[Kate Lange 01.0] Damaged

by Pamela Callow

  “Not too much.” Kate shrugged. “Anyway, I can’t baby it any longer.”

  “You mean, you won’t baby it any longer.”

  “See you at seven.” Kate hung up before Nat could chide her further. Her leg had hurt after the run, but Kate wasn’t going to admit it. It was worth the tradeoff. Running was what kept her on an even keel. The rhythmic motion, the synchronization of her heart and lungs with her pumping legs, the fresh air.

  There was one other benefit she hoped to gain by resuming her hour-long run: sleep. She hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since she survived Craig Peters’ attack. Dr. Kazowski, the therapist who had begun counseling Kate after the trauma she had gone through, thought that if Kate returned to some of her usual routines, especially ones that helped relieve stress, the nightmares might stop. Or at least decrease in frequency.

  It was the only nudge Kate needed. And today the weather was giving her its blessing.

  She hurried into the foyer, the pile of case reports haphazardly stacked in her arms, a sheen of sweat on her forehead and a smile of anticipation on her lips. In an hour, she’d be running with Alaska in Point Pleasant Park. She could almost feel the sea breeze on the back of her neck.

  The quiet rush of a newly installed water feature was the only sound in the reception area. It provided a stunning foil to the equally new art installation that hung kitty-corner from the elevators, and served as a perfect backdrop to the new, postmodern furnishings.

  Kate jabbed the elevator button. A trickle of sweat slid down her spine. The air-conditioning had been turned off for the weekend while she was on the phone with Nat. Warm air had already begun to settle in the reception area.

  The lack of human sound prickled the hairs on the back of Kate’s neck. Ever since her experience in Keane’s Funeral Home, silent places were ominous.

  To distract herself, she studied the redecorated lobby. After the hits the former Lyons McGrath Barrett had taken to its standing a few months ago, the firm was working hard to restore its sterling reputation. It needed to recover some of the clients that had fled in the wake of the TransTissue scandal. Managing partner Randall Barrett—the Barrett in McGrath Barrett—had hired a public relations company to relaunch the firm under its new name. In an effort to distance itself from the scandal that now tarnished its prestige, McGrath Barrett had redecorated the foyer and launched a new ad campaign.

  The campaign zeroed in on the firm’s best asset: Kate Lange—the woman Randall Barrett had almost fired just months before. The irony was delicious. Kate had become the firm’s new poster girl, her Mona Lisa smile featured above the slogan Integrity. Excellence. Caring. The joke in the firm was that Kate cared so much about her clients that she’d kill for them.

  Rumor had it that Randall Barrett had chosen the new furnishings in the lobby and Kate had to admit he had a good eye. She wondered what her hundred-year-old house would look like with a postmodern theme. Probably pretty nice.

  Too bad she couldn’t afford pieces like that. She glanced at her watch. If the darn elevator ever arrived, and the traffic wasn’t too heavy, she could stop at the hardware store and get the paint for the kitchen trim before she went for her run.

  She shifted the load of files in her arms, rubbing the straining muscles of her right forearm.

  The elevator chimed. Kate’s nerves jolted. She gritted her teeth. Her reaction to startling noises was driving her crazy. Dr. Kazowski told her it would go away in time, but so far there was no sign of it being in a hurry to leave. She yanked the strap of her briefcase back up to her shoulder, unsettling the pile of reports in the process, and hurried into the elevator.

  “Hi, Kate.” Randall Barrett stood in a dim corner of the elevator. He gave her a friendly but distant nod, the typical interaction of a senior partner with a junior associate.

  “Hi.” Kate hugged the reports to her chest, darting a sideways glance at him.

  It was the first time she’d seen him in weeks. The first time she’d been alone with him since she’d returned to work in early June.

  Randall’s face was tense, preoccupied. He did not exude his usual vitality. In fact, he looked exhausted.

  Kate stared straight ahead, unwilling to let him see how much his presence got under her skin. Did he sense her tension? she wondered. Whatever you do, don’t babble, Kate.

  At the fourteenth floor, he broke the silence. “Any plans for the weekend?” His tone was courteous. That was all.

  She shifted against the wall. “Not too much. Just painting my house.” She nodded toward her overflowing arms. “I’m working on the Great Life case. It’s taking a lot of time.”

  That should make him happy. Lots of billable hours.

  He nodded almost absentmindedly. “Good.”

  The silence grew as the elevator descended. Kate studied the numbers above the door. Eleven, ten. She heard Randall’s breathing. The elevator was stuffy. She became aware of the faint scent of his sweat. Something she’d never smelled before. She darted another glance at him. He was oblivious to her.

  She turned her face away. For the past three months, she’d wondered if she’d just imagined his interest in her. Then she’d tell herself, no, she hadn’t dreamed his visit to her hospital room. And she knew there’d been a tenderness to his gaze the day she returned to work after recovering from her injuries.

  But it had all changed. Almost overnight, he had become distant. Had seemed to avoid her. Definitely letting her know by his cool greeting and remote smile that whatever moments had been exchanged between them during the TransTissue file were not going to be repeated.

  Maybe he’d been faking it. Maybe he’d just been using her to help shore up McGrath Barrett’s rocky reputation after the TransTissue scandal.

  He stared at the elevator doors, his shoulders tense, his expression brooding. A man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. She wondered what he did in his spare time. Did he play sports? Read books?

  Go on dates?

  The fact that she knew so little about him was another indication that she should just leave well enough alone. Whatever drew her to him could not be founded on anything that promised a permanent residence for her battle-weary heart.

  The elevator stopped at P1, chiming Randall’s departure. He moved toward the doors. “Have a good month, Kate.”

  Month?

  He must have read the surprise in her face because he added, “I’m beginning my vacation.”

  “Really?” He didn’t have the air of a man about to take a holiday.

  He arched a brow. “Really.”

  The doors slid open.

  “Are you going anywhere?”

  “I’m going sailing.” He stepped out of the elevator. “With my son.”

  With a brusque nod, he disappeared into the shadowed concrete corridor of the parkade.

  Kate watched the elevator doors close. Not even a goodbye.

  She exhaled, staring at her dull reflection in the mirrored doors. Fine.

  The elevator stopped at her parking level. She strode into the parkade, her step quick and purposeful. But it didn’t matter. Her heart pounded. She could park on a different level, close to the elevator, always by an overhead light—but no matter the tricks she employed to fool her mind, her body always remembered the terror of being chased by a man intent on killing her.

  She looked around. The parkade was empty.

  That was almost worse.

  She hurried to her car and unlocked the door, dumping her files on the backseat, then slid into the driver’s seat. Only when the doors were locked and the engine was started did her heart slow down.

  She eased her way out of the parkade. The brilliant July sunshine almost blinded her as she drove through the gate. It was surreal, after the dank interior she’d just exited. She rolled down her window. A warm breeze lifted the hair around her face.

  This was why Nova Scotians slogged it through the winter. Because there was no better place to be in the summer if the s
un was shining.

  She felt her fingers relax on the steering wheel. She’d get the paint, enjoy her run, have supper with Nat and go for a few drinks.

  No one would stop her from enjoying the sunshine.

  Chapter 2

  Friday, 5:38 p.m.

  Elise Vanderzell stuffed a potato chip into her mouth. Damn, it tasted good. That’s what she loved about road trips: the junk food. She knew she shouldn’t indulge, shouldn’t let her kids indulge, but this was their summer vacation.

  And after the hellishness of the months leading up to it, they deserved to enjoy every salt-slicked, grease-laden bite.

  She eased the car into the long line of rush hour traffic on Robie Street, glancing in her rearview mirror. Her son, Nick, lounged against the backseat. It was funny how you can see someone all the time and never notice anything different, but then throw a casual look at them one day and realize that the world had shifted.

  It took Elise a moment to register what was different. Then it hit her: Nick seemed comfortable in his own skin. His body was filling out, no longer a tangle of gangly limbs connected to gargantuan feet. But it was more than that.

  Relaxed. Nick looked relaxed. Sated by his meatball sub, relieved by his mother’s acquiescence to his plans for summer camp next week, Nick watched Halifax unfold past them with a look of near contentment.

  Hope stuck a cautious toe into her heart.

  Ahead, the traffic halted at the Willow Tree intersection. Elise stepped on the brake. It had been years since she’d been here, but she still remembered the Commons, stretching out in verdant green to their left. People played with dogs on the broad stretch of grass, runners doing laps around its perimeter.

  Summer, Nova Scotia style.

  She rolled down her window and breathed in. She’d forgotten how clean the air was here. No smog. Just fog. The silly rhyme made her smile.

  Something loosened in her chest, the tightness that had been holding her together the past few months finally letting go.

  She breathed in again deeply, feeling her lungs expand, anticipation giving her blood a little zing. The month spread out before her: no schedules, no routines, no demands. Just her, her cottage, her books for the first two weeks while the kids visited their father, and then hanging out with her kids for the last two. By the time they arrived at the cottage, she would be fully recovered and recharged, ready to enjoy them. She was looking forward to it. Even though the three of them lived together 24/7 in Toronto, the actual time she spent with her kids felt more like twenty-four seconds.

  She reached over the gear shift and patted Lucy’s knee. “This is going to be fun, Luce.”

  Her daughter grinned. At twelve, Lucy was a looker. Thick, wavy blond hair. Eyes that changed like the sea. A wide, smiling mouth. Her face was still childishly round, but Elise knew her daughter would eventually sport the same broad cheekbones as she. “I can’t wait for riding camp.”

  “You think that cute instructor will be back?” Elise teased.

  “Mu-um.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “I don’t care.” But there was a faint tinge to her cheeks. Her daughter was growing up. Nicely, Elise was proud to realize. She was mature, caring—despite what she claimed. Elise couldn’t wait to see the woman Lucy would become.

  “So when do we go to your cottage, Mum?” Lucy asked.

  “In a few weeks. After you visit your dad.” Elise tried to keep her voice casual, but Nick shifted behind her. The conversation was nearing territory that neither she nor Nick had any desire to visit.

  “Is it right on the beach?” Lucy asked.

  Elise’s shoulders relaxed at the reprieve her daughter gave her. “Yup. And I just read that the beach is renowned for its sand dollars.”

  “Cool.” Lucy smiled. “I can add some to my shell collection.”

  Elise squeezed her knee. “There’s body surfing, too. And I thought we could plan a whale-watching excursion.”

  “Did you know we saw a whale go by Grandma Penny’s house once?” Elise’s ex-mother-in-law lived in Prospect, a seaside community forty minutes outside of Halifax. “It was a finback whale.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Nick said from behind her. “It was a right whale.”

  “Oh, yeah, you’re right.” Lucy smirked. “Get it?”

  Nick reached forward and ruffled Lucy’s hair. “No one could miss it.” Nick’s tone was dripping with older-brother condescension, but it was also warm with affection. Elise’s breath released. Nick wasn’t completely cutting himself off from his family—or at least, not from Lucy.

  “Are we almost there?” Lucy asked, making a show of smoothing her mussed-up hair but unable to hide her pleasure from Nick’s unexpected gesture.

  Elise couldn’t remember the last time Nick had initiated contact with either of them. She hoped being away from Toronto would give her a chance with him. A chance to understand why Nick had done the things he did this year. A chance to change things for the better. Her heart lifted and she realized she was experiencing something she’d believed was out of her reach: happiness. “We’re about ten minutes from Cathy’s house,” she said to Lucy.

  Cathy Feldman, Elise’s old law school roommate, was now a professor at the law school. Cathy had not hesitated to offer her house when she heard Elise was coming to Halifax for the month. Elise’s only regret was that her friend wouldn’t be there—Cathy was on sabbatical in New Zealand.

  “So when do we see Dad?” Lucy asked.

  Elise kept her eyes fixed on the line of traffic queued ahead of her. “I’m not sure. I’m going to call your father tonight to let him know Nick won’t be going sailing with him.” She threw Lucy a warning look: don’t say anything. “I’ll ask your father to take you to riding camp so I can get Nick to his camp.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. Nick stared out the window, a mutinous look in his eyes, his jaw tense. He knew that phone call would not be pleasant, no matter Elise’s attempts to sound unconcerned, and he was already girding himself for battle.

  “Let’s go out for supper tonight,” Elise said. “We could go down to the waterfront. Get ourselves some real Nova Scotian lobster.”

  “Cool!” Lucy grinned.

  No answer from the back.

  “What do you think, Nicky? Up for a crustacean feast?”

  “Whatever.” A chip bag rustled in the backseat.

  Don’t get angry, Elise. He’s probably just as nervous as you about breaking the news to his father.

  “Do you think Dad will get mad, Mum? About Nick’s camp?” Lucy asked, her voice low. The silence in the backseat seemed to breathe with her.

  “Don’t worry. I can handle it.” That was a blatant lie—she’d never been able to manage her emotions around her children’s father, but she didn’t want to derail her kids’ excitement about their vacation before it had even begun.

  “It’s just that the last time we saw him…” Lucy blinked at Elise. Unshed tears glimmered behind the worry in her eyes. “I don’t want you guys to fight again.”

  Guilt grabbed at Elise’s heart, twisting it into an even tighter knot. As usual, her daughter seemed to read her better than Elise read herself. Her child was her mirror image, except with one vital difference: Lucy was sunny where Elise was not. Funny how Lucy’s infancy threw Elise into a depression so deep she barely clawed her way out of it and now her presence was the only thing that kept Elise from falling into it again.

  And what had she done for this daughter who loved her with all her heart?

  Not enough.

  She was going to put the past few months behind her. Behind all of them. This was a chance to start over. She had made sure there would be no lasting reminders of what had transpired between her and her ex-husband in June. There was only one step left—

  A car laid on the horn. She jumped.

  Geez, Halifax drivers have gotten mean.

  “Mum, it’s a green light.” Lucy glanced at her with a familiar look of concern.

  Elise hit the gas so har
d that the SUV lurched forward. “Luce, read me the directions again,” she said, her tone reverting into we-are-starting-a-fun-vacation mode. She wished she didn’t have to force it. A few minutes before, she’d been excited. Just get the damn phone call over with and then celebrate by going out to supper tonight.

  She could do this. She knew she could. Her therapist had coached her over the phone this morning on how to handle this. But anxiety nibbled at her. She reached for another potato chip. The bag was empty.

  Lucy read the scrap of paper. “It says to go down Robie until you reach the lights at Inglis Street, then turn left. Go straight on Inglis until you reach Young Avenue, then turn left onto Point Pleasant Drive.”

  Ten minutes later they reached University Avenue. On impulse, Elise turned right.

  “Mum, that’s the wrong way,” Lucy cried. From the back, Elise could sense Nick’s sudden alertness, but he said nothing.

  “I know,” she said. “It’s just a slight detour. I want to see my alma mater.” She drove down University Avenue, the long boulevard framed with trees, hospitals on either side and a fire station on the corner. Elise slowed when they neared the law school. It had been years since she’d been a student there, almost twenty, but they had been the most formative of her life.

  She’d come to Hollis University Law School at the tender age of twenty-two, untested and unsure of her own strengths. It was hard to remember herself back then. So keen, her mind stretching and expanding to meet the challenge of abstruse legal arguments. She had found her confidence here in Halifax, found some of her closest friends and found a profession.

  Surely she could find herself here again.

  She wondered if all her classmates had screwed up their lives as much as she had. No. Not all of them. Not Cathy. She was just as solid as ever. Just like the building she drove by. Why had Elise wanted to see her law school? Was she hoping that it would remind her of what she had accomplished?

  She was a successful tax lawyer at a prestigious Bay Street firm in Toronto. Acquaintances often asked her—with a note of incredulity in their voice—how she liked being a tax lawyer. Elise knew it sounded dull and arcane, but she loved her work. She loved the elaborate structures, the legal fictions, the satisfaction of rendering concrete an entity that was abstract. Of giving form to something intangible.