by Garry Ryan
“What about those?” Stacie pointed at a rack of leather jackets to the right.
“Riding jackets. We can fit you with one of those, too, if you like. They’re on sale,” Carly said.
“Really?” Stacie looked at Donna and smiled.
Donna rolled her eyes. “Mom, you don’t have to buy it just because it’s on sale.”
“No harm in looking, is there?” Stacie asked.
Thirty minutes later they walked out of Central Cycle and onto Bowness Road. Donna looked left and right at the renovated buildings and the new ones. She remembered that Bowness used to be its own town before being swallowed up by Calgary. She put the new helmet, still in its package, in the front corner of the pickup’s box.
The inside of the cab smelled of leather. Donna grabbed her keys and looked right. Stacie lifted the collar of her new red leather jacket. She looked at Donna. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
Donna laughed, looked back at her mother, who lifted the left side of her lip, and laughed harder.
“Your laugh is beautiful.” Stacie smiled as she worked her way out of the new leather. “I’ve always wanted a motorcycle jacket.”
×
Matt lifted his vanilla latte and sipped its sweetness. He looked across the tiny table at his uncle — his mother’s brother. You have same eyes as my mother. You took me in when I arrived unexpectedly on your back doorstep with my clothes in a green garbage bag and my hockey equipment in another bag. Without asking any questions, you and Lane took me in.
“Are we going to talk? We didn’t say a word on the way home. And we didn’t say a word in Co-Op when we dropped off Alexandre’s prescriptions.” Arthur put down his cup of tea.
Matt took a long breath and brushed at the front of his black T-shirt. “What do you want to know?”
“If you’re okay. What the doctor said.” Arthur’s short, thick fingers played with the string on the tea bag.
“That’s supposed to be confidential.” Matt smiled.
“Sorry.”
“I was joking, Uncle Arthur.”
“Oh.” Arthur made eye contact, then looked away.
“I told Alexandre about the nightmares, the trouble sleeping, and the loss of appetite. Then she asked me a series of questions.” Matt fiddled with the lid on his paper cup.
Arthur looked over at the baristas who were chatting behind the cash register. The young woman had short-cut brunette hair and looked to be seven months pregnant. The young man had short sandy-blond hair and smiled as they talked.
“She told me that I had most of the symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder. And she told me that ever since she had read about the kidnapping of Jessica and me, she’d been expecting a call from us. She said my symptoms are pretty typical after an experience like that. She said the medication should help with the anxiety and make it possible for me to sleep. She also thought that having the new puppy in the house might be a good thing.” Matt reached for his cup. “What about you?”
“I asked her how come I felt so good after the operation — you know, so glad to be alive after the cancer diagnosis — and now I’m tired all the time.” Arthur went back to fiddling with the string on his tea bag.
Matt took a sip of latte and waited.
“You know how you said I went from being a cancer survivor to being a cancer victim?”
Matt nodded.
“She said that the fatigue and the depression — her words, not mine — could be related and that I should take the medication, get more exercise, and get back to doing yoga. She said the physical activity would help.”
“So, Uncle Lane was right about us needing to walk the dog.” Matt shook his head.
“Just don’t tell him that. He’ll be insufferable.” Arthur smiled.
“Still think he doesn’t love you anymore?” Matt immediately regretted the question when his uncle began to cry.
×
Lori sat at her computer. Lane sat next to her in a chair he’d taken from the conference room.
She pointed at the screen. “This is what she sent to us using the parameters we provided.”
“It’s a long list. Is there any way we can put the various rentals on a map?” he asked.
“Give me a few minutes. I’ll see what I can do.” Lori reached for the phone.
Lane went into his office, picked up the phone, and entered the numbers for home. “Arthur?”
“We just got back,” Arthur said.
“And?”
“Dr. Alexandre wants to see both of us again next week.” Arthur said.
“And?”
“She thinks I’m depressed, so she gave me a prescription.”
Cancer, the gift that keeps on giving. “What about Matt?” Lane asked.
“We started to talk at Starbucks,” Arthur said.
“And?”
“We decided that we need to take the dogs for more walks. And you and I need to get back to doing yoga.”
“Yoga?” Lane thought. Christ, not yoga again! Two gay guys doing downward dog in a room filled with women. We really are turning into stereotypes.
“Yes.”
There’s something different in his tone of voice. “What’s wrong?”
“You and I need to talk face to face about this. The phone is no good for what I need to say.” Arthur hung up.
×
Stacie opened her front door to a woman with short, wavy chestnut hair and wearing a navy-blue jacket and slacks. Next to her was a uniformed RCMP officer. Stacie felt fear rising in her throat as she remembered the last time a uniformed person had knocked at her front door to tell her what happened to Lisa. “Yes?”
“Stacie Laughton? I’m Keely Saliba, and I’m with the RCMP. May we come in?” Keely asked.
“What for?” Stacie put her fists on her hips.
“We’d like to discuss a recent purchase you made,” Keely asked.
“I liked the leather jacket, so I bought it. What interest does the RCMP have in my jacket?” Stacie asked.
Keely closed her mouth and waited.
A few seconds later Stacie asked, “Would you like to come in?” She backed away from the front door.
Keely stepped inside, and the uniformed officer followed.
“You purchased a case of glycerine today.” Keely studied Stacie’s reaction.
Stacie’s face turned red. “Yes.”
“The reason for the purchase?” Keely asked.
“I’m a kindergarten teacher. I buy supplies for my classroom. It was on sale!” Stacie looked over her left shoulder.
Keely followed her gaze and saw the photograph of three people on the wall. A balding man stood between two younger women. One woman wore desert fatigues and a beret. Next to her, her twin wore jeans and a tank top. Both women smiled at the camera. “Your daughters?”
If it was possible to smile and frown at the same time, Stacie managed it. “Yes. Lisa and Donna. And their father.”
“Twins?” Keely thought, Why is this woman suddenly so sad?
“Lisa was killed by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. She was a medic. I thought that she would be safe because she was there to save lives. I was wrong.” Stacie turned to face Keely.
Keely almost took a step back when she saw how the woman had aged in a sentence. Instead, she took a breath. “What do you use the glycerine for?”
Stacie looked Keely in the eye. “My husband died of a heart attack almost exactly one year to the day after Lisa was murdered by a bomber who hid and detonated the improvised explosive. A year after that, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. This family — what’s left of my family — has earned the right to its privacy. I think I’ve answered enough questions for one day. Please leave.”
Inside the unmarked RCMP cruiser, Keely reached for her laptop and asked the driver, “Is there a coffee shop nearby? I need wireless access. I’ve got some checking to do.”
The driver asked, “Ever noticed how tiny women sometimes have the biggest balls?”
&n
bsp; Keely smiled. “You talkin’ ’bout me?”
The officer laughed. “Both you and Ms. Laughton, actually.”
“Did you notice that she didn’t answer the question when I asked her what she bought the glycerine for?”
×
“Make sure the butter goes right to the edge of the crust but no further.” John A. Jones stood at his son’s shoulder and watched to ensure that Chris made the sandwiches to exact specifications.
Chris thought, Go fuck yourself. “Mustard?”
“Yes, and spread the mustard just like the butter,” John A. said.
“What time are we leaving in the morning?” Chris was careful to spread the condiments precisely.
“As soon as the west wind begins to pick up.”
“Then we’d better start transferring the mix from the fridge into my pickup,” Chris said.
“How long will it take?” John A. took the plate with the bread and began adding slices of ham.
Chris did a mental calculation. “At least four hours.”
×
Donna had just finished a small job and was hefting her tools into the back of her pickup when her phone rang. She lifted the air nailer onto the tailgate and reached into the chest pocket of her overalls. “Hello.”
“The police came to see me!” Stacie said.
Oh, shit! Donna took a breath and looked around to see whether anyone on the construction site was near enough to overhear. “What did they want?”
“She was asking about the glycerine I bought,” Stacie said.
“That was fast.” What’s going on that I don’t know about?
“What do you want me to do?” Stacie asked.
“Have a cup of tea, have a nap, watch some daytime TV.”
“What are you going to do?” Stacie asked.
“Get a cup of coffee and do some thinking. I’ll call you back in a couple of hours.” Donna hung up, checked to see that she’d put away all of her tools, and closed the tailgate.
×
Christine sat at the kitchen table and cried.
Dan sat next to her, handed her tissue after tissue, and looked at Arthur.
Roz went to the door and whined to be let outside. Scout followed.
Arthur opened the back door and let the dogs out onto the deck. He closed the door and sat down across from them. “What happened?”
“She bought me makeup,” Christine said.
Arthur looked at Dan, who seemed to be doing his best to shrink into his chair.
“Who bought you makeup?” Arthur asked.
“Lola.” Christine pointed an accusatory finger at Dan. “His mother.”
Daniel shrank some more.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Arthur said.
“Christine and I were supposed to meet some of my mom’s friends for supper at the golf club. My mom gave Christine some makeup to wear,” Dan said.
“I still don’t . . .” Arthur said.
Christine’s eyes stopped her uncle mid-sentence. “It was a light base. She wanted me to wear it on my face, neck, and hands.” Christine pointed to a lighter patch of skin on the back of her left hand. The skin was a light summer tan against Christine’s cream-in-your-coffee skin. “She made an appointment with her hairdresser. She straightened my hair.” Christine pulled at her black shoulder-length hair.
Arthur stared at Christine’s hair and saw it had lost most of its natural curl. “She did that?” Arthur asked, then he glared at Daniel. “What the fuck is the matter with her?”
Daniel sat up straight in his chair. “We had a big fight. I’m moving out.”
“There’s more,” Christine said.
Arthur looked at Christine. “What?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“I thought you were on the pill.” Arthur said.
“I was . . .” Christine began.
Arthur felt a smile spreading across his face. He could feel the familiar, almost forgotten thrill of joy rolling back in waves.
“Why are you smiling?” Daniel asked.
Christine began to cry again as she stood up. “I’m scared. I don’t think I can be a good mother. And what if . . . what if Lola doesn’t love the baby because it’s black?”
Arthur’s smile broadened as the words came to him. “Of course you’ll be a good mother. And don’t worry about Lola. Your baby will be perfect because its mother is perfect.” He held out his arms.
Christine leaned into him. “Where’s Matt?”
“Asleep.” Arthur held her back with his right hand and pressed her closer. “You’ll be fine.” He saw Dan staring at the floor. “Daniel.”
“What?” The young man lifted his head.
Arthur waved him over. He wrapped his arms around the pair and held them close. “We’ll all be fine. The baby will be just fine.”
×
Lane tucked his cell phone into his jacket pocket.
“What happened?” Lori sat at her computer. It was clicking and complaining away as it always did when it was doing a search. “You’ve gone white.”
Nigel stepped through the office door and stopped.
“Ha. Funny. Lola bought Christine makeup to make her look white,” Lane said.
“Bitch,” Lori said.
“Who’s Lola?” Nigel leaned on the counter.
“Dan’s mother.” Lane looked from Lori to Nigel.
“Who’s Dan?” Nigel asked.
“Christine’s boyfriend,” Lane said.
“Who’s Christine?” Nigel scratched his head with a paper clip.
Lori glared at Nigel, threw her arms up above her head, and smiled. “Enough with the questions.”
“Christine is my niece. She’s pregnant.” Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? The words are just falling out like I have no control over what I say. He looked at Nigel.
“Well?” Lori stared at Lane.
“Well, what?” Lane asked.
Lori rolled her eyes. “Well, why are you here? Why aren’t you on your way home?”
“We have a couple of guys who are about to set off a bomb,” Lane said.
“In his neighbourhood.” Nigel looked at Lori.
“So you need to go home, see Christine, and be closer to the suspects when we find their exact location.” Lori pointed at herself and then at Nigel.
“We’ll be in constant contact with you when it comes to any and all new information,” Nigel said.
“Let’s just assume that the Jones boys aren’t —” Lori looked at Nigel and mimed throwing a football.
“— living next door to you.” Nigel pretended to catch the ball and winked at Lori.
×
Donna poured the last of the glycerine into the funnel set into the seventy-five–litre container in the back of the van.
She checked the time on her cell phone and began adding the second chemical. Her shoulders and back ached from being bent over in the cramped quarters in the back of the van. She looked left at the metal wall of the panel van and thought, The last thing Lisa saw was the metal walls of an armoured personnel carrier.
She used both hands to empty the four-litre container into the funnel. Once this is done, both vans will be ready. Then I’ll test to make sure everything is working the way it should.
×
Lane opened the front door of his house and listened for any clues that would prepare him for whatever was going on inside.
Roz ran up the stairs from the family room to see who had arrived. She wagged her tail and approached him, expecting a scratch.
Lane rubbed the dog under her chin. Scout was next to work his way up the stairs. When his tail wagged, his entire body wiggled. Lane rubbed him under the chin too.
Lane kicked off his shoes and followed the sound of conversation down the stairs and into the family room.
Christine sat next to Dan on the couch. Arthur sat in the leather easy chair. Matt sat next to him in the rocker. Next-door neighbour Maria had her legs tucked under her in the leather t
ub chair.
Lane looked at Christine and Dan. Conversation stopped. Eyes turned to Lane. Just say what you’ve practised all the way here. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
Christine smiled, stood, and hugged Lane around the neck. “Are you mad at me?”
“No. I’m just happy.” Lane could feel her tears on the side of his neck.
“Are you mad at me?” Dan stood with his legs shoulder-width apart, one leg set slightly back.
Once again all eyes were focused on Lane, who walked over to Dan and shook his hand.
“Have some pizza.” Matt took a hefty bite out of a slice. He turned to Christine. “We haven’t seen much of you lately. Does this mean we’ll be seeing you more often?”
Christine blushed. “I was trying to get to know Dan’s parents. When we found out I was pregnant, well, we thought . . .” She looked to Dan.
“We thought that, you know, it would be better if my parents knew Christine better before we told them.” Dan looked around the room gauging everyone’s reactions. He avoided eye contact with Lane.
“We all know how well that worked out.” Matt chewed as he spat out the words.
Christine said, “This isn’t a joke!”
“Yes, but you do deserve a little bit of a hard time. We —” Matt pointed at Lane and Arthur “— felt you’d moved on to bigger and better things.”
Daniel shook his head. “It wasn’t like that.”
Lane looked at Dan, who continued to avoid eye contact.
“Dan?” Lane asked.
Dan stood up and took a long breath.
He’s still expecting me to be mad at him, Lane thought before he stood and opened his arms to hug Dan.
“I love her,” Dan said just loud enough for Lane to hear.
“How come you came home, Uncle Lane? I thought you were after some crazy bomber guy,” Matt said.
Lane looked at his nephew, who was licking his fingers after devouring another wedge of pizza. “Good to see you’ve got your appetite back. The pizza parlours can expect larger profits next week.”
“Bomber?” Maria instinctively put her hand on her belly as if to ward off any danger to the baby.
“Some guy is getting together the chemicals to make a bomb, and Uncle Lane is looking for him.” Matt waved at the air between him and Maria. “When my uncle is on the trail, the bad guys are out of luck.”
