Storm Lines Read online

  “A whole summer of storms, it seems,” Devon said. “Where to?”

  “Oh, right. Carla and Aimee’s. We could stop for some food, maybe.”

  “I stopped by yesterday, so they should be okay,” Devon said. She tilted her head toward the back seat. “I’ve got some books and science stuff for Aimee.”

  Guilt, awe, and worry mixed uncomfortably in Marley’s gut. She could not be more grateful Devon had stepped in when Marley was down, but the guilt and worry dragged at her, exhausting her again.

  “You okay?” Devon said.

  “Yeah.” Marley rubbed at her eyes then let out a short, frustrated breath. “No. Randolph West is out on bail. I spent my morning going through evidence of Aimee’s living conditions in a drug lab. I keep lying to my boss about knowing where Carla and Aimee are living, and I’m having a hard time continuing to justify that. I’m utterly dependent on other people. And I’ve dragged you into this and probably turned your life upside down. And my fucking body still isn’t working right.”

  Devon signaled and pulled into a left turn lane, stopping at a red light. Marley felt shaky from her outburst and regret threatened to surface when Devon turned to look at her. Her brown eyes were understanding, and her whole demeanor exuded calm. God, she must be good at her job. When it wasn’t draining the life out of her.

  “What’s worrying you most?”

  “Carla and Aimee,” Marley said immediately. “Then you. Lying to my boss. My fucking body.”

  Devon gave her a quick grin before focusing back on the road. “I like that you prioritized,” she said, laughing a little.

  Marley felt her heart get a bit lighter with the easing of a shared burden. She ate more of her sandwich, recognizing her body’s need for energy, especially given the conversation she needed to have with Carla.

  “I need to talk to Carla today about Randolph and what she sees as the best plan moving forward.”

  “Want me to distract Aimee while you’re doing that?”

  “Yes, please. It’s hard to have a real conversation with Carla. Aimee’s smart and she listens.”

  “I’ve noticed. I’ll keep her busy with the science kit I brought. Maybe listen to some music so you and Carla can have a chance to talk.”

  “Thanks,” Marley said, finishing off the last of her sandwich and wiping her fingers on the napkin she brought. The word seemed inadequate, but burdening Devon with her guilt seemed unfair.

  Devon pulled into a spot in front of a run-down Bible Mission store, about a block from Carla and Aimee’s. Marley wasn’t sure, but it sounded like Devon was humming a song from The Blues Brothers.

  “This okay?” Devon said. “I could get closer.”

  “As long as we’re not running, I should be good.”

  It was late afternoon, and the neighbourhood felt summer busy with kids on bikes and people sitting on their front porches trying to escape the heat of the summer. A few air conditioning units sagged out of windows, rattling in the July heat.

  That all changed once they turned down the back street. These streets were nearly empty, and the smell of garbage and waste was soaked into the pavement and the bricks. Marley remembered the morning she was last here. The memory itched, an annoyance more than fear.

  Devon stopped abruptly before they turned toward Carla and Aimee’s studio. She stepped in close to Marley, blocking her view of the alley.

  “You’re safe here? I should have checked earlier. There’s no one looking for you? No one is going to recognize you?”

  Marley had never had a protector before. The women she’d had relationships with were fun and independent; they’d blended daily lives and shared good times. They had cared about her, Marley knew. But they’d never wanted to carry her burdens.

  Devon was standing close, shielding her, Marley realized. Marley touched Devon’s arm, feeling the tension in the muscles, her heated skin.

  “I’m safe,” Marley said, looking Devon in the eye. “There’s no risk to me being here.” Devon didn’t move. She seemed to be searching for lies and truth. Marley slid her hand down Devon’s arm, fingers resting against her wrist. “I promise.”

  Devon turned her hand and their fingers slid together. Devon squeezed lightly, and Marley returned the pressure before they both let go.

  They turned toward the door of the studio, walking close but not quite touching. Everything about having Devon here felt reassuring. Everything about it felt right. Marley swallowed the enormity of the thought and knocked.

  After a few moments, Carla cracked open the door. She smiled when she saw Marley.

  “I hope you’re really back on your feet, Marley,” Carla said gruffly, opening the door wide. “Aimee is going to be happy to see you.”

  “I’m back on my feet,” Marley said. “And it’s good to see you.”

  Carla shooed them upstairs with a wave, though Marley could see the brightness in her eyes.

  They could hear Aimee before they could see her, thumping feet and hands, like she was cartwheeling around the apartment. She probably was. As Marley pushed open the door, Aimee zoomed past in a blur, a pillowcase tucked into the back of her shirt like a cape. She leapt into the air and slid across the floor sideways, arms outstretched in a superhero pose. Marley laughed, delighted to see her joy.

  At Marley’s laugh, Aimee whipped her head around, then immediately ran to the front door. She stopped in front of Marley and Devon, hopping and bouncing, her face beaming. She raised both her hands for a high ten, and Marley clapped them with hers, laughing as Aimee jumped higher and higher, finally gripping Marley’s hands.

  “So good to see you again, Squirt,” Marley said.

  Aimee’s only response was to begin dragging Marley across the floor, clearly intent on showing her something.

  “Take it easy with Marley,” Carla said to her granddaughter as she headed into the kitchenette. “Remember she’s still recovering.”

  Aimee immediately dropped Marley’s hand and looked ashamed, eyes darting around the small space, stopping to check the expression of each person before landing back on Marley. Her body was very still, uncertain.

  Marley glanced at Devon, who had obviously noted the same odd behaviour. Marley made a mental note to ask Devon about it later.

  “I’m okay, Squirt.” She lifted up her T-shirt to show the unassuming and hopefully not too scary bandage on her side. “Almost better. I just have to move a little slower.”

  Aimee took a step closer and stared at the bandage before looking back up at Marley. She pointed at the bandage and then made a face, like she was wincing.

  “It hurts a bit, but not much anymore. I’m trying to be careful.”

  Aimee nodded seriously. She carefully grabbed Marley by the elbow and walked her over to the window. As Aimee showed Marley her books, towers made out of cardboard, and her many drawings, Marley snuck a look at Devon, who was standing in the kitchen talking with Carla. Marley appreciated the easiness between them. She got the sense Carla didn’t trust easily. Now they seemed to be discussing a book Devon had brought. Of course Devon would be just as concerned for Carla as she was for Aimee.

  After Aimee had shown Marley every scrap of paper, every new gymnastics move, and her new ability to climb the inside of the bathroom doorway, Devon came over with the cloth bag, snagging Aimee’s attention. Marley eased away and sat near Carla, who was already ensconced in her favourite chair.

  “You’re on the mend?” Carla said as they both watched Aimee rip into the science kit Devon had brought.

  “I am,” Marley said. “Though my body recovered much quicker when I did something stupid at fourteen rather than thirty-four.”

  Carla grunted a laugh. “Amen to that.”

  Devon glanced up at Marley, who gave her a slight nod. Devon pulled out her phone, and Marley heard her telling Aimee all good scientists and doctors worked to music. After a few moments of intense searching, with Aimee giving Devon a dark look when she suggested “Baby Shark,” the
studio filled with the soft beat of current radio hits.

  Marley took a breath and turned to Carla.

  “I already know about Randolph,” Carla said, before Marley had a chance to say anything. “Devon’s been good about bringing me the paper.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to bring you the news myself,” Marley said.

  Carla waved away the apology. “I’ve been thinking about where we could go. Somewhere Randolph wouldn’t think to look, if he is looking.” Her eyes bored into Marley. “Do you have any reason to think he’s looking for us?”

  Marley blew out a breath. “No, nothing to suggest he is.” It was an incomplete answer, and Carla deserved to hear it all. “It’s my gut telling me Aimee was there for a reason. She’s part of this.”

  Carla nodded. “Exactly. So, we’re laying low for now.”

  “And this is no longer the best place for you to hide,” Marley said, a question and a statement.

  “No. It’s been what we needed when we needed it, and I’m grateful to you and Devon. But I can’t raise Aimee here.”

  Guilt writhed like a live thing in Marley’s belly. Devon looked up as if she sensed Marley’s discomfort and upset. Marley gave her a small smile, and Devon nodded her encouragement. Then she pulled on a second set of child-sized goggles and Marley laughed. Devon grinned before becoming absorbed with Aimee again.

  “How can I help?” Marley said, turning her attention back to Carla.

  “I’ve been thinking maybe I could connect in with a few people. Back home for sure but also other family and friends. People will tell me if Randolph or his guys have been asking around. Give me some ideas where not to go.”

  “That makes sense,” Marley said neutrally. She couldn’t tell if the anxiety welling up in her chest was from guilt or her instinct telling her moving was a bad idea. But Marley’s idea was not working. Everyone agreed. But letting Carla and Aimee drift somewhere new and disappear…

  “A city centre, for sure,” Carla was saying when Marley tuned back in. “I don’t have my car, so I’ll need busses to get us around.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Marley kept listening as Carla laid out the bare bones of her plan, even as warning signals blared in the background.

  “Is that possible?” Carla said, and Marley realized she had no idea what the question was referring to.

  “Sorry, Carla. Is what possible?”

  “Is there some way to use a phone without the person knowing where I’m calling from? A number block? No good announcing I’m still in Hamilton.”

  Marley pulled out her phone and googled it. She showed Carla what to punch in before the number.

  “I’m going to call a few people now out on the landing while you two are here to keep Miss Aimee occupied. That okay?”

  “Not a problem,” Marley said.

  Carla eased herself out of her chair and shuffled out of the studio. After a moment, Marley joined Devon and Aimee in the kitchen.

  “What are you two doing?” she said, forcing a lightness she did not feel into her voice.

  Aimee pointed to the two brightly coloured bowls filled with different coloured powder. Then she tapped the box to show Marley the picture.

  “You’re making a gummy brain?” Marley said and Aimee nodded, grinning.

  “We’re creating a model of the left and right hemispheres of the human brain,” Devon said with mock seriousness. “It’s very scientific.”

  “And potentially delicious,” Marley said, and Aimee made the hiccupping sound that Marley recognized as laughter. “Don’t let me interrupt scientific discovery.”

  Marley watched as Aimee measured water into a small cup and poured it into one of the bowls of powder. Devon handed Aimee a wooden popsicle stick.

  “Here’s your stirrer, Dr. Aimee.”

  Aimee began methodically mixing the sticky-looking substance together. Music filtered through the studio, though Marley could still hear the occasional gusts of wind outside and the distant sound of Carla talking on the phone. Marley thought she heard the front door bang, maybe with the wind. She didn’t blame Carla for wanting to take a moment to step outside. Being cooped up in a small studio with an energetic and voraciously smart eight-year-old would be exhausting.

  Marley was about to speak when a noise outside the studio door caught her attention. Voices. More than Carla’s. A man’s voice, definitely, and now Marley could hear the hiss of Carla’s angry words. Then footsteps on the stairs, more than one set.

  “Marley?”

  Devon and Aimee both looked to Marley for direction, the experiment forgotten.

  “I’ll go see what’s happening. You two stay here.”

  Devon nodded, and Marley saw her ease Aimee over to the far side of the counter, putting herself between Aimee and the door. Marley approached the studio door and Carla’s voice became clearer.

  “Not like this, Randolph. This is the wrong way to approach her and you know it.”

  Marley’s stomach dropped. She had nothing—no badge, no weapon, no backup if things with Randolph went badly. But she wasn’t alone. Marley pulled out her phone and opened the door.

  Randolph West shared his mother’s and daughter’s dark wavy hair, but he was bulkier. He had a barrel chest under a black T-shirt that boasted a UFC fight from two years ago. His eyes were flat, calm, and mean. And obviously surprised to see someone standing in the doorway of the studio.

  “You must be Carla’s son, Randolph,” Marley said, aiming for a manufactured calm.

  “And who are you?” Randolph said, folding his arms over his chest as he tried to look over Marley’s shoulder into the apartment. Marley didn’t think Devon and Aimee were in his line of sight. She hoped.

  “I’m Constable Bridget Marlowe.”

  Marley could almost see him switching gears. Carla, her eyes spitting fire, pushed her way past him and stood next to Marley. Randolph didn’t even glance at her.

  “You must be the cop who got caught by the Warren brothers. You gotta be slow to get nabbed by those idiots.”

  Marley smiled and kept eye contact with Randolph. “It wasn’t one of my finest moments.”

  Randolph’s laugh was cruel and cold. Rage began filling Marley’s chest, and she fought to control it. She needed to stay focused on Randolph. She needed to get him out of here.

  “I want to see my kid,” Randolph said.

  “No,” Carla said, her voice icy and calm. “That’s not going to happen.”

  Randolph’s dark eyes snapped, but his voice didn’t waver. “Aimee’s mine. You can’t keep her from me.”

  “I’m her guardian, and I say it’s not good for her.”

  Randolph uncrossed his arms, and Marley read the intention in his body before he’d taken a step.

  “Don’t, Randolph,” she said, stepping between them. “Call your parole officer, ask for visitation, go through proper channels.”

  “I have to ask for permission to talk to my own fucking kid?” he shouted.

  “You raised her in a goddamn drug lab, Randolph,” Carla shouted back, peering around Marley to yell at her son. “You lost all rights!”

  Marley held up a hand between them as Randolph was about to shout his reply. She stepped to the side, pushing Carla gently back with her shoulder.

  “Okay, okay, let’s all just take a moment here,” Marley said. Carla muttered something under her breath and walked into the studio.

  “Bitch,” Randolph grunted.

  Marley chose to ignore it, needing this situation calm and resolved.

  “Go through the right channels, Randolph. It’s the only way to see your daughter.”

  There was not a hope in hell Marley was going to allow him anywhere near Aimee. Almost as if reading the truth of it, Randolph’s eyes went cold again. Calculating.

  “She’s here, isn’t she? I heard she was here, living with my bitch of a mother. That won’t look too good to the social workers, will it?”

  Marley said not
hing, waiting. They stared at each other, the implied threats hanging between them.

  “Why do you want to see Aimee so badly?”

  “Because she’s my kid,” Randolph said, again trying to peer over Marley’s shoulder. He raised his voice when he spoke again. “And sometimes kids need reminding to only tell the truth, not some made-up shit.”

  Anger, cold and focused, dropped like an anchor through Marley’s stomach.

  “Are you threatening an eight-year-old, West?” Marley’s voice was very, very calm.

  Randolph focused back on Marley. “Definitely not.”

  They stared at each other.

  “You should go now.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting you again, Constable Marlowe.”

  Marley didn’t move. But after a moment, he took two steps back, turned around, and walked down the stairs. Marley listened as he thumped his way down each step and slammed the front door. She approached the top of the landing, making sure he’d left the building. As quickly as she was able, her stitches pulling with every step, Marley followed his path and locked the front door. It took longer going back up, and she took a long breath in and out to calm her racing heart before entering the studio, closing and locking the door behind her.

  “He’s gone,” she said.

  The apartment was quiet; the music had stopped. Marley followed the sound of low voices to find Aimee huddled on the floor between Devon and Carla. Aimee was curled in a tight ball, her head on her knees, long hair falling around her face. Carla sat next to her, rubbing her back and speaking in a soft, reassuring tone. Devon sat on Aimee’s other side, looking worried.

  Marley sat down, completing the small, tense circle.

  “He’s gone,” she repeated quietly.

  Carla looked at Marley, still circling her hand gently on Aimee’s back.

  “I don’t know how he found us.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Marley said, though she had her suspicions. The Warren brothers had likely talked.

  “This changes things,” Carla said, her eyes hard.

  “Yes.” They couldn’t stay here anymore. “We’ll make a plan.”

  Aimee curled more tightly into herself and leaned further into her grandmother. Marley could smell urine, noticing the small wet puddle Aimee was sitting in. Her heart ached.