Never Let You Go(72)

“It will take another day to get Andrew’s phone records. In the meantime, I’ll ask him to come in for an interview. He probably won’t tell me much, but he might slip on something and we’ll see if he lets us examine the truck without a warrant, which will take longer to get. If he’s parked it on a street or in a public area we can have a look without his permission.”

“We’re going to stay with my friend in Vancouver,” I say. Jenny called back while we were waiting for the doctor, insisted we stay with her. I’m making up the beds now.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Parker says. “I’ll keep you updated on the investigation.”

“He might go to my house. He’ll try to find out where I’ve gone.”

“I’ll do some drive-bys.”

“Excuse me.” Sophie stands and walks over to get another coffee.

I lean closer to Parker. “Please tell me you’ll arrest Andrew.”

“If we have enough evidence to prove he’s the one responsible, then yes.”

“Who else could it be?”

“We just need to make sure.” There’s something in her eyes, something she’s holding back, and I wonder what Greg told her. I glance at Sophie. She’s staring out the window as she waits for her coffee, one of her hands tugging at her hair, winding it around and around.



Greg’s quiet on the way home and doesn’t say much when we drop him off, either. The doctor said Greg is going to be okay, but he has multiple stitches, a bruised shoulder, and he might be out of work for a day or two. He has painkillers, but I still feel like the worst girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—in the world when I tell him we want to catch the afternoon ferry. “Do you mind?” I say. “Do you want me to call anyone for you?”

“I’ll just watch TV,” he says. “I’ll be fine, but you guys should get to Vancouver.” He grabs my hand. “Take care of yourself okay? You need anything, you call me.”

“Thanks.” I smile, blinking back tears. Why does he have to be so damn nice?

After we say good-bye, we go by Sophie’s school, speak to her principal, and pick up her lesson plans, which Sophie would have been more than happy to leave behind. Then we get Angus from the clinic. Though Marcus offered to pay for the vet bill, I put the whole amount on my credit card, wincing when I see the balance. Angus was so excited to see us he nearly dragged Sophie out of the clinic and leapt into the backseat.

Parker meets us at our house—she offered to escort us while we closed up the house and got some more belongings. When I shut off the last light and lock the door, I pause on the porch, looking back in the window. Our Christmas tree is still standing there, alone in the shadows. Our life has stalled, just like it did eleven years ago.

I can feel Parker and Sophie behind me. Sophie shifts her weight, moves closer and gently touches the back of my arm. “Let’s go, Mom.”



The terminal is lit up and the ferry—almost the size of a cruise ship—looms in the water. Headlights bounce up and down as cars unload, and the metal ramp makes a hollow whoomp as each vehicle passes over. I watch the workers in their reflective vests direct the traffic, their hands moving in a well-choreographed dance. We’ll be loading soon.

We didn’t travel often to Vancouver when I was a child—the ferry tickets cost a lot for a family of four—but Andrew and I took Sophie over a few times, a concert, a school trip to the science museum, a visit to the aquarium. Sophie loved all the names of the boats: Queen of Coquitlam, Queen of Cowichan, Queen of Oak Bay. For her it was a wonderful adventure. She wanted to ride the elevator, walk outside on the decks and look for orcas and humpback whales, eat burgers and fish and chips and chicken fingers with fries and thick gravy in the cafeteria.

I rarely ate on the ferry. My stomach was unsettled on the choppy water, but more from the turmoil in my life, my fear of Andrew as wide and vast as the ocean out the window.

I glance in my side mirrors now and out my back window, looking for a white pickup truck. We’ve been waiting in the car for an hour, hoping to catch the five o’clock boat, only getting out to walk Angus a couple of times.

Sophie’s worried Andrew will try to contact her again—“He was so mad when I walked out on him, Mom”—but so far she hasn’t gotten any texts or voice mails. I watch her playing on her phone for a moment, thinking about how her cell is always with her wherever she goes.

“Was your father ever alone with your phone?”

She looks sideways at me. “No. Why?”

“I wondered if he could have set it up so he can track us.”

She stares down at her phone as if it had turned into a mass of snakes. “You mean like one of those find-a-phone apps?”

“Yes, but he’d have to set it up, right?”

Her face calms as she thinks it through. “It was always in my pocket when I was around him.” She looks at me. “Could he put something on the car?”

“God. I don’t know. Maybe we should check.” We get out and peer underneath my car. “Look for anything small and square,” I say. “Like those boxes people hide their keys inside.”

We use our phones as flashlights and feel with our hands, which get grimy from dried road salt and cold with crusted snow. People in the line of cars behind us are probably wondering what the hell we’re doing, but I don’t care. I’m just relieved we don’t find anything. Back in the car, Angus whines and licks my neck frantically like I’ve been gone for five days, not five minutes. Then he shoves his head between us, using the console as a pillow, and closes his eyes. Sophie’s phone chirps with a few texts. One after another. Her fingers tap out a response.