Breaking Through

by A. M. Hartnett

  ‘What about me?’ she asked, feeling selfish as she said it. ‘What about Eddie? If she goes, I’ll be on my own with him.’

  ‘Would you rather she stay and burn out?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted, and her next question came up like an unpleasant burp. ‘You think you can still try and nab me an interview for a better job?’

  He chuckled. ‘Oh, yeah, right after I sabotage my own career, I’ll get right on it. How do you feel about running background checks? Because that’s what I’m going to end up doing by the time this mess is over.’

  After another moment’s silence, during which sleep tugged more insistently at Miranda, Simon spoke again.

  ‘If she went, would you want to stay?’

  ‘Where else would I go?’

  ‘To New Brunswick, to run background checks with me?’

  Miranda sought the blackness for him, but found nothing. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Yeah, I know it’s too soon, but what the hell? You’re the only thing that would keep me here, and what’s keeping you here?’

  Nothing, she thought instantly. If Juliet left, she could kiss going back to school goodbye. If she wanted to keep Eddie, she’d have to work, and she didn’t particularly care where she did that.

  ‘Do I have to decide right now?’

  ‘Absolutely not. It’s just something to file in the back of your mind.’ He gave her a squeeze. ‘I just want you to know you have choices.’

  The conversation drew to an end, not only because Miranda couldn’t think of anything to say in return but because she had been robbed of the energy to do so.

  It was ridiculous to even entertain the idea of moving with him so soon. The cynical part of herself argued that she barely knew him, but a more honest part of herself reminded her that he was right. Just … right, warts and all.

  She took the hand on her shoulder and laced her fingers with his, and held onto him as she slipped into sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For the first time since the day he shook hands with Michael Roe, Simon didn’t offer that fake smile. In fact, he doubted he’d ever give anyone that fake smile again. In a nauseating whirlpool of despair, he’d lost it. He’d lost the one thing he was sure he was good at, and now that it was out there he had to acknowledge it for what it was: ruining lives.

  It hadn’t all been mud-slinging. While not exactly ethical, his work for Jacques hadn’t hurt anyone. It was only when the late Dominic Taureau, that pale-bellied snake of a man, had strong-armed his son into using his money and muscle to advance his and his cronies’ political careers that Simon got his degree in mud-slinging.

  He’d always enjoyed the hunt, but the outcomes varied. He’d unveiled one loud-mouthed, Bible-thumping MP’s connection to the white supremacy movement. He’d obtained video evidence of another’s racist and misogynist views on missing aboriginal women and was gleeful to see the recording splashed all over the news. In a country where American-style dirty politics was frowned upon, Simon had been damn good at it.

  Results of other investigations had left him feeling sick and led to repeated clashes between himself and Jacques. As Dominic Taureau and his party celebrated the scandals of the opposition, they barely kept their own in check. Taureau Senior, for example, had only Zeus to rival his indiscretions. The fallout included three pay-offs, a thwarted blackmail attempt and numerous women who were gently warned against telling tales.

  The worst had been Samantha Halliday. She was 26 and had caught the senator’s eye while she waited tables at a fundraiser. She claimed that it started off as a fling and that she kept seeing the much older man because he was good in bed – something that Simon had heard over and over again – but, as with all the women Dominic Taureau seduced, he worked quickly to wrap her around his finger as long as it suited him.

  She’d wanted to keep her baby, but Simon had talked her out of it. She already had one she couldn’t afford.

  If he won’t take care of our baby, I’ll take him to court.

  Samantha was a fighter, and she knew that if she really tried she could hit Taureau with a paternity suit and win, but Simon impressed upon her the emotional and financial toll that such a route would exact.

  In the end, he drove her to the clinic himself and held her hand while she waited for her name to be called. After the procedure, he’d stayed with her at her apartment until she fell asleep, and then he told Jacques that he was finished. He wouldn’t fulfil another request from Dominic Taureau.

  Even though he’d only met Jacques’s father a handful of times in the 30 years he’d known the son, he’d done the man’s dirty work until he couldn’t stomach it any longer.

  He didn’t think he’d come across a man as vile as Dominic Taureau, but he had been wrong. There had been Connell Davis and his enabling father, Martin, and now there was Michael Roe.

  It was entertaining to watch Roe pose himself like he did all the time, oblivious to the fact that he was doing it for a man who didn’t care, who had gone looking for dirt on Matthew Murray but uncovered something much more valuable to Roe.

  Simon didn’t wait for permission to speak. He didn’t wait for that first snap and retreat. He met Roe’s gaze and raised a brow.

  ‘I was in New Brunswick two days ago.’

  ‘And I see you’ve come back empty-handed, literally,’ Roe said evenly. ‘No briefcase – unless you have a flash drive in your pocket.’

  Simon smiled. He could feel it was a nasty smile, and from a shiver in Roe’s arrogant expression he saw that the other man had noticed it.

  ‘Not quite. You wouldn’t believe the secrets that Boy Scout has been keeping secret.’

  He stopped, still smiling, and after a moment Roe raised his brows.

  ‘What do you want me to do, throw on some dramatic music? Give it to me.’

  ‘No, I don’t think I will,’ Simon said, and leaned back in his seat. If one could sit with swagger, that’s what he did, and the insult was clear on Roe’s face. ‘You see, this is the part where I finally tell you to suck my dick, Michael.’

  Roe seemed unfazed. In fact, he looked pleased by Simon’s outburst. A speech bubble practically popped over his head.

  I can’t wait to throw you under the bus.

  ‘I take it by that juvenile outburst that you’ve returned to the employ of your esteemed friend Mr Taureau.’

  ‘I haven’t made up my mind yet,’ Simon answered truthfully. ‘I could end up stocking shelves at Walmart and it really would be preferable to working for a shit-stain like you.’

  Roe narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you drunk?’

  Unable to hold it in, Simon laughed. ‘Are you suggesting that one would have to be drunk to dislike you? I would argue the opposite, one would have to be drunk to withstand your company.’

  ‘All right, Simon, I’ve had enough,’ Roe said and leaned back. ‘Whether you’re in the midst of a nervous breakdown or on pills or something, I don’t care. You have something on Murray but you’d rather abuse me than tell me, so I’m guessing this is your resignation. Make it quick and then get out.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’re so eager to see me go, given how important I am to your campaign.’

  Roe snorted. ‘Right.’

  Simon actually tingled with anticipation as the words took shape on his tongue.

  ‘Without me, who else will you point a finger at when you need to look like the father of tough love?’ Roe’s smirk vanished, and Simon chuckled. ‘That’s right. I know all about it and, more importantly, Murray knows all about it, and he’s ready to use it.’

  Roe smoothed his feathers and returned Simon’s grin. ‘And how might he do that? My name doesn’t appear on any of those emails.’

  Simon rolled his eyes and snorted. ‘I’d call you a neophyte but frankly, I think you’re just an idiot. Don’t you know that nothing you do online is private? You may have sent an email from a free account, but that doesn’t mean that email can’t be traced back to you. You us
ed the same address to communicate with me, and with one click of a button I can find out exactly where that email came from. Well, I can’t, but my “esteemed friend” can. There are perks to being tight with someone who employs a team of computer nerds. They can trace the emails, and so can whatever team of geniuses your party employs when Murray brings it to the leader’s attention.’

  Roe’s arrogance might have diminished but he didn’t show his emotions. He drummed his fingers upon the blotter on his desk and attempted – and failed – to stare Simon down.

  ‘So what do you want?’

  ‘Me? Nothing. I just wanted to see your face when I told you that you’ll never be leader of the party, let alone this country.’ This time, Simon’s smile was gleeful as he got to his feet. ‘Murray will be in touch. I think he’s going to give you a choice: either drop out of the race and put your support behind him or see your scheme go to the leader. Of course, once he’s leader of the party he won’t let you run again at the federal level. You’ll have to run as an independent, since I have no doubt that Murray will make sure the other parties know the sort of candidate they’re getting.’

  He went to the door, but turned. ‘By the way, what I dug up on Matthew Murray would have made you and every journalist in this country cream their panties. Don’t bother going looking for it. You’ll never find it. I didn’t. I had to get it straight from the horse’s mouth.’

  As he strode through the office he remembered with relish the look of hate on Roe’s face. He held onto it as he stepped into the elevator, and once the doors closed and he was alone, he gave a deep sigh.

  Burning a bridge had never felt so damn good.

  * * *

  Juliet looked no better when Miranda arrived that afternoon. Sitting up in bed, she turned away from the window only long enough to glance at Miranda.

  Miranda wasn’t sure what to expect from her sister that day. Would Juliet be combative or fragile? So Miranda just did what she would have done if Juliet had been in for a broken leg: she stopped in the hospital cafeteria and picked up a couple of double-double coffees and a half-dozen doughnuts.

  She popped the tab on the coffee lid and set it on the table with the treats, then sat down.

  After a moment, Juliet spoke.

  ‘I hate hospitals. They remind me of Des.’

  Miranda had thought exactly the same thing as she waited for the elevator. She reached into the box and pulled out a chocolate doughnut. She polished it off before she could come up with anything to say.

  ‘Juliet, what is it you want?’

  She expected a tantrum of sorts, but instead she watched her sister crumble. Juliet covered her face, and her shoulders shook with her sobs. ‘I don’t know.’

  Miranda wanted to cry, too. She could feel the need behind her eyes and in her sinuses, but she was all cried out. She’d done it in the bathroom that morning while Simon showed cartoons to Eddie on his computer. She’d done it when she called her mother and told her what had happened. She’d done it on the bus she insisted on taking from where Simon had dropped her off. She didn’t have a tear left.

  After a moment, Juliet sniffed and wiped her eyes. It looked as though she was going to start again, but she gave her head a shake and reached for her coffee.

  ‘Christ, your nails look fabulous,’ Miranda said, ‘even if the rest of you does look like you’ve been run over.’

  Juliet wiggled her fingers in front of her. ‘Yeah, I went all out. I had my make-up done, too.’

  ‘So basically you were dressed for your funeral.’

  ‘If I was going to go, I was going to go looking like a bombshell.’ Juliet sipped her coffee, and her eyes rolled up with delight. ‘God, you have no idea how good that tastes.’

  Miranda watched her sister go for a treat, then braced herself. ‘I called Mom.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘Because, fuck you, that’s why. If you had succeeded in killing yourself, she probably would have come back and moved in with me.’

  Juliet couldn’t hide her smile behind her doughnut; in fact she could barely keep the food in her mouth as she grinned. ‘Sorry, but that’s funny. How’s the little shit-machine?’

  ‘Simon took him for a ferry ride.’

  Juliet’s eyes welled up again. She shoved half her doughnut into her mouth and seemed to take for ever to swallow.

  ‘You and this guy are really into one another?’

  Surprised by Juliet’s reaction, Miranda answered quietly. ‘Seems that way. He’s good to me and he’s good to Eddie. We stayed at his place last night and will probably stay tonight if you’re still here.’

  ‘Sorry I was a complete shit to him.’ Juliet tore what was left of her doughnut in two, then placed the pieces on the table. ‘They’re keeping me a while longer, and then they want me to do some out-patient sessions.’

  ‘It won’t help.’

  Juliet gave Miranda a dirty look. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Well, it won’t. Yeah, get treatment for depression or anxiety or whatever you have, but it won’t make you happy. Nothing will make you happy as long as you’re stuck here.’

  ‘You know, you suck as a support person.’

  ‘I mean it.’ Miranda conjured up what Simon had said the night before and hoped it sounded as good coming out of her mouth as it had from his. ‘You can’t stay here. There’s nothing here for you. You hate singing that alternative crap and you hate the bar scene unless you’re bombed. When you were in Vancouver you held down a real job –’

  ‘Yeah, waiting tables,’ Juliet pointed out and rolled her eyes.

  ‘And you loved it. You loved talking to people and telling them that on Sundays you played guitar and sang Joni Mitchell songs. You were happy, really happy, and you should have gone back after Des died.’ Miranda paused to sip coffee and wash away some of the sugary taste of the doughnut. ‘You should leave.’

  Juliet began to cry again as she answered. ‘What about you and Eddie? What will you do if I leave?’

  ‘It’s a little late to think about that after trying to permanently check out.’

  ‘I didn’t think about it. If I had thought about it, I probably wouldn’t have taken those pills.’

  ‘That’s not true, Juliet. You’ve been selfish for a long time, and this was a part of that,’ Miranda told her. ‘Think about it now. I’ve had to, and the answer is that Eddie and I would be just fine if you had succeeded. I would have hurt for a really long time, but we would have been fine. If we did have to move Mom back here, or go up with Mom and Gran, we’d do it. You do what you have to, and I want you to do what you have to.’

  As Juliet wept over her coffee, Miranda thought about what she was going to say next. Even entertaining such a thing made the butterflies in her stomach go mad.

  ‘I won’t move in with Mom, by the way,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Simon … Simon said he could probably line me up with a job, a better paying job that could go somewhere if I want it to … in Moncton.’

  Juliet’s blubbering stopped and she gawked at Miranda. ‘You’re going to leave?’

  ‘Why not?’ It felt good to say it. She’d not done so in the face of the terrifying prospect of packing her bags and tagging along with Simon. ‘I don’t have anything keeping me here either.’

  ‘You’re going to move with some guy you just met?’

  Miranda held her hand up. ‘Just so we’re clear, you don’t get to judge me about my decisions when you’ve had your stomach pumped in the last twenty-four hours.’

  ‘I know, but, Jesus, Miranda, that’s one hell of a risk.’

  ‘I’m not marrying him, for God’s sake. I don’t even know if we’re going to live together when I get there, but I’m excited when I think about making a change. A scary change, but a good change.’ She got up from her chair and pulled one of Juliet’s hands away from the coffee cup. ‘I think we should both do what’s right and not just “get by”. I think we should hit the road.’

  Juliet
sniffled. ‘I don’t know if I want to go back to Vancouver.’

  ‘That’s why you should go to Toronto.’ She smiled as Juliet raised her brows in question. ‘Simon has a friend there. His name is Quinn. He’s retired, but he’s about Simon’s age. He volunteers with an out-patient programme at an addictions and mental health centre so you’d have someone to give you an ear when you need one. And his girlfriend just moved in with him, and they’re looking for someone to rent her old house for a few months while she gets ready to sell. You can pick up some shift work while you check out the music scene.’

  Fat tears streaked Juliet’s cheeks. She shook her hand free and hid her running nose behind her forearm.

  ‘It’s like you’ve got a whole new life for me tucked away in a box,’ she squeaked.

  Miranda sat down at the end of the bed. ‘Not quite. You’re going to have to bust your ass if you want to make it work, not me.’

  Once more, Juliet paused to get herself together. When she’d finished at last, she sounded tired. ‘I’m really sorry, Miranda. I’m, I’m just an asshole.’

  ‘Yeah, you are,’ Miranda replied, and scooted up to wrap her arms around her sister’s shoulders. ‘But I still love you, and I need you to get the hell away from me for a while.’

  While Juliet couldn’t be said to be cheerful, some of the tension seemed to leave her as they chatted over coffee and doughnuts until it was time for Miranda to leave.

  ‘Do you want me to bring Eddie in?’ Miranda asked as she stuffed the empty box and cups into the trash.

  Juliet shook her head. ‘God, no. I don’t want him to have the memory of seeing me in the hospital like I do from when Grandad died. Are you coming back tomorrow?’

  ‘Do you want me to?’

  ‘Yes,’ Juliet said softly, and shot Miranda a mischievous look. ‘Can you bring me some make-up?’

  ‘All right, but you can’t bitch me out if I bring you fall colours or Eastern colours or Martian colours or whatever.’