daughter.”
“You were close?”
“She was my first. She’s the reason I stayed as long as I did. Once she was safely away from home, there wasn’t any more reason to be there.”
“They must wonder about you. Whether you’re alive. Do you write them?”
“Letters can be traced. I called my daughter just after I left, when I was still on the move, and told her it was the last time she would hear from me.”
“And your sons?”
“The boys are their father’s sons.”
She was speaking in a flat voice that betrayed none of the emotion the memories must have evoked. It was as if she was telling someone else’s story.
“Except for Johnny. My youngest. He wasn’t like the other two. He was sweet. But I knew Jack would look after him. I couldn’t wait for him to grow up, too.”
She smiled a bitter smile.
“I was lonely. I was forty-four years old, and all I could see ahead of me was a life full of more of the same loneliness.”
“Why didn’t you just ask him for a divorce?”
“Oh, you didn’t ask Jack for things. That just gave him an excuse to say no. Anything I wanted I had to take. So, one day, I just took my life back.”
“Don’t you ever regret it?”
“Never. Not for a moment.”
“Why did you come here? You said you were from Milwaukee.”
“But I grew up in Manitoba. I’m Canadian.”
“Still, wouldn’t it be easier to live somewhere warmer?”
“They’re kinder to people like me here.”
Which still didn’t explain how she ended up on the street, but I decided not to go after her on that again.
“I’d better get off to the hospital,” I said. “I’ll get those books to you later.”
“No rush. I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter 14
I had to stop at The Bay on the way to the hospital to get pyjamas for Andy, who doesn’t own a pair. All the ones with buttons in the front, which he needed because of his bandages, looked like something my father would wear. I picked a pair in broad navy-and-white stripes with not too much polyester in them. I had brought from home the backless leather slippers his mother had given him the previous Christmas, completing the old fart image, and his old terrycloth bathrobe.
Before leaving The Bay, I stopped off in the candy department and got chocolate-covered cherries. If he didn’t eat them, I would.
When I got to the hospital I found Andy propped up and reading the paper, ignoring his mother, who fussed around his bed with dozens of flower arrangements.
“Look at this, Kate.” she said when she saw me. “Look at all the flowers he’s received.”
“I was afraid he’d died by the look of them,” I said. Andy shot me a plaintive look over her head. I said good morning to Mrs. Renwick, then kissed Andy’s scratchy cheek.
“You going to keep the beard?” I asked.
“I might. You like it?”
I made noncommittal noises.
“There’s nothing to shave for in here,” he said.
“If you get as many visitors as you have flowers, you might need to look your best.”
“You see?” Mrs. Renwick said. “I think Kate’s right. You have such a nice face, dear. It’s a shame to cover it up in fur.”
“Who are all the flowers from?” I asked her, before Andy could growl.
“From the Police Association, from the mayor’s office, from his friends in the homicide squad, and some are just from strangers who appreciate the job he’s doing. Isn’t that nice?”
I picked a card from some red and white carnations.
“‘Thanks for clearing the scum off the streets.’ Charming. Who are Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Scott?”
“Never heard of them.”
I picked another card out of an expensive-looking bunch of exotic lilies. It had a note from a woman who had seen Andy’s picture in the paper and who enclosed her phone number, in case there was anything she could do to help.
“Keep the beard,” I said, shoving the card back into the flowers. Andy smirked.
“Oh, Kate, you don’t mean that,” his mother said.
“I’ll
“You were close?”
“She was my first. She’s the reason I stayed as long as I did. Once she was safely away from home, there wasn’t any more reason to be there.”
“They must wonder about you. Whether you’re alive. Do you write them?”
“Letters can be traced. I called my daughter just after I left, when I was still on the move, and told her it was the last time she would hear from me.”
“And your sons?”
“The boys are their father’s sons.”
She was speaking in a flat voice that betrayed none of the emotion the memories must have evoked. It was as if she was telling someone else’s story.
“Except for Johnny. My youngest. He wasn’t like the other two. He was sweet. But I knew Jack would look after him. I couldn’t wait for him to grow up, too.”
She smiled a bitter smile.
“I was lonely. I was forty-four years old, and all I could see ahead of me was a life full of more of the same loneliness.”
“Why didn’t you just ask him for a divorce?”
“Oh, you didn’t ask Jack for things. That just gave him an excuse to say no. Anything I wanted I had to take. So, one day, I just took my life back.”
“Don’t you ever regret it?”
“Never. Not for a moment.”
“Why did you come here? You said you were from Milwaukee.”
“But I grew up in Manitoba. I’m Canadian.”
“Still, wouldn’t it be easier to live somewhere warmer?”
“They’re kinder to people like me here.”
Which still didn’t explain how she ended up on the street, but I decided not to go after her on that again.
“I’d better get off to the hospital,” I said. “I’ll get those books to you later.”
“No rush. I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter 14
I had to stop at The Bay on the way to the hospital to get pyjamas for Andy, who doesn’t own a pair. All the ones with buttons in the front, which he needed because of his bandages, looked like something my father would wear. I picked a pair in broad navy-and-white stripes with not too much polyester in them. I had brought from home the backless leather slippers his mother had given him the previous Christmas, completing the old fart image, and his old terrycloth bathrobe.
Before leaving The Bay, I stopped off in the candy department and got chocolate-covered cherries. If he didn’t eat them, I would.
When I got to the hospital I found Andy propped up and reading the paper, ignoring his mother, who fussed around his bed with dozens of flower arrangements.
“Look at this, Kate.” she said when she saw me. “Look at all the flowers he’s received.”
“I was afraid he’d died by the look of them,” I said. Andy shot me a plaintive look over her head. I said good morning to Mrs. Renwick, then kissed Andy’s scratchy cheek.
“You going to keep the beard?” I asked.
“I might. You like it?”
I made noncommittal noises.
“There’s nothing to shave for in here,” he said.
“If you get as many visitors as you have flowers, you might need to look your best.”
“You see?” Mrs. Renwick said. “I think Kate’s right. You have such a nice face, dear. It’s a shame to cover it up in fur.”
“Who are all the flowers from?” I asked her, before Andy could growl.
“From the Police Association, from the mayor’s office, from his friends in the homicide squad, and some are just from strangers who appreciate the job he’s doing. Isn’t that nice?”
I picked a card from some red and white carnations.
“‘Thanks for clearing the scum off the streets.’ Charming. Who are Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Scott?”
“Never heard of them.”
I picked another card out of an expensive-looking bunch of exotic lilies. It had a note from a woman who had seen Andy’s picture in the paper and who enclosed her phone number, in case there was anything she could do to help.
“Keep the beard,” I said, shoving the card back into the flowers. Andy smirked.
“Oh, Kate, you don’t mean that,” his mother said.
“I’ll
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