigation is ongoing, as I think you know.”

  “I do. I’m here because West has followed all parole protocol. He’s a model parolee.” The way he said it, Marley didn’t think he was giving a compliment. “And now he wants to see his daughter.”

  Marley opened her mouth to respond, the denial coming straight from her gut. But Simms beat her to it.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Neither do I, honestly. I’ve read the preliminary report, and I’ve talked to his child’s intake worker. There’s enough evidence to hold him off, maybe even indefinitely.”

  “So, why are we standing here?” Marley said.

  Olsen looked at her, his expression more curious than concerned. “We’re standing here because I’m trying to prevent a public blow-up. Randolph West has gone through all the appropriate channels. And now he’s threatening lawyers and media if we don’t act on his request.”

  “He can go through all the appropriate channels he wants,” Marley said, not hiding the venom in her tone. “If it’s not in the best interest of the child, the answer is no.”

  “The problem is,” Olsen said, “that isn’t documented anywhere.”

  Marley looked at him, stunned. “It must be.”

  “I’m happy to be wrong in this case,” Olsen said. “But I have no documentation and no official reason to continue denying his request, even though I think a man who raises a child in a drug house should have no more parental rights.”

  Marley’s head was pounding out a rhythm close to panic, disbelief locking down her ability to think. She turned to Simms, hoping he had an answer, but he was looking at Officer Olsen with a speculative expression. Marley had seen that expression before, a man on the hunt, seeing an opportunity.

  “No,” she said too quietly. Simms talked over her.

  “Why does he want to see her?”

  Olsen shrugged. “Said he wants to see his daughter, make sure she’s being taken care of.”

  “We could use this,” Simms said, almost to himself.

  “No,” Marley said, louder this time. Too loudly maybe, as both officers looked at her. “Aimee West is not a pawn. We go find the documentation to prove seeing her father would be detrimental to her emotional well-being.”

  “Of course,” Simms said. But Marley could see he still had something in his sights. “Of course we find that documentation. But in the meantime, I’m wondering if it’s an avenue that we use. A bargaining chip, even if we never actually set up a meeting between him and his daughter.”

  Marley thought Olsen’s expression of disgust mirrored her own.

  “I don’t want him to see his daughter,” Simms said quickly. “I don’t. But tell him you’re looking into finding someone who can give the go-ahead. Run him around the red tape, and let’s see if we can figure out why he’s so desperate to get in touch with his daughter. What does she know?”

  The question hung in the air, and Marley felt the weight of not knowing the answer.

  “Fair enough,” Olsen said, still looking concerned. “I’ll see how long I can hold him off, if you can work on getting that assessment going.”

  “I’ll be on that,” Marley said. She’d find ten different experts to give their assessment if she needed to. Whatever it took to keep Randolph West away from his daughter. Case be damned. The whole city be damned.

  Simms was looking at Marley like he was reading her thoughts. Marley stared back.

  “Stay in touch, Constable Olsen.”

  “Will do.”

  Olsen walked away, and Marley squared off in front of her supervising officer. She wondered, as they silently took measure of each other, how much longer she was going to hold this job.

  “Call in the assessment, talk to the kid about Mace. I want an update by the end of the day.”

  * * *

  Devon watched as Aimee planted her feet in the grass and swung her arms up into a wide arc, reaching for the perfect summer blue sky. They’d been practicing breathing techniques in Devon’s backyard, and Aimee had taken on the new information with the kind of zeal Devon had come to know as her core personality. Aimee had turned th
e exercises into a kind of dance, and Devon sat back in one of the patio chairs and watched the young girl dance her sadness, sketching her worries into the air.

  “Do I need tickets to watch the show?”

  Devon squinted past the glare of the sun. Marley was standing on the back deck, still in her uniform pants but with a plain white T-shirt and bare feet. Marley’s smile turned to a laugh as Aimee leapt up the stairs and barreled into her with a hug.

  “I’m happy to see you, too, Squirt.”

  Aimee ran back down the stairs and continued her dancing as Marley descended with a little more caution and sat next to Devon. She sighed as she placed a pad of paper and a pen on the arm of the chair.

  “Tired?” Devon said.

  “Perpetually. Eternally. Infinitely.”

  Devon waved a hand at Aimee. “I think there’s a slot available in our backyard interpretive dance show if you want to act out your exhaustion.”

  Marley laughed. Devon loved the sound of it, the layers of contentment and ease mixed in with the tired. Marley leaned her head back against the back of the chair and closed her eyes.

  “Napping is an interpretive dance of my exhaustion.”

  Devon watched sun and shadow play across Marley’s face, wishing she could trace Marley’s cheekbones, touch the laugh lines around her eyes, the worry lines around her mouth. Wished she could hold her just then, wrap her in sunshine and the warmth of a summer afternoon.

  Anxiety surfaced, a leviathan from the deep. This could all disappear, thunder on a sunny day, the stab of a knife, a girl’s choked voice, blood and rain in an alley. Devon felt the presence of her anxiety, a living thing that snatched at her calmness and happiness as if they were flimsy and insubstantial. As her heart raced in her chest and tears surfaced, Devon stole a glance at Marley. Her eyes were still closed. Good. She could master this. Devon pulled in a shaky breath, picturing the air penetrating deep into her lungs, filling her body.

  Aimee danced closer, both her arms swinging together to draw the biggest figure eight pattern in the air. Devon anchored to that infinity sign, the never-ending loop. She picked up one hand and traced the pattern herself, breathing in as she drew one end of the loop, breathing out on the other. And again. And again. Until the leviathan of her anxiety receded, until she was back in this summer day, sitting quietly with people who made her heart feel happy and vulnerable. Both. Always both.

  “I’ll need to talk to Aimee this afternoon,” Marley said, opening her eyes. Her expression changed when she turned to Devon. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” Devon said. “Yes. I had a…moment. But it passed.”

  “Panic moment? The sky is falling?”

  Devon looked up, the afternoon sun beginning to descend past the tips of the trees.

  “It looked like it was falling for a minute there. Felt like it.”

  Marley looked up at the sky as well. “It’s never fallen,” Marley said, her voice contemplative. “But we all worry that it’s going to.” She was silent a moment, blinking into the sun. “Humans are weird.”

  Devon laughed, a belly laugh that discharged the last of her unexpected panic. “You just summarized my entire master’s of psychology.”

  Marley grinned, and Devon returned it.

  “We need a date,” Marley said, seemingly out of nowhere. “Soon.”

  Devon felt her grin grow even wider. “Yes,” she said. “Please.”

  The creak of the back door had them both looking over their shoulders as Carla came down the steps balancing a tray of iced tea. Marley jumped up to help, and Devon pulled over two other chairs into a semblance of a circle. Aimee gulped her iced tea, then hung upside down in her chair, making faces at the adults above her.

  “This is awfully civilized,” Carla said, just as Aimee overbalanced, and she and her plastic chair toppled to the ground. They all laughed and Aimee righted her chair, then started running laps around the backyard. “Okay, well, maybe civilized is the wrong word for my granddaughter.”

  “That kid is my kind of civilized,” Marley murmured. Then sighed. “I’m sorry I’m going to have to break up this quiet afternoon with questions about Aimee’s past.”

  Carla waved away Marley’s apology. “It’s all steps to closure. And what Aimee needs is closure.”

  “I guess so,” Marley said.

  Carla straightened up in her chair and cleared her throat. “Before we get the urchin back over here, I had something I wanted to talk to you two about.” Devon read nerves and resolve in Carla’s expression along with a hint of anger in the set of her mouth, a sign of vulnerability. “I’ve been on the phone with my boss up in Thunder Bay. She’s been great, really understanding, but I’m out of sick leave and vacation time. So, we agreed I’d resign, and she’s going to see if she can help me find another warehouse manager or distribution centre job down here.”

  “Hamilton’s a good spot for it,” Marley said. “You should find something pretty easily.”

  Carla snorted. “You try being fiftysomething and looking for a job. But my boss said the same thing. I’m trying to be hopeful.”

  “Does this mean you’ve decided to make the move to Hamilton permanently?” Devon said.

  “Yes. It’s a good city, I think Aimee and I could settle here, feel comfortable here.” Carla looked from Devon to Marley and back again. “A lot of that is because of you two. And I know I’m asking a lot after everything you both have done for us. It feels wrong asking for more. But I’m going to need some help settling in. It will take some time to get a job, a place to live, an address so we can register Aimee for school. After-school care.” Carla sighed and stared down into her empty cup. “It’s a lot to ask,” she said.

  “I’m in,” Marley said immediately. “I talked to my mom the other day, too. I think you two would get along. And it widens the support network a little.”

  “I’m in, too,” Devon added. “Stay here until you find a space that works for you. Use this address to register Aimee for school.”

  Carla looked up. “It’s a lot.”

  “I think you should take advantage of the fact that neither Devon nor I have any idea what we’re getting into,” Marley said, “but we’re here and we’re clueless but keen.”

  Carla laughed. “I appreciate it, both the offer and admitting you don’t know what you’ve just agreed to.”

  “It’s a perfect scenario,” Marley said.

  Carla cocked her head to the side. “It’s an odd scenario. This whole thing has been odd since the get-go. But it feels right.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Devon said. “I’m happy you’ve decided to stay.”

  They were quiet then, all watching a more subdued Aimee, who was following a white moth around the backyard, gently trying to get it to land on the branch she was holding out.

  “I hate to break up this quiet backyard scene, but I need to ask Aimee a few questions,” Marley said.

  “Might as well get it over with,” Carla said, calling Aimee over.

  The girl sat, and Devon watched as she seemed to read the energy of the adults. She sat quietly expectant in her chair. Devon recognized the empath in Aimee, the ability to read and absorb the emotions of others. A gift and a curse.

  “Marley has a few questions for you, love,” Carla said. “About your time living with your dad. Marley says it won’t be a long conversation, and then I’ve got some good news for you. You can let me know when you’re ready to hear it.”

  Aimee reached over to grab the pad of paper and pen from Marley’s chair, then sat back and waited. Devon’s eyes pricked with sudden tears at the incredible strength this kid demonstrated in this small gesture.

  “Just a few questions,” Marley repeated to Aimee. “You ready?”

  Aimee nodded.

  “Do you know someone named Mace?”

  Aimee seemed to flinch at the name, her head dipping down in a scared, submissive gesture. But she didn’t look away.

  “Can you tell me whe
re you’ve seen him?”

  Aimee shook her head and wrote something down.

  “Ah, okay. Mace is a woman,” Marley said, looking surprised. Aimee wrote some more. “Other house,” Marley read. “You met Mace at your other house. The one in Windsor where you went to school with Miss K?”

  Aimee nodded.

  “Did Mace live there with you?”

  Aimee shrugged, like she didn’t know how to answer the question. Devon wondered if it was hard to tell, with so many people in and out of the drug house, flopped on couches and in spare bedrooms.

  “I think,” Devon said, “Marley is trying to figure out Mace’s relationship with your dad. If they worked together or if they were closer, like friends or boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  Aimee shrugged again.

  “Did you ever see them hug or hold hands? Did they smile at each other a lot? Sometimes those are good ways to know how someone feels about another person.”

  Aimee shook her head definitively this time. Devon looked up at Marley, who seemed satisfied with the answer.

  “Did Mace talk to you?”

  A slow nod this time.

  “Was she nice to you?”

  Aimee shook her head, eyes solemn.

  “Did Mace hurt you? Your body or your heart?”

  Aimee didn’t react at first, and the moment felt very fragile. No one moved. Devon thought maybe Aimee was holding her breath. She lifted one hand and started tracing a small figure eight in the air. Aimee followed the pattern with her eyes but still didn’t respond.

  Carla leaned forward and Aimee turned her attention to her grandmother. “Did Mace ask you to keep a secret, pet?”

  Aimee closed her eyes. That felt like an answer to Devon. She was about to speak, about to pull out what she knew about how to talk to kids about secrets and shame when Marley started talking.

  “Can I tell you what my mom and dad told me about secrets?”

  Aimee gave a faint nod but didn’t open her eyes. “They always told my sister and my brothers and me that secrets shouldn’t hurt. Holding a secret should feel fun and exciting, like knowing what someone’s getting for their birthday, a surprise visitor coming to school, or knowing who someone has a crush on. But secrets that hurt should always be shared with someone you trust. Sharing bad secrets is the only way to make them stop hurting.”