Jordan still wasn’t sure what Sergeant Buck was asking, and it was obvious none of the other community members did, either. Rachel jumped in.
“Let’s shift from who the protesters are, maybe. Given the content of the events, who do you think is being targeted?”
“That’s what I’m struggling with in all this,” a woman from across the room said.
“Please continue, Ms. Cormac,” Rachel said. Jordan finally remembered the woman’s name. Kelly Cormac. “We’d like this to be a dialogue.”
“I just can’t figure it out,” Kelly went on. “Are we, social services supporting the vulnerable populations of Halifax, the intended targets or the intended recipients of these protests?”
“Are they helping us or hurting us?” Jordan said, more to herself than anyone else. But she’d drawn the attention of the crowd. “Sorry, it’s the question that’s been on my mind since I was approached the other night.”
“What was that about, anyway?” Kelly said.
Jordan glanced at Sergeant Buck, who waved his permission for her to continue.
“I was told to stop talking to the police and to sit back and to reap the benefits of the movement.”
“The movement? That is the word that was used?” Helena spoke up for the first time.
“Yes, I remember them using that word.”
“Movement is an interesting word, I think,” Helena said. “It suggests progress, change, future.” Helena shrugged. “I recognize that does not help your investigation. But it may have some significance in the motivation of this group.”
“That jibes pretty well with their message sent to the mayor and councilors,” Rachel added. “‘Lighting the dark to help you see.’”
Jordan saw Helena nod approvingly, as if Rachel had connected some pieces of a puzzle. Jordan still wasn’t sure they were really coming to any conclusions.
“You were jumped that night?” Kelly said to Jordan. “Did I hear that right?”
“I don’t think that was the original intent. But I took issue with three guys approaching us in the dark. They tried to rough us up. It didn’t work.”
“Right on,” Kelly said, grinning.
Helena didn’t look very happy. Neither did Sergeant Buck.
“If anyone is approached in this manner, give us a call,” Sergeant Buck said. “Whether you are the target or the recipient, and to my way of thinking it’s both, we’re here to protect you. It’s our job.”
“And the vulnerable persons of this city,” Helena said. Jordan recognized the insistence in her voice. Helena would never leave the perspective and the plight of the people they supported out of the conversation. “I would hate for this task force to forget those we support are not the enemy. They face risk. Their voices should be heard. In fact, I move to bring a community member onto this task force.”
Rachel leaned back in her seat, a clear signal to Jordan she was uncomfortable with this suggestion. Sergeant Buck fiddled with the data projector remote in his hand, though he never took his eyes off Helena.
“I understand and respect your opinion, Helena. It’s why we asked you all here today, to have those voices represented—”
“No,” Helena interrupted. “We are representatives of social services. We are connected to this group, but we are not their voice. They have their own voices, and that should be respected.”
Jordan could admire Helena’s stubbornness even as she recognized the tension created by her request.
“Here’s the problem,” Sergeant Buck said. His voice had noticeably cooled, though his posture remained open. This was a man used to confrontation. “We have reason to believe this protest group, Unharm, is made up of members of the vulnerable population of the Regional Municipality of Halifax. In fact, it’s an established pattern. So to invite a member of the group we are currently investigating to this team is more than a little problematic.”
Helena leaned forward in her chair, her diminutive stature not diminishing the power of her words. “We should not all be painted with the same brush,” Helena said. She seemed to catch the aggressiveness of her tone and posture. “We should all be seen as complex beings with a multitude of facets, identities, and values. If we lose the perspective of those we are trying to protect and support, we have lost. Regardless of what this movement does next.”
Us and them, Jordan thought. Always us and them, push and pull, protect and persecute. Hand up or hand out.
“Thank you for your perspective, Helena,” Sergeant Buck said. He looked around the room. “Thanks to all of you for being here today. I’d like for us all to keep an eye out. Please contact us if you hear anything or if you are approached. We’ll be contacting you for another meeting date in the near future.”
The meeting wrapped up with a lack of sense of progression. Like so many other meetings Jordan attended, they’d spun around in circles, never leaving the starting gate or even knowing where they were headed. She sighed and rubbed at her temples. A coffee was definitely needed on the way back to the office. Maybe even a donut.
“Okay there, Jordan?”
Rachel was looking at her with concern.
“Yeah, Rach. Up too late reading textbooks. Nothing a coffee can’t solve.”
“If you say so. I’ve got to run, I’m already late for my next meeting. But I’ll see you tonight at the gym?”
“Sounds good. And don’t forget we’re babysitting on Friday.”
Rachel flashed her a real grin, full of her characteristic energy. “I haven’t forgotten. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.”
Jordan waved as Rachel ran off. She put on her damp raincoat and waved goodbye to the group before heading back out onto the street.
Clouds hung low in the sky and cold rain soaked through at Jordan’s shoulders within half a block. It was a miserable kind of day, heavy and hurtful. Jordan spun quietly in her own head, thinking of the meeting, of where she fit in the paradigm of us and them.
A figure huddled between the brick building of the coffee shop Jordan was aiming for and the neighbouring record store. His head was bowed, and the dirty, lined denim jacket was doing nothing to keep out the wet misery of the day.
“Excuse me,” Jordan said. The man lifted his head. He looked about Jordan’s age, his face red from the cold. “I’m grabbing a coffee. Can I get you something to eat?”
Jordan never knew how her offer would be received. She could get a fuck you or a thank you.
“I’d rather some money, to be honest wit’ you.” The rhythmic blending of his words suggested a Cape Breton accent.
Jordan dug into her pocket. “I’ve only got a five. Maybe also a sandwich? Coffee?”
The folded-up blue five-dollar bill disappeared quickly into the man’s pocket. “I’ll thank you for both.”
Standing in line at the coffee shop, allowing her body to heat from the outside in, Jordan reflected on her morning. She’d keep her eyes out and her ears open for whatever was happening on the street. She’d keep a closer eye on her kids, find out if the recent flux in dynamics and mood had anything to do with what was happening with the Unharm movement. It would be so easy for her kids to get drawn in, so easy to convince them they should join and fight. But Jordan couldn’t accuse them. Instead, she’d focus on what she could do, and for now, that would be enough.
Chapter Nine
“We’re supposed to grease the pan. Who has grease? Can you even buy grease?”
“It means, like, butter or oil, you idiot.”
“Shit. Can someone else crack the eggs? I think I just cut my finger on a shell.”
Jordan leaned against the doorway of the kitchen at the community centre, watching half a dozen of her kids try to make a cake. It was a sweet scene, except for the swearing. They’d insisted on making a cake from scratch, though none of them had ever done it before. But Constable Shreve deserved a real birthday cake, vanilla with chocolate icing. So Jordan had bought the ingredients and booked out the community kitchen
after school. Word had gone out at the boxing gym that everyone was invited to help out. Rupert and five girls, including Madi, had shown up.
“Mix on high for two minutes,” Madi called out, peering at the recipe on her phone.
“Am I high? Is that how this recipe is going down?”
Jordan raised an eyebrow as the kids laughed. The girl who’d made the joke pretended to look apologetic but at least she seemed to get the message about the drug humour.
“Hand mixer is in the drawer to your right, Rupert,” Jordan called out.
A scuffle broke out getting the beaters into the hand mixer. They were mostly laughing, though a fair bit of their constant fight was for dominance. Jordan found the most exhausting thing about working with these kids was their unquenchable need for power, respect, and control. Even in a simple task like baking a birthday cake.
The door to the kitchen opened and Ali walked in. She was wearing dark jeans, a button-up shirt, and a blazer, and she had a beat-up but expensive leather bag slung over one shoulder. She was smiling but was obviously tired.
“Hey, JP.”
“Hey. What are you doing here?” Jordan indicated the mild chaos of the kitchen. “Coming to help bake?”
Ali gave a short laugh. “I wish. I’ve got to try and catch the last flight out to Toronto tonight. Central office is having a panic about an investor application…” Ali ran her hand distractedly through her hair and blew out a breath. “Blah, blah investment and corporate policy shit.”
“Sounds like a lot of fun,” Jordan said sympathetically. “Need a ride to the airport? I can try and find someone to supervise the crew.”
Ali waved away the offer. “No, but thanks. I’ve called a cab. I just wanted to tell you I was leaving this time. I’m not running away.”
Ali was nearly babbling, completely uncharacteristic. Jordan put a hand on Ali’s arm, just a light touch, the brush of her thumb over Ali’s bicep before she dropped her hand again.
“Hey, it’s fine. You don’t owe me your schedule. But thanks for letting me know.” Ali swallowed, like she wanted to say something else. Jordan waited but nothing else materialized. “You look beat.”
“I am. It’s been a long week. And I’ll be up most of tonight trying to get up to speed for the conference call tomorrow. But it’s just an overnight. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Jordan’s heart gave a sharp thud. Her instinct to protect and heal and comfort was so incredibly strong. She wanted to tell Ali she’d get her from the airport, to make her a meal, run her a bath, bring her a glass of wine. Girlfriend things. That was space taken up by a partner. Jordan didn’t occupy that space in Ali’s life. But Jesus, did she want to.
“Tell me you’re going somewhere lit.” Madi’s ball of ferocious energy broke the quiet tension between Ali and Jordan.
“Hey, half-pint,” Ali said, her eyes brightening. “I’m heading to Toronto, so I’m going to miss our workout tonight.”
“You are running scared. One tiny threat that I’m going to run you into the ground, and you take off.”
“Trust me, I’ll take one of your brutal workouts over a late-night flight, reports, and fighting corporations any day.”
Madi tilted her head to the side, observing Ali through hooded eyes.
“You mean that.”
“Yep.”
“You’re a freak.”
“You know it.”
Ali and Madi grinned at each other. They had their own language, these two. It made Jordan’s heart happy even as it made her the tiniest bit jealous. Jordan couldn’t help thinking she was the common denominator. Maybe she brought tension to all the relationships in her life. Her parents, Ali, even Rachel and Madi.
“Jordan?”
Ali was looking at her curiously. Madi seemed vaguely annoyed.
“Sorry, drifted.”
“I think you’re needed in the kitchen,” Ali said.
Jordan followed Ali’s gaze. Rupert was holding the mixer, dripping with cake batter, above his head while at least two girls jumped to get at it.
“Jesus,” Jordan muttered, pushing away from the door. She glanced back at Ali. “Good luck in Toronto. Text me if you want a lift from the airport tomorrow.”
Jordan didn’t get a chance to see Ali leave as she refereed the final steps and saw the three round cake tins safely into the preheated oven. Once the clean-up was done and the excitement over, most of the kids drifted out or sat on the counters on their phones, occasionally showing each other a funny meme or video before lapsing back into silence.
Jordan checked the time on the oven and pulled a textbook from her backpack, thinking she could catch up on her reading before tonight. They were scheduled for a short workout at the gym, and then Jordan and the kids had offered to look after Rachel’s two little ones while she went on a date with her husband. It meant a double amount of babysitting for Jordan. She was tired already.
“Hey, JMac.”
Jordan smiled as Madi jumped up onto the counter beside her.
“That’s a new one.”
“I’m trying it out. Do you like it?”
Jordan shrugged. “It’s not bad.”
Madi thumped her heels lightly against the painted pine cabinets.
“I heard you’re part of some sort of task force or committee or something. With the cops.”
Street information wasn’t always accurate, but it was fast.
“I am.”
Madi’s feet thumped a little faster.
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
“Yes. I want to help if I can.” Jordan caught Madi as she rolled her eyes. “What was that for?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay, then.”
They sat in silence. Jordan wished she knew what bridge she needed to cross with Madi to make things better between them.
Madi suddenly stopped thumping the cabinets with her feet.
“It’s just, you’re not a fucking superhero, you know? No cape or anything.”
“I know that,” Jordan said, trying and failing not to feel the sting of Madi’s words.
“I don’t think you do.”
Jordan said nothing. When Madi was in one of these moods, it was best to let her spin it out without providing any fuel for her fire. Jordan steeled herself for the onslaught. She didn’t have long to wait.
“You should have been a fucking firefighter or something. Running into burning buildings and rescuing babies and comforting sobbing moms. I bet you’d go home feeling like a million bucks every goddamn day.”
A few of the kids looked up as Madi raised her voice. When they looked to Jordan for direction, Jordan gave a quick shake of her head. They went back to their phones, used to the occasional explosion and apparently trusting Jordan to handle it.
“So, this task force or whatever. You get that you’re not rescuing anyone, right? But you can’t fucking help it, can you? Doesn’t matter three guys tried to take you and Ali out. That they told you explicitly to back down and shut up. Doesn’t matter you could just sit back and let someone else deal with it. No, you’re right there on your fucking high horse.”
Madi jumped down off the counter and stood in front of Jordan. She was shaking with a barely checked rage. Jordan wished she could ease the stress for Madi, but she couldn’t. Not as the target.
“Did you ever think, just for one second, that you’re not a part of this?” Madi hissed the question, her voice lowered but seething. “You’re not on the street, you were never on the street. This has nothing to do with you. So just leave it the fuck alone.”
Madi left then, grabbing her backpack off the counter and stalking out of the kitchen. Jordan wanted to call her back and sort this out, but she would preserve Madi’s dignity and her clear need to end this conversation on her own terms. The kids all looked up from their phones as the door to the kitchen closed. They looked at Jordan with curiosity and embarrassment.
“It’s all good,” Jordan said with a calmness
she didn’t really feel. “We’ll work it out when we’re ready.”
Sometimes it was exhausting being a model of good self-regulation.
The kids all stole glances at each other.
“What is it, guys?” Jordan said.
“She’s kinda right,” Rupert said.
One of the girls hissed at him to shut up. Jordan felt sick. She wasn’t sure she had the energy for this.
“What do you mean?”
Rupert looked uncertainly at the girls in the room and shrugged.
“Rupert didn’t mean anything,” one of the girls said, without looking up from her phone. “Just sometimes Madi has a point about things. But don’t tell her that. She already walks around like she knows what’s best for everyone.”
The timer on the stove beeped loudly, and the kids all jumped off the counters and crowded around, fighting over oven mitts and someone yelling about finding the recipe since Madi had it on her phone. Jordan let the fight with Madi and the strange fallout with the other teens fade into the background. She’d have to figure it out, but right now a birthday cake needed attending to.
* * *
Madi didn’t show for the workout, the babysitting, or the presentation of the cake to Rachel. Jordan was disappointed but not surprised.
Rachel’s two kids were adorable and fun, loving the attention of the handful of teens who stayed after the workout to babysit. It was good for Jordan’s heart to see her tough, bruised, and sometimes raging kids sitting on the floor calling out for baby Gracie to pull herself up to a shaky stand and toddle her way across the floor. Hannah, three years old and a dynamic bundle of energy like her mom, ran excited laps around the gym, commanding the teenagers running with her to gallop like a horse or snort like a pig, then collapsing into a giggling heap before starting all over again.
Cay and Jordan kept an eye on all the kids, large and small. They passed out pizza when it arrived and helped one of the guys in his attempt to feed Gracie her oatmeal and sweet potato mixture while on the move. Jordan brought the energy down a few notches with a Disney movie on her laptop, as Ariel sang about hopes and dreams. The teens hummed the tune and Hannah swayed in time to the music.
Shadowboxer Page 14
