| |
Toronto, June 13
8:38 a.m.
With slow steps Allan approached the front door. He paused a moment before ringing the bell. As he waited, he clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to calm the emotions churning in his gut.
Melissa opened the door. Her lips parted, hand still on the doorknob. She wore red polka-dot pajamas and slippers.
“Al. You’re here early.”
“Is Brian up?”
“He’s in his room.” Her dark eyes peered into his face, narrowing with curiosity. “What’s wrong?”
She could always tell, he knew. Whenever he was troubled about something, she could always see right through him.
In a weary voice, he said, “I have to go back home.”
“What? Today?”
“My plane leaves at five to ten.”
“I thought you were off for a few weeks.”
“I was.” He drew a breath, let it out. “Do you remember Audra Price?”
Melissa frowned. “Vaguely. She works in your unit, right?”
Allan nodded. “Her daughter attempted suicide yesterday.”
“Oh, no.” Melissa clutched the lapels of her pajama top. “Is she okay?”
“She’s in a coma.”
Melissa squeezed her eyes shut and winced. “That poor baby. How old is she?”
“Fourteen, I think.”
“Oh my God.” A look of disbelief crossed her face. “What would she even know about life at that age?”
Quiet, Allan spread his hands. He’d worked the front lines of too many of those tragedies. Kids overdosing, shooting, or hanging themselves over reasons trivial to adults.
“The captain wants me to lead an investigation Audra was on,” Allan said. “She’s the only reason I’m doing it. The only reason.”
“It’s going to break Brian’s heart. But I think he’ll understand.”
Allan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “This isn’t easy for me. I never wanted things to be this way.”
In Melissa’s eyes, he saw the flicker of some new emotion.
“Me either,” she said softly. “It’s been hard seeing you again.”
Allan paused, fighting the urge to reach for her. Over her shoulder, he saw Tom appear with an inquisitive look on his face. His hair was mussed as if he’d just climbed out of bed.
Melissa cleared her throat and stepped aside. “You can just go in to see Brian. Don’t worry about your shoes.”
Allan brushed past her, gave Tom a nod. “G’mornin’.”
“G’mornin’,” Tom said.
Allan found Brian in his bedroom, sitting on a rug, playing with his Lego set. He was dressed in a blue T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms.
“Dad.” Brian’s face lit up. “I’m building the police station I got for my birthday.”
“How’s it coming along?”
“Good. I just started. Want to help me?”
Allan’s stomach felt hollow. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at his watch: 8:47. He had just over an hour to drop off his rental car and make his flight. Not enough time to enjoy his son or for his son to enjoy him.
Brian pointed to two Lego policemen on his dresser. Black uniforms, gold badges, and, for some reason, white hats.
“That’s me and you.”
Allan tried to smile. “Partners.”
“Yeah.” Brian giggled. “We’d make a great team. Right?”
“We would. For sure.”
Allan’s gaze drifted past the two figures and settled on a picture leaning against the mirror. Brian had his arms draped around Allan and Melissa, an ear-to-ear grin on his face. A football-shaped cake marking his seventh birthday sat on the table in front of them. The smiles of both parents belied the tension and awkwardness of the moment.
“Dad?”
Allan raised his eyebrows. “Mhm.”
“Are you sad?”
Allan lowered his head, swallowed over a painful lump in his throat. “Do I look sad?”
“Yeah.”
“I am,” he admitted.
“Why?”
Allan looked at him now. “Come here, son.”
Brian got off the floor and walked over. Allan clasped him gently by the wrists and gazed into his face, taking in the light dash of freckles on his nose, the tiny smile playing at the right corner of his mouth, the innocent look in his eyes only a child could have.
What to say, he wondered, when no words were adequate.
“I...” He swallowed again. “I have to go back home.”
Brian’s face dropped. “What?”
“It’s just for a little while.”
“Why, Dad?”
“I have to—”
Brian pulled his arms away. “You said we would see each other more.”
“I know.”
“You promised.”
Brian’s eyes misted and his chin quivered. He turned sideways, crossing his arms. Sobs began racking his body. It was the worst feeling in the world, Allan realized, to hurt a child. He mentally cursed Melissa for bringing Brian up here, cursed himself for letting her.
He slid in front of Brian, saw the tears rolling down his cheeks. Heartsick, Allan opened his mouth to speak but found himself too choked up to get the words out. He pulled his son close, hugging him, and Brian’s arms came tight around Allan’s neck. He cried against his chest, softly and raggedly, pausing brief seconds to breathe.
“I don’t want you to go, Dad.”
“I don’t want to go either. But—”
“Then stay here.”
Allan pulled himself back, holding Brian to see his face.
“I have to catch another bad guy,” he said. “He’s hurt people.”
Brian sniffled. “Are you coming back?”
“If you want me to.”
“Yes.”
“We can play with the monster truck again. Even go back to the zoo. See your little friend, the baboon.”
Brian wiped his eyes with his knuckles and gave a broken chuckle.
“Would you like that?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you can even come down to Halifax on your summer vacation and stay with me for a couple of weeks.”
“I can see Buddy again,” Brian said with renewed hope.
“Buddy would love to see you.”
Brian looked at him, eyes red and puffy. “Okay, Dad.”
Allan gave him another hug, kissed the top of his head, and promised to see him soon. As he walked through the house, he found he couldn’t look at Melissa.
When he reached his car and opened the door, he heard Brian call out to him. Allan looked over the roof and saw him running across the front lawn toward him.
“You can have this, Dad,” he said, handing him a photo.
It was the birthday picture that had been on Brian’s dresser.
“Thanks, son. But what about you?”
“Mommy can give me another one. I want you to have it. So you don’t get lonely.”
Allan bit down on his lip and knelt in front of Brian.
“Do you know what the best day of my life was?” he asked.
“What?”
“The day you were born.”
Allan kissed his forehead, turned away, and hopped into the car before Brian could see his face. Slowly, he drove off, watching his son in the rearview mirror waving to him from the curb, his image blurring from the tears welling up in his eyes.
