“Maybe we should talk to Suzanne about getting a transfer out of Campbell River,” I said. “We shouldn’t have come back here.”
“I’m not going anywhere. This is no kind of life, being on parole. We still don’t have any freedom. I want to clear my name, I want my mom to be able to hold her head up high in this town, and I want Shauna to feel the pressure. If she did it, she’s never going to feel safe as long as we’re on the outside.” He looked at me steadily. “It doesn’t matter where we move. We’re a threat as long as we’re alive—especially now that she knows we’re not just going to go away quietly.”
He was right. We might be out of prison but we’d never be truly free unless we were cleared. I’d never be able to look into my parents’ eyes and see they finally believed I didn’t do this terrible thing to my sister.
“So what’s your plan?” I said.
“I’m going to keep talking to people, see what I can stir up. Something’s going to break, but it might just take some time.” He looked up and around, like he was sensing danger in the air. “I should go, just in case anybody’s watching.”
“I’ll go out the front with Captain, like I’m taking him for a pee. The back bedroom window’s open.”
I thought about all the nights Ryan and I had climbed out of windows to see each other. I knew he was thinking about that too because he gave me a rueful smile and said, “We thought we had it so hard, hey?”
This time the memories overtook me, and I reached out and touched his hand, then rested my palm on top of his for a moment, feeling his warmth, the substance. I thought about how many nights I’d lie awake in my cell, holding my own hand, imagining it was his. He flinched, stared down at our hands, his face a mixture of wonder and fear and sorrow. The moment built in my throat, until it scared me. I took my hand away and stood up. “I better get Captain outside.”
He nodded and got up. I put on Captain’s leash while Ryan moved toward the back of the cabin. At the last second he turned around.
“If we get questioned and our parole is suspended, stay alive, okay? Because when we get out again—and we will—we’re going to kick some ass.”
I tried to smile, but I couldn’t help thinking that this could be the last time I’d ever see him. I remembered a similar moment, all those years ago when I was being led away from him after the trial, how it felt like something was being ripped out of my body. He saw it in my eyes, my doubt and fear, and closed his own eyes for a moment, blocking it out, like he couldn’t bear to face that pain either. He turned quickly and climbed out the window, not looking back this time.
I took Captain out the front, thinking of Ryan making his way through the dark woods, then I thought about Cathy and breathed in the night air, wondering how much longer I’d be out. How much longer I’d be alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CAMPBELL RIVER
JUNE 2013
The next morning the police called. They had some questions and wanted me to come into the station that afternoon. I had a suspicion that shit was going down and made a difficult call to my dad. I tried his cell first, but he didn’t answer, so I had to phone the house. My mother answered.
“Hi, it’s Toni. Can I talk to Dad, please?” She was quiet so long I worried that she might hang up on me. I held my breath, waiting for the click.
“Just a minute.” Sounds of a phone being passed. Urgent, angry whispers.
My dad finally got on the phone. “Toni? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, for now. I lost my job. There was a theft—but I didn’t do it.” There was no sense covering it up. If they hadn’t already heard the rumors, they would eventually. Dad was silent and I wondered if he was remembering when I was a teen, how we’d broken into the neighbors’, the stolen bottle of Percocet.
I said, “Someone is setting me up, and they might try to cause me more trouble. I just … I just want you to know that whatever you hear, it’s not true. When I was a kid, I didn’t give you any reason to trust me, but I’m not a bad person, Dad. I’m trying to do everything right.…” I was surprised to feel tears running down my face. I brushed them away. Captain watched me from the bed, his head on his paws, his brown eyes sad and worried.
“I know you’re trying to turn your life around,” Dad said. But his voice was quiet, muffled, like he was trying not to be overheard.
I pushed past the hurt. I had to focus on the goal. “If my parole gets suspended, can you take my dog? It would just be until I got out again.”
“I’m sure we can—” I heard Mom say something in the background. Dad answered, but it was muted, like he was covering part of the phone. More arguing.
Mom got back on the line. “I’m sorry, but we have a cat now. Your dog is going to have to go somewhere else. We can’t take him.”
“You mean you won’t.” I hated the bitter tone in my voice, the disappointment.
She didn’t answer.
“Thanks.” I hung up the phone.