“So we have to thread this needle of allowing our experiences to help us be good police, without letting them totally colour our view of people.”Rachel clears her throat.“I have trouble with the parent-and-kid cases, the Children’s Aid calls.They’re the worst for me.Worse than a murder.Every time.But fortunately, we don’t get too many around here.It’s one of the reasons I stay rural.In a city, there’d be too much of that.”She inhales the scent of coffee and sugar, the bitter and the sweet.“And yet…in some ways they’re the most satisfying.Helping to make sure some kid gets out of a bad situation.”
Laughter breaks out at a table ten feet away, two young women with heavily made-up faces and non-fat lattes.Both of them have hair styledjust like Jennifer Aniston’s onFriends.They’re probably imagining they’re at Central Perk, and who could blame them for wanting a sitcom life, scripted and polished to a prime-time shine.But there’s always darkness and mess behind the walls of a brightly coloured set.Clutter and chaos you don’t see on screen.
“You’re a good listener, Stevens,” Rachel says.“Maybe you did inherit some of your uncle’s skill after all.”
He inclines his head modestly.“We’ll see.”He’s quiet for a moment.“Do you mind if I ask, why didn’t your grandmother ever tell you what your mom had done?”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about that one,” Rachel says.“And I honestly believe she thought I already had enough to think badly of my mother for, the pain she’d caused me personally.”She pauses.“I think, on a level, Dora was trying to spare my mom some shame.But mostly it was for me.Because, unlike my mom, she was always thinking of me.She always wanted to do what was best for me.”
Stevens nods.“So, what happened with your mom…that’s why you became a cop?”He lifts his mug and looks surprised to find it empty.
“No.”Rachel eyes him.“Well…yes and no, I guess.I studied forensics in school, before the academy.It didn’t take my shrink at rehab analyzing my experiences for me to know that I was always drawn to science for answers.”
“And detecting is the same.”
“Yes.”She presses her lips together.“Since your uncle told you to follow my lead, pick my brain…something tells me you can relate.”
They meet eyes for a long moment, and Rachel searches them.He’s quiet, clearly struggling.But he’s not ready yet, to tell her whatever it is.She bails him out.
“If not for your uncle’s…intervention, I guess I’d call it, well…I’m not sure where I would have ended up.”
Stevens tilts his head a little to the side, frowns.“What intervention?”
FALL, 1987
Leaves and gravel crunched beneath the wheels of Dora’s old car as Rachel drove up the laneway and parked behind the house.She stared out at the lake for a moment.The water was choppy in the autumn wind, the whitecaps cascading over one another in their rush to crash against the cliff edge below.
She’d thought about selling the place and moving to Toronto, or even back to Windsor.Being there might at least have encouraged her to re-enroll in school.She knew Dora would have wanted her to complete her program, proud as she’d been about Rachel being the first university-educated person in the family.But Rachel didn’t really see why that sort of thing mattered anymore.
The problem was, nothing at all mattered much to her anymore.
She’d gone to live with Kim’s family while the police took over the property for the investigation, and moved back in the week before she was due to return to school.But instead of packing her bags, getting a fresh haircut and hitting the road with her tuition savings, she’d crawled beneath the quilt Dora had sewn her when she was eight and slept for nearly a week.The first week of September came and went, and then they began to slip by in a miasma of alcohol, debilitating depression and valerian-root sleep aids ground in Dora’s mortar.Rachel didn’t know where to go, and she didn’t know how to leave.Kim called long distance from her sorority house in Waterloo to check up on her every few days, but Rachel didn’t say much.And sometimes she just let the phone ring, the shrill metallic whirr echoing through the empty house as she pulled the quilt up over her ears, tried to catch up on sleep that was often elusive to her at night, when intrusive thoughts and memories washed over her in rhythm with the tide outside the window.
She didn’t leave the house anymore, except for necessities.She had no social life—her friends were back at their respective schools now—and no family.No goals for a future she hadn’t even considered since theday Mary pushed Dora to her death.And Rachel didn’t suppose she’d even be able to sell the place if she wanted to.Who wanted to buy a house where not one buttwopeople had fallen to their death?And so she stayed, rattling pointlessly around a house that felt dead and hollow without Dora, just like Rachel did.
But it was mid-October now, and the past two months were a blur, each day the same as the ones that came before and after.Rachel had just come back from the grocery store, paper bags weighed down with frozen dinners and ketchup chips.She unloaded the bags from the car and was thinking of the Irish coffee she’d make once she got inside when a police car turned into the driveway.
Her adrenaline flared at the sight of it, and her mind began to race.Had something happened to Mary in custody?Or worse, was she being released?She swallowed as the car’s engine cut and the officer stepped out.She recognized him immediately.
“Detective Stevens?”
“Hi Rachel,” he said, coming slowly around the side of his squad car and stopping five feet from her.He was tall, somewhere around fifty, with a deeply receded hairline.“Can I take one of those?”He indicated the bags.
“Uh, sure.Yeah.Thanks.”He relieved her of one, and she clutched the other tighter, as though holding a toddler who might try to squirm out of her grip.“Has something happened with the case?I thought we were still waiting on a trial date?”
“We are,” he said, looking grim.“But I wanted to come check up on you.I know you’re on your own now, and uh, I was in the neighbourhood.”
He wasn’t, though.The “neighbourhood” was just one long street of houses that backed onto the lake, surrounded by trees.And no one other than the Mackenzies had ever had reason for the cops to visit their house.Rachel averted her eyes from him.She wasn’t entirely surprised by the visit.
The day before, she’d been down at the little LCBO just off the highway to refill the liquor supply that was rapidly dwindling as empty bottles piled up against the far wall of the scullery.She’d seen DetectiveStevens there, off-duty, and she knew he’d seen her, too.She’d tried to move her body to block his view of her purchases as she dug in her wallet for her ID.She was getting used to the array of curious, pitying, and judgmental looks she got from people in town whenever she did venture out.But for some reason, she didn’t want Detective Stevens to know how much she was drinking, didn’t want to disappoint him.
“How about we bring these in, and I’ll make some coffee?”he said now.
“Uh.”Rachel was taken aback, but felt a distinct pressure to agree.“Sure.Yeah.”
She led him toward the back of house and through the wooden screen door into the kitchen.She set her grocery bag down on the table and he followed suit, cleared his throat.
“Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.I can make the coffee,” she said, turning away and busying herself with the coffee maker.She was suddenly very aware of the state of the place.Dishes were stacked in the sink and beginning to smell.Mail and flyers were piled on the table amid a clutter of general detritus, and she hadn’t washed her hair in at least three days.She couldn’t recall the last time she’d swept and mopped.Possibly before everything went to hell.The air was stagnant, and she wrenched opened the kitchen window to tempt in a breeze.
