I SPOTTED TROUBLE the minute I turned into my lane. Jessica Swan was climbing out of her car, next to Steve and his truck. At least she was driving her own car instead of a cruiser, and wearing shorts and a tank top instead of her uniform. But Jessica thought like a cop. She’d probably demand to know what he was doing there.
I hit the gas and shot up the lane, dust flying. Jessica turned in surprise, and a smile broke her cop-like frown. She looked pretty then, her ponytail the color of a corn tassel and her eyes like the sky. Her uniform bulked her up, but without it she was as tiny and lean as a colt. She had to stand on tiptoe to kiss me. I blushed, still awkward with that.
But Steve was grinning from ear to ear as he reached out his hand. “Hi, I’m Steve, Rick’s—”
“Steve’s a friend from out west. He’s staying for a couple of days while we fix his truck,” I babbled.
Steve shot me a puzzled look that I pretended not to see. I slipped my hand into Jessica’s. “Chevy could use a walk, so why don’t we take her and let Steve finish up with his truck.”
Chevy was snoozing in the shade of the truck, but she cocked a lazy ear at the sound of her name and the word walk. Steve seemed to catch on, because he offered to get some lunch and drinks for our return.
The back field was high with daisies and clover, but Chevy and I had worn a path through it to the woods. Bees buzzed in the tiny pink flowers, and I breathed in the sweet clover smell. I tried to figure out how to explain. Once we had entered the woods and were out of sight, Jessica pulled her hand away.
“Rick, you’re jumpy as a cat. Who is this Steve?”
“He came out here to track down his real father.” I told her about the mother’s deathbed confession. “We’ve been asking around. Gus and Nancy said there was a guy who died in a snowmobile accident about the right time. They didn’t know his name but think he was from Calgary. Do you think…?” I sneaked a quick peek at her. “Could you check if there’s a police file?”
“When was this?”
“Winter of 1985.”
“That’s a long time ago. Those old files won’t be on the computer.”
“But they’d be somewhere, right?” I held my breath. Didn’t dare look at her. I’d never asked her for personal favors before.
Jessica was quiet. She frowned at the ground as she picked her way over roots and rocks. “Steve is good with his hands,” she said after a while.
“He was a mechanic in the army.”
“He has unusual blue eyes.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Who is he, Rick?”
I didn’t want to lie to her. We were just starting to get close, and lies wouldn’t help that. But I never talked about my past, with her or anyone else. When I was growing up, kids called me mean names, and their parents weren’t much better. Even my mother’s family—aside from Penny—wouldn’t talk to us. It was bad enough I had no father to show me how to hunt and fish and split wood like the other kids did, but my mother’s shame became my shame. I wore it like a shield.
I felt naked without it.
Jessica’s hand slipped back into mine. “Is he your cousin?”
I shook my head. The words stuck in my throat. I coughed. “He thinks he’s my half brother.”
Her hand tightened. “Then his father would be your father? You’re looking into your father’s death?”
I nodded. “I don’t want everyone to know. I don’t even know if I want to know. No one’s ever wanted to talk about it. I figured it was probably some guy in the village, married with a bunch of kids of his own. A guy who couldn’t admit to getting a sixteen-year-old girl pregnant. A guy who didn’t dare look me in the eye.”
“Out here in the country…” She spoke slowly, like she was picking her way. “Lots of bad things are hushed up. You’d be surprised the secrets I learn. Teachers, priests, trusted friends of the family…”
The words shot through me like a hot poker. I’ve lived a pretty quiet life out on my farm, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hear things. I’d always thought my mother had had her one true love. The idea that she’d been forced had never entered my mind. That even in love, she’d been a victim. Yet it could explain everything. The silence, the shame, the fits of rage and despair.
Did I want to know? Did I want to know it was an act of violence, not love, that had created me?
Jessica stopped and stared up into my eyes. She seemed to be searching for words. “Are you worried? What you might find? Is that it?”
“No,” I said, grabbing at lies. “My mother died in a terrible accident. I…I don’t want to learn that my father did too. I don’t want to know that all our hard times could have been different.”