GARRY PULLED HER AROUND to face him. “Okay, bitch. Ten. Ten thou, I’m gone, you’re a free woman.”
She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “I’m free, anyway, Garry. I was free the moment I realized I wasn’t responsible for you. If I have to fight you in court, I will.” She took a shaky breath. “Unless you leave Ahousaht this afternoon, I’ll call the RCMP and get a restraining order. And if you insist on following me now, or give me any hassle whatsoever, I’ll wave to the loggers watching us through that window, and believe me, they’ll see to it you don’t ever follow me again.”
He was still holding the separation agreement in one fist, and now he threw his bag to the ground and ripped the paper into shreds, tossing the pieces in her face.
The door of the café burst open and Rupert charged out. Like a human wall, he positioned himself between Jordan and Garry.
“You doing okay here, Doc?” He put a massive hand on her shoulder.
Jordan couldn’t answer. She was trembling so hard she could barely stand, and Rupert must have felt it.
His voice was soft and lethal. “Maybe you oughta get on that boat, eh, mister? It’s the last one out of here today.”
“Gee, I’m too late,” Garry sneered. “I seem to have just missed it.”
Jordan turned and looked down at the wharf and her heart sank.
Charlie Tidian was already backing the water taxi out of the dock.
Rupert put his fingers to his mouth and gave a shrill, high-pitched whistle that made Jordan jump. A man on the wharf turned around, and Rupert motioned to him, waving at the boat.
That man, in turn, put his fingers to his mouth and emitted another earsplitting whistle, and Jordan saw Billy pop his head out on deck.
The man on the dock waved his arms, pointing at Rupert.
The boat made a slow U-turn and returned to the dock.
Rupert picked up Garry’s pack in one massive paw and took hold of his upper arm with the other. “C’mon, mister. Looks like Charlie’s waitin’ for you, so get a move on.” He hustled Garry down the incline and onto the wharf. Jordan saw him toss the pack on the boat and all but throw Garry over the rail.
Shaking, she watched as the ferry chugged into the inlet and headed around the point. Down on the wharf, Rupert waved an arm at her, and she lifted her hand and waved back.
For now at least, Garry was gone. She drew in one deep, shuddering breath, and then another. The shaking eased as she walked back to the medical center, forming a plan of action. She’d call Marcy and instruct the lawyer to go ahead with the restraining order. She’d tell her to make sure Garry knew it was in place.
And then she’d find Silas, apologize and tell him everything. But first, she had patients waiting for her.
By the time she reached her apartment, she was calmer than she’d been in several hours.
Glancing into her bedroom, she stopped short, shocked and outraged. She knew immediately where Garry had found the drugs. Her medical bag was on the bed, wide open, and it was obvious the contents had been ransacked. A quick assessment revealed he’d taken her supply of morphine, Ativan, Benadryl, Tylenol 3—and even Gravol.
Disposal syringes were missing, as was her triplicate prescription pad, which meant he’d be able to write himself orders for small amounts of morphine. He’d stolen a similar pad once before and knew exactly how to fill it out and counterfeit her signature.
She didn’t hesitate. She found the number for the RCMP detachment in Tofino, identified herself, and in a few succinct sentences, told the constable exactly what had occurred and what was missing from her bag.
“Garry Hughes is on the water taxi arriving soon from Ahousaht,” she explained. She described him and added, “We were married, but are now separated. If you need confirmation I can supply my lawyer’s number. He’s an addict and a thief, and I’m prepared to press charges.”
Her voice was steady and cool, and when she hung up, she felt nothing but satisfaction. Now if only she could stay this calm and clear when she talked to Silas.
SILAS WAS OUTSIDE THE CABIN chopping wood when Eli and Michael rode up on their bikes.
“Afternoon, gentlemen.” He swung the axe up and brought it down with a satisfying thunk, and the stubborn block of alder finally split in half.
“You want some lemonade?” They came frequently to talk to him, and Silas always listened, never judging or lecturing them about the gossip they innocently relayed. He filed away snippets that often helped him understand more fully when someone came to him for help.
He brought out three glasses, the bottle of lemonade and a container of oatmeal cookies a grandmother had traded for his arthritis tonic and set it all on the chopping block.
The boys were thirsty, and he refilled their glasses twice. They were making inroads on the cookies when Michael announced, “Dr. Jordan’s husband came to visit her today.”
Eli nodded and swallowed. “Yeah, Uncle Silas. He’s not nice like Dr. Jordan is. He swore at us, he called us little bastard half-breeds.”
Silas was unprepared for the onslaught of emotion those simple statements caused, on all sorts of levels. He waited a heartbeat, struggling to stay neutral. Casually, he said, “He obviously doesn’t know that you’re Nuu-chah-nulth warriors.”
“Right.” Eli crammed in another cookie and washed it down. His voice took on a confidential note. “And anyhow, he’s a junkie, that’s what Mom said.”
“Yeah.” Michael nodded vigorously. “Junkies do drugs, we aren’t ever gonna do drugs, right, Eli? Cause they make you stupid, that’s what our teacher says.”
“She’s right about that.” Silas felt the muscles in his stomach tighten. “And who was Christina saying that to, about the man being a junkie?”
“To Doctor Jordan,” Eli said. “We were under the window. When he swore at us, we followed him to Doctor Jordan’s place and hid, because maybe he was going to hurt Doctor Jordan and we’d have to help, right? He was real mean to her, he kept saying they were still married and she should give him medicine because he was sick, and money to get divorced.”
Silas felt sick. “That was thoughtful and brave of you, to watch out for her.”
Eli beamed. “Yeah, but we didn’t have to help her because Mom came then, she asked Doctor Jordan if she was okay, and if she should get you.”
Silas swallowed. “And what did the doctor say?”
“She hollered no, no, not to get you, that she was okay,” Michael reported. “And then she sent the man to Mabel’s to wait for her so she could give him money.”
“But he didn’t go there, not right away,” Eli said. “We followed him. He walked all around town and he talked to those two guys who live in Johnny Swann’s old house. They were sitting out on the porch drinking beer.”
Like attracts like, Silas thought. The men were bootleggers, and probably also dealt drugs, although he had no proof of that.
“They gave him money for something,” Michael said.
Silas puzzled over that one. What would a junkie be selling? Wouldn’t he more likely be buying?
Eli bobbed his head. “Yeah, and then he went to Mabel’s and after a while Doctor Jordan went there too, and then they had a fight outside Mabel’s, right, Michael? And he threw ripped-up paper in her face, and then Big Rupert Joe, you know Big Rupert Joe, eh, Uncle Silas? Billy’s father? Well, he stood up for her and he got Charlie to turn the boat back and then he took the man’s arm and made him run down to the wharf, and Rupert boosted him over the side like this.” Eli stood up and demonstrated.
Jordan, why didn’t you tell me? “So the man’s gone?”
“Yeah, he’s gone back to the mainland.” The two sweaty boys nodded in unison. “And Doctor Jordan went back to her house and now she’s at the clinic with Mom.”
When the lemonade and cookies were gone, Eli and Michael thanked Silas and took off down the trail on their bikes.
He sat on the chopping block for a long time, not hearing the staccato drumming of the scarlet woodpecker in the old tree or the monotonous rain warning the birds were making. He was listening to Jordan’s voice inside his head. It wasn’t difficult to recall every single thing she’d ever said about her marriage, her words were branded on his brain.
Garry, she’d said his name was Garry. That he’d been in an accident. That he was a weak man. She’d never once mentioned drugs, and she’d referred to him as her ex-husband several times. Silas remembered that clearly. She hadn’t been divorced for long enough, she’d said. It had indicated that she was free, just as he was, and he’d felt relieved.
So she’d outright lied about that, if the little boys had their story straight. And if Garry was a junkie, Christina would recognize that right away. He’d wanted money, did that mean that Jordan was supporting him?
She’d set herself apart from the rest of them at the healing circle by not revealing her experience with despair. And she’d lied to him.
The only condition he’d set was that they be honest with each other.
Anger and a sense of betrayal churned in his gut, along with regret and a fierce longing for something he was afraid to name.
He’d begun to care for her far more deeply than he wanted to admit, even to himself.
Half-breed, her husband had called Eli and Michael. It was what his schoolmates had called Silas, in that fancy private academy his father had forced him to attend.
Ironically, it was also what some of the kids here in Ahousaht had also called him, when he held himself apart during the long, painful summers he spent here as a boy. It was implicit in the words his father had thrown at him in that final, awful rage when Silas told Angus he was moving to Ahousaht.
“I’ve given you every advantage,” Angus Keefer had said in that cold, quiet voice. “You could have a brilliant academic career, you could have all this—” Angus had swept an arm around his luxuriously appointed study “—and more. You have the brains, the education, the opportunity. But I can see that you don’t have what it takes to overcome your heritage. You want to take the lazy route and go native, go ahead, Silas. Just remember that if you do, you’re no longer my son.”
Until now, Silas had truly believed he’d grown beyond the old feelings of exclusion and rejection. He’d believed himself capable of handling any emotional challenge with calm and rationality.
The pain in his gut said otherwise.
Grandmother, help me.
He waited, but this time Sandrine didn’t respond.
He needed to get away, but he’d made a commitment to Patwin. He couldn’t walk away and leave his brother. But he could take him along, if only Patwin would agree to come.
Silas went into the cabin and stuffed a bare few essentials into a pack, and then he closed the door behind himself and headed into town.
His mother’s house smelled as it always did, of cooking and herbs and clean laundry. Rose Marie was out, and there was no answer when Silas called for Patwin, but he had a nagging sense that his brother was there. Silas knocked on Patwin’s bedroom door, and when there was no answer, he opened it.
Patwin was sprawled across the bed. He tried to raise his head, but his neck was still too stiff. Instead, he gave Silas a loopy grin and said something, but his words were garbled and slurred.
Silas was across the room in two strides, fear a claw that squeezed at his heart. He took Patwin by the shoulders and dragged him to a sitting position. He sniffed Patwin’s breath. Not alcohol, so that meant—
“What did you take?” He shook his brother hard, not caring that it would hurt his bruised throat. His voice rose. “You stupid idiot, what the hell did you take?”
Patwin laughed drunkenly, and swearing, Silas let him flop back on the bed.
Frantically, Silas searched the bedside table, the dresser drawers.
Nothing. He spotted Patwin’s jacket, slung over a chair, and he stuck a hand in the pocket, pulling out packaged disposable syringes and two small vials of morphine.
Rage filled Silas as he put together what Michael and Eli had said about the transaction at Johnny Swann’s. Garry hadn’t been buying, he’d been selling. And what he’d sold had ended up in Patwin’s veins.