Leaning back in her seat, Andy reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring, warm from her own body heat. Kate had given no other direction. After a few days worrying over this seemingly trivial item, Andy had stuck it in her pocket and carried it around. She’d watched Kate twist this ring around her fingers so many times, usually when she was nervous or thinking. Andy knew what it felt like under her own fingers when she held Kate’s hand. The warmth of it, the smoothness, the familiarity. It reminded Kate of her sister, Sarah, and all the things Kate was sure she’d done wrong.
Andy sighed and put the ring back into her pocket. It was a reminder to Andy now, of all the ways she’d screwed up. All the ways she hadn’t been able to protect Kate, all the things she’d said and done that had pushed Kate farther away. Andy still couldn’t believe how she’d managed to fuck up this one thing that was more important to her than anything else.
She stabbed at the button for the radio, flipping rapidly and angrily through channels until something loud and obnoxious reverberated back at her. Maybe she’d take Nic’s advice after all.
*
Andy ran the near-dark path through the woods around her parents’ place, the air damp and cold against her already warm face. She was only half an hour in, her muscles now stretched and loose, her breathing rhythmic and unconscious. Time to push, then. She lengthened her stride until she had to pull in her core muscles to balance it out, her heart working a little harder to keep up. Andy focused on the way the air burned on the way in, keeping her eyes two steps ahead on the path, planning her footfall, judging the slight slope down to her right. When she felt comfortable with that, she pushed again and again until she was hours into this run, the sun shining its muddied light through the branches above her. She only let herself settle in on the last turn toward home and she was hurting by then, her fingertips tingling, the now predictable waves of nausea flipping through her stomach.
She hadn’t pushed herself like this since her cadet training at Depot, and that was over a decade ago. Most of the cadets in her troop had been worried about passing the physical exam, but Andy had only been concerned about excelling. Eleven years later, Andy knew she couldn’t push her body the way she had back then. But she had been pushing hard for the past month. It was an outlet, a desperate attempt to keep her life moving. It was punishment. Andy hadn’t run at all the first few weeks after closing up the viral threat case in Hidden Valley. For the first time in a long time, she felt unsure, unbalanced. Her own apartment seemed unfamiliar, and all her old pre-Kate routines seemed wrong. She’d become sluggish and sick. By the third morning of waking up and puking, Andy knew she needed to do something. So she’d run. She went right back to her morning twenty kilometres without a gentle re-emergence. She pushed until she was forced to lean against a tree and throw up the thin, watery contents of her stomach. At least there was no shame in that.
Andy took a turn on the path, slowing her pace, wanting to finish her run on the far side of the house. She was slightly dizzy and knew she was going to be sick the second she stopped. She’d left the house before her parents were awake, but they were sure to be up by now, taking in whatever BC winter sun they could through the large windows in the dining room that overlooked the yard. Andy wanted to avoid her parents seeing her like this. The sprawling, mismatched house came into view, and Andy came to a stop outside the cleared yard. She walked in a large circle, hands on her hips and head back as she pulled in breath after breath of air. The muscles in her thighs reached their peak of burn as she doubled over and threw up, feeling disgusting but almost instantly better. Andy stood straight again, wiped her mouth on the inside of her shirt, and walked to the back door of her parents’ house.
Her mother was at the door, looking her up and down the way only a parent can. Andy was a full foot taller than her mom, but that look had always made her feel small and exposed. Andy stood silently and took it, red-faced and sweating, her body slightly shaky now with exertion and a chill. When she couldn’t handle it any more, she bent down and untied her shoes, letting them drop to the floor.
“Your father is hurt you didn’t wait for him this morning,” her mother finally said, a carefully laid question in the comment.
Andy shrugged and wiped her face on her sleeve. “I was up early.” It wasn’t a lie. She’d barely slept, restlessly moving on the single bed usually used by her nephew until it was morning enough to run. Her answer brought on another long look from her mom, and this time Andy shifted uncomfortably.
“She’ll need something to come back to, Andy.” Her mother pulled Andy’s face down, kissed her cheek, and walked back toward the kitchen.
Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea after all. Or maybe Nic knew exactly what she was doing.
Andy followed her mom through the house, but that feeling of being exposed stayed with her, as if her heart was outside her body, uncomfortable and dangerously visible. Suddenly, Andy’s shirt seemed too thin. It couldn’t possibly offer enough protection. She wanted her softbody armour vest, wanted to pull it over her head and tighten the straps until it sat just right, its layers of bulletproof material all the protection she needed. It was a ridiculous thought. A weak thought. Unworthy of Sgt. Andy Wyles. She took three slow, steadying breaths as she mounted the stairs up to the next level, the sun bright through the dining room windows.
“Look who I found at the back door, Simon,” Andy’s mother was saying, taking her seat at the table.
“Hi, sweetheart!”
Her dad stood, unfolding his long frame and crossing the kitchen to give Andy a hug. Andy let herself feel a moment of comfort. Nothing had ever felt like a hug from her dad. It was exactly what she needed, but it didn’t help that feeling of her heart being outside her chest. He stepped back to take a look at her. He always looked proud, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have her as a daughter.
“You training for something, Andy? Looks like you’re putting on a lot of muscle,” he commented as he sat back down. This was a pretty typical question from her dad, who had also been her running coach. He was the one who had set up her training schedule for Depot.
Andy didn’t answer right away, getting a drink of water from the tap first, the only thing her stomach could handle right now. “No, not training.” She felt her mom’s brown eyes boring into her. Andy ignored it and leaned back against the counter, taking small sips of water.
“I take it you haven’t heard from Kate?” Her dad took a bite of toast, a thick smear of honey on top.
Forty-seven days. “No,” Andy said quickly, wanting to head off any more questions.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I guess she just needs some more time.” Andy shook it off. She didn’t want her parents to think she’d come here to wallow.
Andy pushed away from the counter. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“No, come and eat first,” her mom said in the same commanding tone she’d been using on Andy since she showed up at the front door as a two year old holding her biological mother’s hand. She’d inherited her adoptive mother’s steel core, a gift of environment rather than biology.
Andy considered resisting her mom’s directive, but her stomach was now growling its discomfort. So she took her usual seat and pulled a muffin out from under the faded and thin tea towel. Still warm from the oven, the oats and blueberries melted in Andy’s mouth. She hadn’t enjoyed food in a long time.
Without asking, her mom got up and poured her a coffee, bringing it back to the table with the same interrogative look in her eyes. Andy didn’t bother hiding. She knew she was hurting. Nic knew, Jack knew, her parents knew. Probably even Staff Sgt. Finns knew, though she’d avoided the topic of Kate with him as much as possible. Maybe a little outside input wouldn’t hurt. Or maybe it was exactly what she needed. Andy’s mom handed her the coffee and sat down again, saying nothing.
“Are you here for the weekend?” Andy’s dad said.
“I’ll head back to the city tomorrow morning.”
“Well then, before you take your shower, think you could help me with a few roof repairs? I was going to call someone in to fix the flashing, since your mother won’t let me up there on my own,” he said, obviously disgruntled.
“I enjoy the benefits of your income, dear,” Andy’s mother said mildly, picking up the paper and flipping it over.
Andy wanted to smile. The familiar rhythms and conversations of home soothed her. But nothing could quite cover the fact that Kate was still gone, and Andy couldn’t be certain that she was coming back.
“Sure, I can help out with that. Have you had the gutters done?”
Two chores turned into three, then four, and the grey day slipped by as Andy and her dad tackled a never-ending list of repairs to the old house. In an old green slicker and a climbing harness, Andy climbed on to the roof. Her father passed her tools and called out instructions. Even when the freezing drizzle slipped the occasional cold drip through an unseen rip in her jacket, Andy enjoyed the sensation of being outside, her hands and thoughts occupied. Andy didn’t stop herself from thinking about Kate, but she didn’t wallow. She wanted it to make sense, to order her thoughts and events until a logical conclusion could be made. Evidence could be gathered, assumptions broken down, questions asked, pieces fit together. Andy had to discover some line of questioning she hadn’t yet pursued, some fault she hadn’t yet found in herself that had driven Kate away. She could find a way to make up for it, if only Kate would come back and give her the chance.
No. Not true.
Andy had plenty of evidence to suggest whatever was going on with Kate had begun long before they met. Andy could not take responsibility for Kate never dealing with losing her sister or what she had done to try to save her. And Kate had been dissatisfied with her job at Vancouver East emergency room before Andy had walked in last May. Kate’s unwillingness to ever put herself first was an almost ingrained trait. Andy had become all too familiar with Kate’s reaction to something that hurt or hit too close to home. Kate’s shoulders would lift slightly, as if bracing for impact, and she’d give a small shake of her head. Then she’d relax, or seem like she was. At the very least, she’d force her body into a more neutral position, like she was convincing herself and everyone around her that she was fine. Fine.
Andy wasn’t fine, and right now she didn’t mind showing it. She dropped the last handful of rotting, half-frozen leaves from the eaves trough into the bucket below. Standing carefully on the slippery, rough shingles, Andy stretched her back and looked up into the winter grey sky, searching uselessly for the afternoon sun behind the clouds. Eventually, a short gust of wind threw more drizzle against the heat of her neck and Andy decided it was time to climb down.
Andy stood under the hot shower for a long time, her whole body turning pink except the four inch long jagged strip above her left hip, a small, muddled mass of scar tissue Andy fingered lightly. The memory it brought had nothing to do with getting shot down at the wharf in Seattle or the first round of stitches, or even of getting blown up or kicked and the second and third set of stitches that followed.
It made her think of the Montana cabin she and Kate had shared together for three days. She remembered Kate not so carefully pulling off Andy’s bandage, inspecting her wound, touching the stretched, red edges of skin around the dark stitches, her forehead wrinkling with concentration and worry. Andy remembered whining. She really hated to be babied. Her last girlfriend, Rachel, had driven Andy up the wall by babying her. Kate had let Andy carry on as she cleaned the wound, applied a topical cream, taped a fresh bandage in place, and then finally told Andy that if she referred to her chosen profession as babying one more time, they were going to have an issue. Andy had fallen in love just a little bit more with Kate Morrison then.
Andy smiled as she made her way back downstairs, dressed in faded track pants and a worn hoodie from one of her older brothers. It felt good to smile, and Andy tried to hold onto the tenuous bout of confidence. Of course Kate was coming back. She couldn’t possibly come to any other conclusion.
Andy found her parents in the kitchen, her mom rinsing asparagus stalks in the sink, and her dad carefully patting them dry and wrapping each one in a thin strip of prosciutto. A pile of ingredients sat by the stove: olive oil, garlic and a papery white onion, arborio rice, cream, white wine, and a paper bag with what Andy guessed to be mushrooms. Andy could imagine three steaks in the scratched-up glass dish marinating in the fridge right now.
As Andy entered the kitchen, Elaine smiled and gestured to the ingredients. “Would you mind?”
Andy didn’t mind something else to keep her head and hands occupied. Not at all. She poured some olive oil into the saucepan, deftly peeled and diced the onion, and added them to the pan when it was hot. Cooking onions was her favourite smell in the world. As she stirred in the rice, she felt a pang in her chest. Her favourite was Kate’s skin after a shower. Andy’s shoulders dropped again, her confidence from moments ago gone. Forty-seven days and not a word.
“Will it help to talk about it, Andy?” her father said.
Andy concentrated on stirring the rice, watching the grains turn from white to translucent as she poured in the vegetable stock. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Well, I’d like to, if you don’t mind,” her mom said, snapping off the tough end of an asparagus stalk and dropping it in the compost bucket. Elaine didn’t wait for an answer. Andy hadn’t really expected her to. “When I met Kate, I thought that I’d never met someone with such extremes of strength and vulnerability.”
Her mother had an uncanny ability to see right to the very heart of people.
“She’s stronger than I am,” Andy murmured, wondering why she’d never said this to Kate.
“I imagine she is, but she has so little self-awareness. Your strength has always been knowing who you are and what you want and not being afraid to show it or seek it out. I have no doubt Kate knows exactly who you are, Andy. But not herself. And that,” she said, pointing her paring knife at Andy, “is not your fault.”
Andy uncorked the wine and added a couple of splashes, watching the alcohol sizzle and burn off. She stirred methodically, not changing speed, moving the wooden spoon around the bottom of the pan. Good risotto took time and patience and an understanding of the balance of liquids and heat and absorption.
With a guilty twist in her stomach, she remembered practically yelling at Kate while they were on assignment, hurling Kate’s lack of self-preservation skills in her face as if Kate was doing it intentionally to piss Andy off. It was her biggest weakness, and Andy had shoved it in her face. It didn’t matter that Andy had been so angry because she’d been scared. It made no difference that she’d been unwilling or unable to see the extent of Kate’s struggle. She was supposed to love Kate, not accuse her.
Andy’s hands shook as she roughly chopped the mushrooms and added them to the saucepan. She flexed her hand irritably, took a long, slow breath, and continued to stir.
“What am I supposed to do?” Andy said into the silence that had fallen. She didn’t look up, aware that both her parents were looking at her. It had been a while since she’d asked them for advice.
“Take care of yourself, sweetheart. I think it’s all you can do,” her father said, wiping his hands on a dishcloth.
“And trust her,” Elaine said. “Kate told you what she needs. So trust her.”
Andy shifted this idea, simple yet new, trying to decide if she could do it. She lifted a few grains of the now-creamy rice, blew on it lightly then tasted it. The seasoning was perfect, the rice still firm. Could she do it? Could she be patient and trust Kate?
Maybe. That was as close as she could get. Maybe.
Chapter Two
Andy woke early on Monday, rolled out of bed and got into her running gear. She could feel cramps low in her abdomen. Perfect. Andy hated running when she had her period. Everything felt off, her joints too loose, her gait awkward. But she hated more the thought it would st
op her from running. So she ran. But she didn’t push. Just her regular route, no more running until she puked. Getting caught by her mother had been embarrassing enough to snap her out of it.
A run, a shower, breakfast. Pulling on her uniform one piece at a time, Andy felt more and more like herself with each addition. At the front door, she zipped up her storm jacket and settled her hat on her head, its brim low over her eyes. At the last minute, she tucked her black watch cap into her pocket, just in case she was going to be out on the street today. She really had no idea what Finns was going to hand her this morning. As she drove her cruiser through pre-rush hour Vancouver streets, Andy thought about Finns mentioning an assignment, like he already had something in mind. She hoped they could bypass any mention of their last conversation, but knew at the very least she was going to be under some heavy scrutiny. Andy felt up to it today. Finally.
Andy took the stairs up to her cubicle, greeting a few others with a quick good morning or a nod of her head. Andy knew full well she intimidated the shit out of a lot of people. That wasn’t her intention, at least, not most of the time. She was who she was, she did her job the way she thought best, she worked hard, she worked as a team. How others perceived her was pretty low on her list of things to worry about. Taking off her jacket, Andy scanned her desk, looking at the picture of her niece and nephew, telling herself she’d have to get a new one soon, with her sister-in-law due to give birth any day. There was a picture of Max, too, his blue eyes almost disappearing as he grinned. Andy still had the picture of herself, Kate, Marie, and Tyler stuck under the metal trim and the picture brought Andy comfort for the first time in a long time. Yes, it had been forty-nine days and yes, for some reason the number fifty caused an inexplicable tremor in her body. But here she was, surviving.
Troop 18 Page 2
