I turned back around, but not before I caught Nicole’s eye. She looked down at her drink and took a long swallow.
* * *
A couple of weeks later, near the middle of August, Nicole started acting weird at home. She spent hours in her bedroom listening to music and only left the house when Mom and Dad dragged her out. When Mom called her down for dinner, she’d say she wasn’t hungry. During the day she just lay on the couch watching TV, flipping through the channels. Some days she didn’t even shower.
“Why aren’t you going to Shauna’s anymore?” I asked her one day when she was on the couch again. I was hoping they’d had a fight. I’d seen a car like Shauna’s drive by one night, turn around, then drive by again.
“She’s away with her family.” Guess it wasn’t Shauna. It had been a white car, though, I was sure of that. Maybe that guy she was seeing?
“What about Cathy and the other girls?”
“They’re all busy. They’ve got jobs and stuff.”
“So what’s wrong with you? You’ve been moping around.”
“I’m just bored.” But she looked like she might cry.
“Did you break up with that guy?”
She threw down the remote. “Why can’t you just mind your own business?” Then she ran up to her room, slamming the door behind her.
The next night when I came home after work, Mom was waiting up, sitting at the kitchen table. Dad was sitting beside her. Their faces were serious.
“What’s going on?” I said.
“The Percocet from when your father had his surgery is missing from our medicine cabinet,” Mom said, her voice cold and hard. “There was nearly a full bottle left.” I remembered that Dad had been given painkillers after his shoulder surgery last year but hadn’t thought about them since. I didn’t even know he had some left.
Now I was pissed. “Are you accusing me of stealing it?”
“It didn’t walk out of the house on its own.”
“I don’t do drugs like that, Mom.”
“We know you smoke pot.”
“So what? Most people on the island smoke weed.” And I could use some right now.
Dad said, “Ryan’s father has been arrested for dealing prescription drugs in the past, so we wondered if Ryan might have—”
“He didn’t steal them—I can’t believe you’re saying this!” My face was hot, and I was near tears. “He’s never done anything wrong.”
“I doubt you snuck into the Andersons’ house all by yourself that night,” Mom said. “You’ve lied to us before.”
I sat in frustrated silence, angry at myself for breaking into the neighbors’ house, for giving them something they could use against me. I was even angrier when I thought about who probably took the pills.
“Nicole’s been partying with Shauna every weekend this summer. I even saw her drinking at the beach. Why don’t you ask her about your pills?”
My parents shot looks at each other, and my dad said, “Maybe we should ask Nicole to join us.”
He went to get her while I stared at the table, refusing to meet my mother’s eyes. Nicole came downstairs. Her eyes flicked to me, then to Mom. She was wearing pajamas—frilled cotton shorts and a pale pink tank top with a kitten on it. She looked even younger than sixteen. I was suddenly aware of my tight black tank top, my dark makeup, seeing myself through my parents’ eyes, their troublemaker daughter. But I wondered if they’d taken a good look at Nicole lately. She’d lost more weight, her collarbone showing, and her hair was limp, like she hadn’t washed it for a couple of days. She sat down at the table, arms wrapped tight around her body.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“We just want to talk to you for a moment,” Mom said. She told her about the pills being missing, then gently said, “Are you okay? Is there anything you want to tell us? I know sometimes you have bad cramps—”
“Oh, sure,” I said, “you accuse me of stealing your pills, but—”
“Give it a rest, Toni. We’re talking to Nicole.”
I sat there, shaking my head at the bullshit and glaring at Nicole. She’d better tell the damn truth or I was going to kick her ass.
“I didn’t take them,” she said, “but I saw Toni in your room yesterday.”
“You little bitch!” The words exploded out of me. “I’m going to kill you.”
My dad said, “Toni, that’s enough!”
“I didn’t take them. She’s lying.” I turned to Nicole. “Tell them the truth—you know I didn’t touch them.”
She just stared at the table as she mumbled, “I didn’t take them either.”
I said, “I’m going to get you for this.”
“Don’t you threaten your sister!” Mom said.
“She’s lying her ass off—and you don’t even care.” My voice turned mean and mocking. “You think she’s soooo perfect. Why don’t you ask Rachel’s parents if Nicole really went camping with them last month? She’s got an older boyfriend—he works for Dad. She snuck off with him.”
Nicole gasped, tears coming to her eyes. “That’s not true. I was with Rachel and the girls all weekend—we went to Big Bear Ridge. You can call her mom. She’ll tell you.” She shook her head, crying now. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t know why she’s telling these lies about me.”
Mom was also shaking her head as she looked back at me. “I’m sick of your hateful attitude, Toni. We’ve done everything we can to get through to you, but nothing works. We didn’t want it to come to this, but you’re turning into a liar and a thief—and you’ve left us no choice. It’s time you moved out.”
I stared at her in surprise and hurt, the words ringing in my head.
“Fine,” I said, choking back tears. “We were going to move out in a couple of weeks anyway. We found a place, but we can’t get in until the end of the month.” I wished I could leave now, but Ryan’s dad had been on a bender all week—Ryan had been staying at a friend’s. And Amy was on a family vacation.
“You can stay until then.” Mom looked sad but resigned, like the fight had gone out of her. “I’m very disappointed in you, Toni. I sincerely hope you start getting your life together soon, before you waste it all away.”
My dad also gave me a sad smile. “If you need any help moving, you kids let me know.”
I looked at him through my blurred tears. “I didn’t do it, Dad.”
“I’d like to believe you, Toni, but you make it hard to trust you.”
“Dad—” I wanted to defend myself, wanted to make that disappointed look leave his face, but I couldn’t get any words past the tight lump in my throat.
He turned to Nicole. “Is there anything you want to tell us? Your sister said she saw you drinking at the beach.”
She hesitated. I thought she might confess, her body stretching forward for a moment, like she was reaching out, but then she slumped back in her chair.
“She’s just making that up because she was mad that I was hanging out with Shauna. I don’t drink.”
My dad looked doubtful. “You’ve been moping around the house the last couple of weeks. If there’s anything you want to talk about…”
“I’m fine.” Now she sounded annoyed, but she quickly added, “I’m just bored. Everyone is away. Can I go to bed now? I’m really tired.” She gave a big yawn.
I could tell my dad knew she was lying about something and wanted to ask more, but my mom reached out and touched Nicole’s shoulder. “I think we could all use some sleep,” she said. “Let’s go to bed.”
They left the room, left me sitting at the table, crying and hating my sister. She’d lied, and I was going to get her back for it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ECHO BEACH HALFWAY HOUSE, VICTORIA
JANUARY 2013
After I threatened to plant something in Helen’s room, she backed off and we stayed out of each other’s way for almost a year. I still didn’t like her, and I was damn sure she didn’t like me, but as long as she left me
alone, I didn’t care. Angie, my roommate, moved on and I got a new one named Joanne, who was all right. She kept her side clean but was hyper and talkative. Younger than me, with brown straggly hair, squinty eyes that needed glasses, and a big mouth—she was always talking while eating, which drove me nuts. She’d done time for drug dealing, and I had a feeling she might still be doing a little dealing on the side. Sometimes when I was walking home I’d see her and Helen talking to a shady-looking character in the park down the street, their bodies hunched over and secretive. I was careful to never show any facial expression that would reveal I noticed or gave a shit. And I didn’t. If they wanted to screw up their parole, that was their business. I had different plans for my life. I just had to stay the course.
I had a decent job at a local restaurant. I’d started scrubbing pots in the kitchen, moved up to prep cook, and was now allowed to take on some shifts at the grill. It was hot, greasy work, and I came home stinking of fried food, but I didn’t care. I was happy to be finally socking away some money. When I wasn’t working I was meeting with my community parole officer, going to my programs, where I made a few friends, and helping out at the animal shelter, walking dogs. I wasn’t settled enough to get a dog of my own, but it was one of the first things I wanted to do when I got my own place in Campbell River. I’d decided to move back there when I was granted full parole.
I knew it was crazy—that’s where all the shit had gone down, where people still hated me, including my own mother. Still, I had to go back, had to prove I wasn’t the bad person they thought. I don’t know if I wanted, needed, to prove that to myself or to everyone else in town. But I had to go there and at least try.
When I’d gotten day parole I’d written my dad, told him I was in Victoria. My parents would’ve already known that I was eligible for parole because, as victims of my “crime,” they would have been allowed to come to the parole hearing, but they never showed. He wrote back, saying that he was happy I was out and doing well. He made no mention of a visit and neither did I.
I didn’t know where Ryan was or whether he was on parole but I figured he’d probably stay in Vancouver. Knowing he could also be out made it more tempting to try to communicate in some way, but we still wouldn’t be allowed to see each other. My parole officer had made that condition very clear, which made me think Ryan might also be out on day parole. Sometimes I’d wake up abruptly in the middle of the night, feeling like I’d heard a tap on the window, half expecting Ryan to be out on the roof, but of course he was never there.
It was now the end of January, and I was going before the Parole Board in the middle of March. I needed to show that I had work lined up for when I was on full parole and a place to live after I left the halfway house. I’d written a long letter to Mike, my old boss in Campbell River. I told him I was working at a restaurant in Victoria, attending programs, and trying to get my life together. I asked if there was any chance I could work for him again, explaining how hard it was for ex-convicts. I included a résumé detailing all the jobs I’d had in prison and a nice letter from my current boss, who said I was a hard worker. I knew it was a long shot, so I was surprised when I got a letter from Mike a week later saying he could use another cook starting that March, which was when he knew I’d hopefully be granted full parole. He also told me a friend of his had an old boat in the marina that I could live on and rent for cheap. I was excited and relieved. If everything continued to go well, I could have full parole soon and be back in Campbell River, building a real life.
One day, around the second week of February, I was cutting through the park when I noticed a blond woman standing by one of the trees. She had an old denim jacket pulled tight around her and she was dancing on the spot, like she was trying to keep warm, but her movements were jerky, agitated. She was watching the path ahead of us and didn’t notice me coming from behind. She was close to where I often saw addicts huddled in the bushes, so I had a feeling she was waiting for her dealer. Finally she heard my steps and turned around. I could see now that she was clearly an addict, her face thin and skeleton-like, her overbleached long hair dry and brittle-looking, her eyes dull. I was about to give her a wide berth when she whispered to me—softly, almost hesitantly—“Toni?”
I stopped in my tracks, took another hard look at the woman. She did look familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Did I know her from Rockland?
She laughed nervously. “Wow, never thought I’d run into you again.”
It was the laugh that did it. That deep, raucous laugh that all the boys in high school had liked. The drug addict was Cathy Schaeffer.
Painful memories assailed me in quick snapshots: Cathy and the other girls laughing at me at school, hounding me at the restaurant with Nicole, sitting close together at my trial, whispering. Finally I got a grip: this was serious, my being with her. I quickly glanced around and made sure no one was coming down the path. It wouldn’t look good if I was caught talking to one of the key witnesses from my trial—being seen with a drug addict was bad enough.
I was about to keep walking when she said, “Are you out? Like, are you free now?”
I wanted to move past her, forget I ever saw her, but there was something in her voice, a nervousness mixed with shame that stopped my feet. I met her gaze, noticing her large, dark pupils, the sores on her face and hands, and wondered what had happened to the fun-loving wild party girl from high school. I could see faint traces of her former beauty—the high cheekbones, the wide curving mouth, the deep-set eyes, all eroded by years of substance abuse.
“I’m on parole,” I said.
“That’s good, right? Are you going back to Campbell River?” That nervous voice again, almost pleading, like she wanted me to forget all the damage her lies had done to my life. I stared at her. Did she know what had really happened that night? Had she helped kill my sister? Did she know who had? My silence was making her more agitated. She was bouncing on her feet, pulling her coat tighter, licking her lips like they were suddenly dry.
“Yeah, probably,” I muttered, my own throat dry.
“I still live there—I’m just down for the weekend,” she said. “Shauna’s still there too … with her husband.” I didn’t know if she was just making conversation or warning me, but I felt my guts twist at the name. I didn’t know much about the girls’ lives since the trial, was surprised that Shauna was even still married. She’d hooked up with an older man that September, not long after Nicole’s murder, and was already married with a child by the time she testified at our trial.
Cathy continued, speaking fast, either from nerves or drugs. “Rachel’s got a family now too, couple of boys. She works at the hospital. Kim left right after your trial. We don’t talk anymore.…”
“Good for her.” I heard the anger in my voice, the bitter rage.
Cathy heard it too, stopped bouncing for a moment, her eyes registering danger. She took a step back. I felt my hands curl at my sides, fought the urge to attack her, to push her to the ground, and almost took a step forward, but then she said one word, one word that stopped the breath in my throat.
“Sorry.”
We stood still, locked in the moment. A gust of wind blew one of her hairs across her face; a car alarm was going off somewhere. My heart was racing, my mind wheeling with questions. What did she mean? Was she about to confess to something? I tried to make myself calm down, take a breath. Think.
Speaking slowly, I said, “What are you sorry for, Cathy?”
“I’m just…” But she hesitated too long, like she was now thinking about what she’d been going to say. “I’m just sorry, you know, about the trial and stuff, how we were … in high school.…”
Her voice faded as she began to space out, her face pale, coming down from her high. She stumbled to a park bench, looked desperately down the path. Her dealer was going to show any minute. I started walking away.
“See ya, Toni,” Cathy mumbled, like we were just two old friends who’d bumped into each other.
I ran the last mile to the halfway house—fast, trying to outrun my thoughts, my memories, and the fear that was still there. Those girls.
* * *
A week later I was starting to get over my encounter with Cathy and the painful memories it stirred up, but I was having second thoughts about moving back to Campbell River now that I knew Shauna was still there. In the end I decided to stick with my game plan and focus on the future, which was almost in my grasp.
Then Helen came to find me.
I was eating cereal in the kitchen one morning when she plopped her heavy body on the seat across from me, the chair creaking under her weight as she leaned forward. “You been talking to Harley about me?”
I looked up, confused—and noticed Joanne hanging out in the hallway, like she was keeping a lookout. This wasn’t good.
I finished my mouthful of cereal. “Now, why would I do that?”
“Someone told him I’ve been dealing drugs—they searched my room.”
And she thought it was me because of my threat. They obviously hadn’t found anything or she’d have been sent back to Rockland. But she was still pissed. I glanced around the room and noticed one of the other parolees sneaking out of the kitchen. She met my eyes, looked away. Her name was Dawn and she also walked through the park on her way home from work. Did she rat Helen out?
“I haven’t told anyone anything,” I said, “because I don’t know anything. I just served years for a murder beef. You think I’m stupid enough to cause a problem over you when I’m this close to my parole?”
I brought up the murder because I wanted to remind Helen I was someone she should be scared of, but she didn’t look the least bit intimidated.
“I warned you not to screw with me, Murphy.”
She got up and walked out.
* * *
Later, I searched my room—if the staff hadn’t found anything in Helen’s room, she had to have stashed it somewhere else. I’d have to check every day. I did a cursory inspection of Joanne’s side, not wanting to move her shit around too much. I didn’t see any drugs, but they had to be somewhere. When Joanne came back from her job I ignored her as I got ready for bed. I hadn’t had a problem with her hanging out with Helen before, but as far as I was concerned she’d crossed a line. Joanne was ignoring me too, which was just fine by me. I wanted to kick her ass but I had too much to lose—my hearing was in a month.