Shadowboxer

by Jessica L. Webb

  “Fine. You tell me why I’m not going to be there tonight.”

  “You had a good time with Ali the other night,” Jordan said immediately. “I think that makes you nervous, so you want to warn her off and let her know you aren’t reliable. Which you are.”

  Madi gave her an incredulous look. “Except I’m not. Since I’m skipping out tonight.”

  “To take an extra work shift. You’re not going out to party. Which is where you would have been a few years ago.” Madi still didn’t say anything. “Sierra thinks you’re reliable. Most of the kids at the gym do.”

  Madi picked at the corner of her sparkly phone case. She was moments away from swearing or leaving.

  “Ugh, I hate this honesty shit,” Madi finally said. “Fine. Tell Ali I needed a break from all her awesomeness. It’s basically true. Oh, and I’ll be back on Monday.”

  “I’ll do that.” Jordan sensed Madi needed to be done. “See you, friend.”

  Madi’s expression softened for just a fraction of a moment. “Yeah, see you.”

  Jordan pulled open the door of her office, still thinking about the exchange with Madi. Their relationship had changed over the years. Jordan had known her since she was thirteen years old, tiny and explosive and sharp. She was still all those things but tempered by time and meds and therapy along with the arrival of an aunt who gave her some solid ground. And by Jordan and Cay’s war of constancy. Jordan had always been there for Madi. She would always be there for Madi.

  “Hey, Jordan,” Tim called out. “I put three calls through to your voicemail. None said urgent, so I didn’t forward to your cell. And Cay’s looking for you.”

  Jordan approached the desk as Tim reeled off the various callers since she’d left for lunch. He was sorting through the mail, and he picked up a thick yellow envelope. Jordan glimpsed a line of ink on the back of the package as he flipped it over. Her brain lit up with a warning.

  “Tim, put the package down, please.”

  Tim put the package on the counter and took a step back. “What is it?”

  Jordan picked up two pens and flipped the envelope over on the counter. A bladed sun was sketched in dark ink on the back. A frisson of fear coursed through her chest, but when Jordan spoke, her voice was calm.

  “We need to call the police.”

  Chapter Four

  “Okay, here’s what we know.”

  Rachel balanced on the edge of Jordan’s desk. She’d arrived in full cop mode about half an hour after Jordan had called. Cay sat in her chair with one leg tucked under her, chewing on the edge of her coffee lid in agitation.

  “Is it a threat? We wouldn’t still be here if it was a threat.” Cay’s voice was jumpy, with none of her usual calm.

  “No, Cay. It’s not a threat. As far as I can tell, there is no danger here.”

  Jordan knew Rachel wouldn’t lie, but she could sense her uncertainty.

  “Let her talk, Cay,” Jordan said gently, nodding at Rachel to continue.

  “It’s a plain piece of paper with the words ‘We’re hungry’ printed in the middle.”

  No one said anything. Jordan could hear the voices of the other uniforms still at the front desk.

  “That’s it?” Jordan said. “The package seemed thicker than one piece of paper.”

  “The paper was in the middle of a bunch of folded grocery store flyers. We’ve taken it all in, but I’ve got to tell you the only reason this is getting any kind of attention is because the same symbol was sent to the regional councilors earlier this week.”

  “And the recycling bins,” Jordan said. She wished she’d picked up a coffee at lunch. “From last night. Yesterday night? Sorry, it’s blurring.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rachel said, her voice sharp.

  “In the Heights. The recycling bin tower. It had the same symbol.” Rachel clearly had no idea what Jordan was talking about. “I told them to call you.”

  “You were there?”

  “One of our kids was involved, and they didn’t want to take him in. Frederickson called me instead of waiting for the court system to wake up.”

  Rachel pulled out her phone and started scrolling. “I need to make some calls.”

  “Sorry, Rach. I assumed you knew.”

  Rachel put her phone to her ear and waved Jordan’s apology away as she walked out of the office.

  Jordan and Cay stared at each other in silence. Cay had stopped chewing on her coffee cup, but she still looked unsettled.

  “You good?”

  “Yeah,” Cay said. “Just freaked me out a little.” She laughed and sat up. “I watch too much TV. That’s the problem.”

  “You and your crime shows,” Jordan said. She never understood how Cay could do the job she did every day and still go home and watch that kind of misery on TV.

  Cay sniffed and tossed her orange hair behind her shoulder. “You know how I feel about a man in uniform.”

  Jordan laughed and turned back to her computer to try and focus on her paperwork until they heard anything more from Rachel. Her phone rang a moment later.

  “Jordan McAddie speaking.”

  “Very official, JP.”

  Jordan felt her cheeks warm. She wondered how long until she got used to hearing Ali’s voice again.

  “Hey. What can I do for you?”

  “Sorry to track you down at work, but I don’t have your cell number.”

  “Oh. It’s fine. And I should remedy that.” Jordan gave her cell number and tried to ignore Cay’s curious glance off to her left.

  “Thanks. I just wanted to let you know I can’t make it to the gym tonight. I’ve got a conference call with our Southeast Asian partners, so the timing isn’t going to work.”

  “Sure, that’s not a problem.”

  “It is, actually. I told Madi I was going to be there. I made a commitment.”

  “It’s okay, Ali. Madi took a shift at work tonight, so she’s not going to be there either.”

  “Oh.”

  Jordan couldn’t tell if Ali was relieved or disappointed. “Madi said to tell you she needed a break from your awesomeness, and she’ll see you on Monday.”

  Ali laughed and Jordan smiled at the sound. “Then I’ll stop feeling guilty.”

  “Yes, definitely.”

  An awkward pause had Jordan trailing her thumb over the ridges and scars of her desk.

  “What are you doing this weekend?”

  Jordan let out a breath. What to do with the fact that she’d been hoping Ali would ask?

  “I’ve got a final paper due next week, so mostly coursework. You?”

  “Coursework?”

  Another reminder that she and Ali did not really know each other at all.

  “Um, yeah. I’m taking my Master’s of Social Work at Dal.”

  “I didn’t know that. Jordan, that’s great.”

  Jordan squirmed. The accomplishment seemed so small compared to Ali’s. She searched for condescension in Ali’s tone, the sickly sweetness of being patronized.

  “Are you liking the courses? Are they applicable or more theoretical?”

  Those were good questions. Jordan relaxed a little. “A bit of both. And I’m liking both, actually.”

  “I want to know more,” Ali said, her tone so definitive it made Jordan smile again. “How about a road trip tomorrow to Mahone Bay? I haven’t seen the fall scarecrows in almost twenty years. And you can tell me about your courses. And, you know…your life.” Ali’s voice trailed off at the end. Wistful, somehow.

  Jordan didn’t hesitate. “Is nine too early to pick you up?”

  “Make it eight, and I’ll bring breakfast.”

  “Deal.”

  Jordan hung up the phone and stood staring at the beige handset for a long time. She was trying to define the feeling in her chest. No, her whole body. Warmth and excitement replaced worry and guilt. But caution was present, too, a lifelong adherence to not putting your trust in hope. But caution could have a place with happ
iness.

  “She’s making you less grumpy, I see,” Cay said. “She should stick around, that Ali Clarke.”

  Jordan blinked and focused back on her desk, the sounds of the office buzzing around them, and Cay’s curious expression.

  “We’re going to Mahone Bay tomorrow,” Jordan said.

  “That sounds lovely,” Cay said casually, then turned back to her computer. “Don’t forget to let her see how wonderful you are.”

  Jordan shook her head at her friend and opened her email. She scanned the staff notices and Ministry updates, and then she opened an email from a local social services group she belonged to, where people posted links to resources and asked questions about waitlists and support groups. The subject of one of the posts was “weird delivery,” and it had been posted that morning by a mental health worker who worked in a seniors care program. Jordan clicked on the post, then opened the picture embedded in the email, instantly recognizing the package, the flyers, and the typed note with the words “We’re hungry.”

  Jordan swiveled her monitor to the left. “Cay, take a look at this.”

  Cay’s eyes went wide when she looked at Jordan’s screen. “Who sent that?”

  “Program lead at Barrington Senior Care.”

  “Take it to Rachel.”

  Jordan opened the email app on her phone as she walked to the front desk. Rachel was sitting on a bench by the front window, her cell phone pressed between her shoulder and ear, taking notes on a small notepad on her lap.

  “I don’t have anything more yet, I’m afraid,” Rachel said when she hung up.

  “I do.” Jordan opened the email. “Another agency received a similar package today.”

  Rachel’s eyes went wide as she took the phone from Jordan and scrolled through the short message.

  “Tell me about this group.”

  “It’s pretty informal, maybe thirty or forty members all having some tie to social services in the region.”

  “Did you post about the package?”

  Jordan tried not to be hurt that her friend thought she would do such a thing. “No.”

  “Sorry,” Rachel said. “I just needed to check.”

  “No problem,” Jordan said. Rachel was stressed, and Jordan felt responsible.

  Rachel scrolled through the message before she handed the phone back to Jordan. “Can you post a message to the group? Ask them if anyone else has received a package. Put my contact number on there.”

  Jordan opened up a new message and typed rapidly. She showed Rachel the message, then hit Send when she nodded her approval.

  “What is this, Rach?”

  Rachel sighed. “I wish I knew. But it’s starting to look more like a protest than a gang.”

  The graffiti, the recycling bins, the packages. All messages? Protesting what?

  “So what’s next, then?”

  “Business as usual, Ms. McAddie. Same advice as a few days ago. Keep your eyes open, and let me know if anything comes up.”

  Jordan looked down at the picture on her phone. She wanted to see through the message to the intent of the sender. Not possible, so she closed the email app and shoved the phone back in her pocket.

  “Come by for dinner this weekend?” Rachel said as they walked toward the front door.

  “I’ve got plans, actually. But thanks for thinking of me,” Jordan said.

  Rachel gave her an appraising look. “Ali?”

  Jordan scuffed her feet like an embarrassed child. She laughed at herself and stopped, looking up to meet Rachel’s gaze. “Yeah.”

  Rachel smiled. “Have fun, my friend. I mean it.”

  “Roger that, Constable.”

  Rachel sketched a salute on her way out the door. Jordan stood for just a moment in the warmth of the foyer, taking in the fall sun. Something was happening. A slight shift in the ground under her feet, a rumbling of an approaching storm. Combined with the pull in the air of having Ali back in town, Jordan felt nerves and anticipation like the moments before a fight. Dread and excitement. She shivered and blinked into the sun. Then she turned back to her desk and the familiarity of work.

  * * *

  Jordan’s phone was ringing when she got out of the shower. The Friday night workout at the gym was often sparse because the kids wanted to launch into the weekend early. Jordan usually took Fridays to run her own circuit, and her muscles were pleasantly sore.

  She walked across her small apartment in a clean T-shirt and boxers and picked up her phone.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, sweetheart. It’s Mom calling.” Jordan smiled into the phone. Her mother was incapable of any other phone greeting. “I hope it’s not too late. I tried to wait until after your gym session with the kids.”

  Rosa McAddie had been sober for seventeen years, and Jordan was still getting used to her mom being aware of her schedule and her life.

  “You timed your call perfectly,” Jordan said, walking into her kitchen and opening her fridge. “How are you?”

  “I’m good. I was supposed to volunteer down at the seniors centre this afternoon, but they have a viral outbreak or something, so they’re under quarantine.”

  “That’s too bad,” Jordan said, half listening as she searched her fridge for food. She closed the door and snagged an apple from the bowl on the counter. “Did you get out shopping or something instead?”

  “Oh, no. I didn’t have a list ready or anything. I told the respite worker not to come, but she insisted we use your father’s hours this week. You know what Joan is like.”

  Jordan didn’t, not really. But she murmured her agreement, feeling guilty and grateful someone in her mother’s life insisted she get out of the house. The respite worker would stay with Jordan’s dad while her mom shopped, or volunteered, or occasionally took a class at the community centre. Her dad mostly sat in his chair, but he was sometimes unpredictable when left alone, trying to make himself something to eat or wandering off. And he got agitated when Jordan’s mom wasn’t around. Jordan and Jake had both tried sitting with him, but that never worked. He didn’t like being alone with either of them, so he’d begin mumbling about Steven and the docks and unfairness.

  “So, I was thinking,” Jordan’s mom said, bringing Jordan back. “Maybe you and I could go to the farmers’ market in the morning?”

  The Halifax Seaport Market was a massive space on the harbour, taking up almost a full block. It was a mix of fresh produce, seafood, and hundreds of artisans. And it would be packed on a Saturday morning. Jordan’s mom rarely went to the market. It was an indulgence when they lived on such a limited budget. But if she was asking to go, she was wanting to treat herself.

  “I’d really like to. Let me just see if I can rearrange my plans for the morning.”

  “Oh, no. No, no, don’t do that. I can just head to Atlantic Foods and maybe pick up some crullers for your father. No need to rearrange anything.”

  “Mom, stop fretting for a moment.”

  Her mother laughed. “Jordan McAddie, you say that like it’s possible.”

  Jordan laughed too, warmth filling her chest. She allowed it to enter and stay there, a skill she’d had to learn and practice.

  “I’d like to go to the market with you, so let me just see if I can push back my plans a bit. Unless…” Jordan swallowed against the sudden image of shopping at the market with her mom and Ali. It was a perfect moment in her head, with the noise of the crowd and the view of the water through the windows. She and Ali standing back and drinking coffee while her mom sorted through bunches of kale and rainbow chard. An ache so fierce in her chest at this image, this rightness, this family, made Jordan take a step back.

  “Jordan? I don’t want to be a bother.”

  Jordan took a breath. She thought about Madi calling her an idiot. Letting negative predictions about the future run her life.

  “Would you be okay if I asked someone to come with us? I made plans for the morning, but I’m wondering if she’d like to come.”
/>   “Yes, of course,” Jordan’s mom said, sounding surprised.

  Another breath. Why did this conversation require so much bravery? “Do you remember Ali Clarke? From high school?”

  “Your girlfriend. Yes, I remember.” Her mom’s voice was softer now. Pain and regret from the cold times of Jordan’s childhood.

  “She’s back in town for a little while. I’ll see if she’d like to come with us.”

  “That would be lovely. Perfect, really.” Jordan’s mom cleared her throat, a definitive sound that moved them both away from hurt. “You just let me know. I’ll be awake for another hour or so.”

  Jordan hung up the phone and bit into her apple. She was putting off calling Ali. She was putting off denying a hope and a want. It was far worse than rejection.

  Jordan finished her apple and rinsed her hands. She shook out her arms and took a steadying breath. Then she called Ali Clarke to invite her on an outing with her mom.

  * * *

  Jordan pulled up outside the hotel just before seven the next morning. Ali was waiting outside in jeans and a sweater, and her smile was warmth and joy as she climbed in the car.

  “Good morning,” Ali said, holding up a paper bag. “I brought chocolate croissants.”

  “Good morning. And thanks for breakfast.”

  Jordan pulled onto the street, concentrating more than she really needed to in the light morning traffic. She was working so hard at playing it cool. Ali had no such concerns, apparently.

  “Is it weird I’m so excited about this?”

  Jordan laughed. “Which part? The croissants, the early morning, the ride in my old car? Or is it the chance to spend an hour or so pressed up against the Haligonian hippies and hipsters? With my mom, of course.”

  Ali laughed, and Jordan shot her a grin. Making Ali laugh had always made her feel powerful, evidence she had influence over this magnificent creature. She’d felt that same shiver of power when Ali’s breath would catch when Jordan kissed her.

  Jordan hit the brakes a little harder than she needed to and pulled herself back from the memory of kissing Ali.