Chapter Fifty

Dame was tired. In the year since the Sainte-Marie Hotel had burned down, it seemed she was always tired. Still, there was something about the hard light of the parking garage that made her feel especially exhausted. She leaned against her father’s Buick and stifled a yawn. “So, you’re sure this thing’s running okay? It’s not going to break down halfway to Paint Lake?”

“My cousin’s a licensed mechanic,” Fatima said. “He told me it’s in excellent condition. For its age, at least.”

“And how about this one?” Dame pointed at her father. “What kind of condition is he in?”

“He’s running okay, too” — she put an arm around Dodge — “for his age.”

Dame’s father frowned. “All p-packed?”

“You two can’t wait to get rid of me, can you?” Dame smiled. “But, yeah” — she looked inside the car window and nodded — “I think I’ve got everything.”

“Oh, shoot.” Fatima turned to Dodge. “We forgot the —” She pointed up at the ceiling and, presumably, the apartment six floors above.

Dodge nodded, and Fatima bustled off in the direction of the elevator.

“Don’t you leave ’til I get back!” Her voice echoed off the concrete.

Dame looked at her father and raised an eyebrow. The old man smiled back.

“So, are those Michelins still good?”

Her father gestured at the car, as if to say, See for yourself.

“Well, you can’t blame me for asking. Last time I checked, half your tires were flat.” She looked back toward the elevator. “And things are still good with Fatima?”

Dodge nodded.

“I’m glad. Just — don’t fuck it up this time. Not for a couple weeks, anyway. I won’t be back until Marinetti’s trial starts and I need someone to keep an eye on you.”

He smiled, but the smile grew tight across his face.

“P-P-Peg —?”

Dame also had trouble saying her name these days. “She’s still in the wind.”

Dodge frowned.

“Look, with all the publicity this trial’s going to get, she won’t be able to poke her head out without someone chopping it off. They’ll find her eventually, Dodge. She’s not our problem anymore.”

The old man didn’t look convinced. And if Dame was being perfectly honest, she wasn’t either.

“Oh hey,” she said, changing the subject, “is it okay if I hold on to Loretta a little longer? I thought it would be nice to take some pictures at the lake — you know — fall colours and everything.”

He nodded. “Y-yours now.”

“I couldn’t, Dodge. You love that old camera.”

“For” — the old man held up an insistent hand — “next c-case.”

Dame started to protest, but Fatima materialized looking sufficiently winded. She fanned herself with one hand and held something out with the other.

“Can’t believe we almost forgot these.”

From Fatima, she took a small yellow case and unfastened the snap. Inside were a pair of glasses, nearly identical to the ones she had lost in the fire.

“David found them in an old dresser. They were your mother’s backup pair.”

Dame tried them on.

“Your new glasses are nice,” Fatima said, “but I think these ones suit you better.”

“Thank you.” She gave her father’s girlfriend a hug.

Dodge opened one of the back doors and stuck his head inside the car. When he re-emerged, there was a smile on his face. He closed the door with a gentle push.

“Everything look okay back there?”

He nodded.

Dame put her arms around her father. “You take care of yourself, okay?” She stepped back and opened the driver’s side door. “Looks like the weather up there’s going to be amazing. Do you remember how cold it was this time last year?”

The old man glanced at the car and ran his fingers through his white hair.

“You worry too much, Dodge.” She sat down behind the wheel. “I promise I’ll take good care of her.”

“Drive safely,” Fatima said.

Dame smiled and pulled the door shut. She started the engine and let it run. All around her, the upholstery was perfumed with the smell of ancient cigarettes. She waved at Dodge and Fatima, and then eased the old car out of the underground lot. The sky was an unrelenting blue, and above the apartment buildings that lined her father’s street, Dame could make out the latticed boom of a crane, sweeping across the sky like some unhurried, prehistoric monster.

She followed Jameson until it met up with the Gardner, and then headed west. For a long time, she fought the stop-start of late-morning traffic, but when she hit the 427, a minor miracle occurred. The road opened up, and she shifted into fifth. It was then that she heard a soft gurgling sound coming from the back of the Buick.

Dame glanced at the rear-view and saw the little girl stirring in her seat. “Hey, Rosie,” she said. “You finally waking up?”

She heard a sneeze and checked the mirror again.

“We’re just going for a little car ride.”

Her daughter was staring out the window with her father’s bright green eyes.

“What’s going on back there, partner?” Dame adjusted her glasses and looked out at the highway ahead. “What do you see?”