The night after we were released, Ryan’s mother had thrown a party in our honor. It was the first time Ryan and I had seen each other for months and we tried to talk outside in private, but we kept getting interrupted. The moments we were alone felt strange, awkward somehow, like now that we were free to be around each other we didn’t know how to act or what to say. His mother pulled him away to talk to some people, and I left the party early. I hadn’t heard from him since and I wondered if it was too late for us now. We had changed too much.
“But he’s the only other person who sees it the same, right? Who went through almost the exact same thing? I think he still loves you.”
“There’s a lot that has to get sorted out.”
She scratched Captain’s ears, her face reflective. After a couple of beats she said, “I understand now why you didn’t want to do a documentary. It’s real, what you went through. Film can’t capture that.”
I thought about her video, how it might have saved my life. Then I thought about all my friends on the inside who had no voice, no one speaking for them. Some major news shows had offered big money for an interview, but I’d turned them all down. This felt different, though, talking to Ashley. She was different.
“No, but we can try if you want.”
“That would be great.” It was the first time I’d seen her smile since I’d found her sitting on my doorstep.
* * *
The next morning I woke up thinking about my visit with Ashley. Her mentioning her relationship with her mom and dad got me thinking about my own parents. My dad had written when I was back in Rockland, asking if he could visit and offering financial support for my lawyer. But there was no apology, from him or my mother, and I’d felt my old anger rearing up. Why hadn’t they believed me all those years? Why hadn’t he mentioned my mother? I told him I didn’t need help and that I’d get in touch after I was released, but I hadn’t done it. I’d seen his company sign at a house being built in a nearby subdivision, and that morning I finally decided to stop and see him. I wanted to look in his eyes and know that he believed I was innocent—that he’d been wrong about me.
When I pulled up at the site, I spotted him near his work truck, some building plans spread out on the hood. He was studying them intently and didn’t hear me walking up to him.
“Hey, Dad,” I said when I was close.
He spun around, his expression startled. He reached out a hand, holding it out in the air, his face filling with an odd sort of wonder. Like he couldn’t believe I was standing there. “Toni … I…” His voice caught and his eyes filled with tears. “It’s so good to see you.”
I’d wanted to be hard, wanted to tell him how shitty they had made me feel, how he had let me down, but now I couldn’t say anything, couldn’t speak a word, my heart pounding and my throat thick. Then he was standing in front of me. I tried to back up, to push him away, but his arms were around me, his body shaking as he kept repeating, “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”
And then I was crying in my father’s arms.
* * *
When we finally pulled apart, we leaned on his truck and talked for a while, about where I was living now, my plans for the future. Then, tired of small talk, I cut to the chase.
“I told you I didn’t do it, Dad. Why couldn’t you believe me?”
“I wanted to, Toni, I really did.” He explained that he never thought I was guilty until the trial, then the evidence had been so compelling he didn’t know what to think. He told himself if I did it, it was the drugs and the booze, I couldn’t have known what I was doing. In a hesitant voice, he said he and Mom had struggled a lot about me and had almost divorced a few years after the murder.
We were still talking when another vehicle pulled up on the other side of Dad’s truck. Dad looked nervous, his gaze flicking from me to the car, like he didn’t know what to do. Then my mom got out. She was walking over to us, carrying a bag from Tim Hortons and balancing a tray of coffees. When she looked up and saw me standing beside Dad, she stopped still, her eyes wide.
“Hi, Mom.” I held my breath. Would she hug me like Dad? Or would she reject me again?
“What are you doing here?” she said. I couldn’t read her tone, wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing me like this, but she looked upset, almost apprehensive.
Dad said, “Toni came by to say hi.”
Mom set the bag and tray of coffees down on the hood of the truck, glancing around to see if any of the workers were watching.
Thinking that she might be expecting an angry confrontation, I said, “It’s good to see you. I’ve missed you.”
Now she was staring at her feet, shaking her head back and forth. Was she crying?
“I want you to know that I’m not angry—not anymore,” I said. “I can understand how things looked, how much trouble I caused you as a teen. It hurt, a lot, but I’d like us to start over if we can. Maybe spend some time together—”
My mom finally looked up. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t sad. She was furious.
“I don’t care what the courts said. You took her there, you left her alone.” Now there were tears, but they weren’t for me—they were for Nicole, always for Nicole. Her breath was ragged and she was sucking at the air, her grief and rage making her body shake.
“You knew she was sneaking out, you knew what was going on for months. And you didn’t say anything. She’s dead because of you and I never want to see you—”
“Stop!” my dad yelled. “Just stop.”
Mom glared at him as tears leaked down her face. “And you, Chris. You let Toni get away with everything. If you’d just been firmer with them—”
“Stop it,” Dad said again. “Stop blaming everyone. She’s gone, Pam.”
“You don’t think I know that?”
“You still can’t let go.”
“She was my daughter.”
“She was mine too, but we still have one daughter and she’s standing here with us. You have to accept that Nicole is never coming back.”
“No, no.” She was shaking her head again. “You can do whatever you want, but I’ll never forgive her.” She turned and faced me. “Do you hear that? I will never forgive you.”
She ran back to the car, slamming the door behind her and spinning the wheels as she burned out of the driveway.
Too shocked even to cry, I stared after her, my legs vibrating with nerves while her words echoed in my head. Never forgive you …
My dad reached out and laid his hand on my shoulder, making me flinch.
“I’m sorry, Toni. She’s never dealt with it. Nicole’s room is still the same, and she won’t let me pack anything. She can’t move past it. The therapist said the only way your mom can cope is by staying angry and blaming everyone, or else she finally has to face that Nicole’s gone.”
I spun around. “How can you still be with her?”
He looked surprised. “I love her.”
“Well, she doesn’t love me.”
“She does, she’s just stuck blaming you. Otherwise, she’ll start blaming herself, for not seeing what was going on with Nicole that last year. I did the same thing but I worked through it, and I want a relationship with you.”
“She won’t like it.”
He sighed. “I know, and I’ll deal with that, even if it means losing her. But I’m not losing you again. You’re my daughter.”
I looked back at the road, still seeing my mom’s car drive off, seeing the hatred in her eyes, and I felt anger rush through my body. She was my mother. She was supposed to love me no matter what, and my father had let her treat me like crap for years. He’d let her push me away.
Then I remembered Shauna crouched over Ashley, so full of hatred for me that she couldn’t see I was trying to save her daughter, couldn’t see anything past that anger. I didn’t want to be like that. Didn’t want to be like my mother. I wanted to forgive.
I turned to my father. “Do you need a helper?”
* * *
r />
That afternoon I worked side by side with my dad again, banging nails, and a couple of days later I started a new job at the shelter—one of the long-term people had left. Mike had called and offered me my old job, said Patty was sorry for not believing me, but I said no thanks. I needed a fresh start. His buddy also offered me my boat back, but I was still pissed about how he’d kicked me out, so I passed. It’s good, working at the shelter, hanging out with the dogs. I don’t make much money, but whatever. My lawyer says I can sue for false conviction, but it’ll be a long haul. Meanwhile, I’m just doing my thing. Dad suggested I work with him, but for now I’m just going to help out on weekends while we get to know each other again.
Doug Hicks came by once when I was walking home with Captain. It startled me, seeing the police car sitting in my driveway, couldn’t help but get my heart rate going. He got out.
I said, “Haven’t you heard? I’m a free woman,” and walked past him.
“That’s why I’m here. I want to apologize.”
“For what?” I stepped onto my porch, blocking the steps with Captain by my side, making it clear he wasn’t welcome any farther.
He sat on the hood of his car. “For not believing you seventeen years ago.”
“What about Ryan?”
“Him too. You guys caused us a lot of trouble…”
“It didn’t mean we murdered my sister.”
“No, but with the witnesses, all the evidence? It didn’t look good.”
I leaned against my railing. “Yeah, I know.”
He looked tired as he said, “Frank McKinney, I looked up to him when I started out. Thought he was a great guy—a really good cop.”
“Everyone did.”
“He’s starting to come clean now that he knows he doesn’t have much chance of beating this. Admits things got out of hand with your sister.”
I felt a stab of anger. “He had no business messing around with her. I don’t understand how they even connected.”
“He pulled her boyfriend over for drunk driving one night. Nicole was in the passenger seat.”
“That Dave guy?”
“Looks that way. Nicole didn’t want anyone to know, so he kept it quiet. After that, Frank kept an eye out for her, made sure she stayed away from the boyfriend. They developed a friendship of some sort. They’d drive around, apparently just talking. Then one night the girls had a party at his house, he drove her home, things progressed. He says he was in love with her.”
“She was sixteen.”
“This job, it gets to all of us. Some cops start thinking the rules don’t apply to them anymore. And I guess when Frank’s wife died, he just went off the deep end. After that all he cared about was the job.”
I could fill in the rest. Shauna had a hard enough time accepting that daddy dearest was always at the station. When she realized he was spending what spare time he had with Nicole, a girl even younger than herself, she flipped. It probably wasn’t that hard to fill Rachel’s and Kim’s minds with lies and turn them against Nicole, which led to her death. And it wasn’t hard to see why Nicole might have fallen for McKinney—how he had seemed so powerful back then.
“I don’t feel sorry for him.”
He met my eyes. “I don’t either. I’m just sorry this all happened.”
“That won’t give me years of my life back.”
“No.” He stood up. “But you still have years left. Do good things with them.”
He got in his car and drove off.
* * *
That night I heard a knock on my back window. I woke up with a start, Captain barking beside me. I pulled back the curtain. It was Ryan. He motioned for me to open the window. I gave Captain a command to quiet down and slid open the lock. Ryan grinned at me.
“Want to go for a drive?”
“Where are we going?”
“Wherever we want.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There never seem to be enough words to express how much I appreciate the following people, how they made all the difference—even if their role was a small one, it was huge to me. But I’ll try my best.
With enormous gratitude to my editor, Jen Enderlin, who told me I could do it, then helped me get there. I’ve learned more from you than I can even begin to acknowledge. Your insights, encouragement, and advice have helped me grow as a writer with every book we work on together.
For the team at St. Martin’s Press: Sally Richardson, Matthew Shear (who wrote me the loveliest e-mail, which I will treasure forever), Dori Weintraub, Lisa Senz, Nancy Trypuc, Kim Ludlam, Kelsey Lawrence, Laura Flavin, Elizabeth Catalano, Stephanie Hargadon, Caitlin Dareff, and the entire Broadway and Fifth Avenue sales forces. Also, thanks to Dave Cole, who has now done a stellar job copyediting three of my books, and Ervin Serrano, who designed this amazing cover. I hope you all know how grateful I am.
Deepest thanks to Mel Berger. Your ongoing support, sense of humor, and guidance has been invaluable over these past years. I couldn’t ask for a better agent and friend. Thanks also to Kathleen Breaux, Ashley Fox, Tracy Fisher, Laura Bonner, Raffaella DeAngelis, Annemarie Blumenhagen, Covey Crolius, and the rest of the fantastic team at William Morris Endeavor Entertainment in New York and L.A.
In Canada, thanks to Jamie Broadhurst, Fleur Matthewson, and the entire group at Raincoast Books. I’m lucky to have such wonderful cheerleaders in my corner. I’d also like to thank all my foreign publishers around the world. One of my greatest pleasures is hearing from my foreign fans.
As always, endless appreciation to my lovely and wise critique partner, Carla Buckley, who can bash around story ideas for hours, understands my craziness, and convinced me to try Skype. How did we live without it? Your friendship and humor has helped me out of many dark corners and snarled plots.
For their professional advice I’d like to thank in no particular order: Bert King, Chris Lucas, Constable J. Moffat, Renni Browne, Shannon Roberts, Virginia Reimer, C. Saffron, M.L., Canadian Prison Consulting, Kim Brown, Lori Hall, and Stephanie Paddle. Any mistakes are most certainly mine.
For their constant support and love, my husband, Connel, who is truly the best man I know; my daughter, Piper, who was tucked securely in the womb during most of the writing of this book (and blessed our lives in a million ways since her arrival); and little Oona, who keeps me company in my office every day.
ALSO BY CHEVY STEVENS
Always Watching
Never Knowing
Still Missing
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHEVY STEVENS grew up on a ranch on Vancouver Island and still lives on the island with her husband and daughter. When she’s not working on her next book, she’s camping and canoeing with her family in the local mountains. Her debut novel, Still Missing, won the International Thriller Writers Award for Best First Novel. Please visit her at www.chevystevens.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THAT NIGHT. Copyright © 2014 by Chevy Stevens Holdings Ltd. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Ervin Serrano
Cover photographs: leaves by Subbotina Anna/Shutterstock.com and Hockridge/Arcangel Images; water by Plainpicture/Readymade-Images/Olivier Foulon
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to
[email protected].
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Stevens, Chevy.
That night / Chevy Stevens. — First edition.
pages cm
ISBN 978-1-250-03460-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-03461-8 (e-book)
1. Women ex-convicts—Fiction. 2. Judicial error—Fiction. 3. Reputation?
??Fiction. 4. Bullies—Fiction. 5. British Columbia—Fiction. I. Title.
PR9199.4.S739T53 2014
813'.6—dc23
2014000124
e-ISBN 9781250034618
First Edition: June 2014
Chevy Stevens, That Night
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