LITMIR.BIZ

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like a pot of water boiling over.

      ‘Do you know who the father is?’ Sarah had asked.

      The old mattress sagged under her weight as she sat next to me on the edge of my bed.

      ‘Yes,’ I snapped. Okay, maybe I used to sleep around a bit. I used sex as a way to get guys to like me. I drank and dabbled in drugs and stayed out late smoking and partying. But it wasn’t going to be like that anymore.

      ‘Have you told him?’

      ‘Of course!’

      ‘And?’

      I looked away, and Sarah sighed heavily.

      ‘He doesn’t want to be in the picture,’ she stated.

      I didn’t answer. The worst part was that he’d cemented everything I felt all over again – that everybody eventually left me.

      Sarah slapped her hands on her legs and stood. ‘I’ll come with you to sort it out.’

      I stared at her, horrified. ‘Are you telling me to get an abortion?’

      Sarah looked confused. ‘Of course not. I just –’

      ‘This is my baby. I won’t abandon it. I’m nothing like . . .’

      I didn’t have to finish the sentence. We both knew the ending. Mom had abandoned me, and I had been powerless to stop her.

      Sarah’s face softened, and she sat back down. ‘Abs, of course you’re nothing like her. But a baby? You can’t . . .’ Her voice trailed away and she searched my face.

      That was exactly what he had said, right before he threatened to hurt my baby and me if anybody found out it was his. So I’d gone to the abortion clinic and was going to do it. But I couldn’t go through with it. Being abandoned was my life’s greatest fear. I couldn’t do it to my own baby.

      I looked around at the tiny storeroom I’d used as a bedroom in Sarah’s apartment since I was ten. A baby wouldn’t fit here. But I had a way to get out now. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken it, but I wanted my baby to have everything I never did, a stable home, a solid middle-class upbringing, good opportunities.

      ‘I’ve registered at Valley,’ I said, referring to the local community college. ‘I’ll get a certificate in journalism. I like writing and I’m good at it. I can get a job at a newspaper.’

      Sarah looked surprised. I was usually more of a joiner than a planner. She struggled with words for a minute, but I knew she’d give in. She was the only parent figure I’d had for most of my life, and she was nothing if not supportive.

      Finally she said, ‘You know I’m here for you whatever you decide.’

      ‘Thanks, Sar.’ I leaned into my big sister, and she put her arms around me.

      She brushed my hair off my forehead, and I pulled away, getting up and crossing to look out the window at the Christmas lights stringing the neighborhood. I hated it when she did things my mom used to do.

      I’d looked down at my stomach, the first hint of a bump pushing out from my sweater, and imagined my baby curled under my heart. I would have someone to be with me no matter what. I’d love her more than I’d ever been loved. . .

      In the bathroom, I stood shakily and splashed cold water on my face to help the memories fade. I grabbed Olivia’s pregnancy test and took it to Detective Samson in the living room. For a second, her professional mask slipped, and I thought I saw compassion flare in her eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. She pulled a plastic bag from her pocket, then zipped the proof of my grandchild away inside.

      ‘I don’t know if Olivia was with anyone that last night,’ I said, sinking back into the recliner. ‘I didn’t know she was pregnant. She didn’t tell me.’ The admission scraped like razor blades across my raw, aching throat.

      Neither detective spoke for a minute, but when I looked up I saw them exchange a look.

      ‘Well.’ McNally stood and moved toward the door. ‘That’s all we need for now. We’ll be in touch if we have any other questions.’

      ‘Wait.’ I sprang to my feet and put a hand out. ‘The bruises, her bracelet – are you going to investigate?’

      McNally sighed, and I wanted to scream. ‘We’re still in the early stages,’ he said, but he wasn’t looking at me anymore. ‘We’ll speak to witnesses, process the scene, analyze the bruises. . .’

      Both detectives moved toward the door, but at the last second Samson turned and spoke. ‘We’re very sorry for your loss. We’ll be in touch, keep you up-to-date if we find anything new.’ She slid a business card into my palm. ‘Call me anytime. And, Miss Knight, just ignore the reporters. They’ll go away in a few days.’

      I stood frozen in place, the front door flapping in the increasing wind, and watched as they got in their unmarked police car and drove slowly away. I hunched my shoulders against the cold and shoved my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. My fingers knocked against something hard.

      They hadn’t asked for Olivia’s phone.

9

       ABI

      november

      November arrived abruptly in Portage Point. The sky was gray and wet; the wind tossed leaves across the ground in angry flurries. I scurried across the parking lot toward the hospital. By the time I reached the front, my hair clung to my forehead in damp tendrils.

      Inside I headed for the elevators while dialing the numbers on the business card Samson had left me. It was the third time that day, but still it went to voicemail. I knew there were budget cuts; I knew other cases were important too, that the investigative process took time; but surely, surely Olivia’s case would take priority.

      Even on the rare occasion when a detective answered, they just told me to be patient, they’d let me know if anything new came up. They were always fobbing me off like that. And I didn’t have time for it. Four weeks had passed since Olivia’s fall. Only four-teen weeks until the baby would be born. And that was if we were lucky. I needed answers sooner, not later.

      I took the elevator to the floor Olivia had been moved to last week. Now that she was out of the ICU, the baby had a better chance at surviving; but seeing the ventilator and feeding tube was no less of a shock each time I arrived.

      I steeled myself against the pain and pushed open the door. Sarah was slumped over the edge of Olivia’s bed, her mouth hung open in sleep, a deep crease denting the middle of her forehead.

      ‘Sarah,’ I whispered. My sister jumped when I touched her shoulder. ‘You should go home. Go see Dylan and Brad.’

      She rubbed her arm over her eyes. ‘I couldn’t sleep. What time is it?’

      ‘Six.’

      ‘They’re sleeping. You should be too.’

      I put my purse down and slipped out of my coat, sitting in the chair next to her as the pale light edged the darkness from the room. I picked up Olivia’s hand and inspected her wrist. The bruises had faded, the broken skin mostly healed; her skin renewed itself, even though her brain never would.

      ‘I’m thinking of going back to work,’ I told Sarah.

      I realized with some surprise that I missed the rhythm of my job. The predictability. At least I knew what I was doing in accounting, what to expect. There was no guesswork, only right or wrong. Right now I was just waiting through my days, but for what? The police rarely responded to my calls. Olivia’s case was still open, but it felt like they weren’t really investigating.

      The last four weeks had passed in a slow, nauseating spin. I slept and ate little, sobbed a lot. I shoved fistfuls of sedatives in my mouth, washing them down

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