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.