TWO

March 29, 2012

1:23 p.m.

Lori-Anne counted the house numbers as they drove by, 58, 60, 62, as if she were seeing her neighbours’ homes for the first time in almost fifteen years of living here. A few toddlers were playing in the remaining spring snow while mothers kept a close eye on them, a man in his late fifties was jogging, and a bright yellow Leon’s truck was making deliveries. Life moved on so easily, completely unaffected by the death of her daughter. She tried to deny the sadness that made her heart shrivel like a dead rose.

When they’d found out she was pregnant with Nadia after four years of trying and one miscarriage, she and Mathieu had decided living downtown wasn’t ideal for raising a child, and the growing community of Bridgehaven where she’d grown up had seemed perfect. Of course, back in the 1970s it had been a boring suburb, seeming so far from everything but really just minutes away from Ottawa. It had been a true bedroom community with a handful of small plazas to provide the basics. Once the size of a small town, the community was now home to nearly 100,000 people and provided all amenities, from schools to big box stores to community centres to medical offices.

Nadia and her cousin Caitlin had grown up together, inseparable like sisters. Lori-Anne’s oldest brother, Jim, and his family lived only a few blocks west of them, an easy bike ride.

“Poor Caitlin,” Lori-Anne said, the sting of Mathieu’s words finally dissipating. “Bad enough that her parents are probably going to get a divorce, and now she loses her cousin.”

“Kids are resilient,” Mathieu said.

Lori-Anne glared at her husband. “She’s fourteen. That’s old enough to leave a mark.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“You’re not the only one hurting.”

“I know,” he said with ice in his voice. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Lori-Anne rubbed her forehead. Fighting with Mathieu knotted her neck and shoulder muscles, which always led to a pounding headache. It was getting worse, the hostility between them. Everything seemed to set him off, like the world had suddenly turned on him.

“Can you be nice?”

“I’ll try.”

“Maybe you can to do more than just try.”

She stared straight ahead, her lips pressed into a thin line. The rain bounced off the windshield like small pebbles. Monday’s snow and ice pellets had sounded just like that. Driving in bad weather had never bothered her, but maybe she’d been distracted by Nadia’s behaviour of late, and maybe she’d been driving a little fast, and maybe she didn’t see the light turn yellow. She’d wanted to drive her daughter to dance class so they could talk, figure out what was going on, why the attitude.

The conversation didn’t go as smoothly as Lori-Anne had rehearsed. She’d tried to make her voice sound casual, like two friends talking about stuff instead of mother and daughter. But Nadia, like all teenagers, was an expert at pushing Lori-Anne’s buttons. She could do it without trying.

If she hadn’t . . .

Lori-Anne put a hand to her mouth.

Making that phone call to Mathieu had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. She’d wanted to tell him everything, to explain that it wasn’t entirely her fault, that the roads were slippery, that it had happened so fast. Sirens, firefighters, paramedics, police officers everywhere. She was shaking so hard she almost dropped her phone. The words were shards of glass in her throat.

“Hey babe,” Mathieu said when he answered the phone. “Forget to tell me you love me?”

Her knees had turned to liquid steel. “There’s been an accident.”

“Are you okay? Is Nadia?”

“I was lucky,” she said and felt a blow to the gut. “But . . .”

“Is Nadia okay?”

She heard the panic in his voice and for a moment she wanted to disconnect the call. “No, Matt. She’s not okay. I . . . she’s . . . she’s gone, Matt. Our baby girl is gone. It was awful. I can’t get the sound out of my head. She started to scream and then . . . Nadia is dead. Oh God!”

He’d said nothing at first, and then the questions had come too fast. Mostly though, he’d wanted to know why and she’d been unable to give him an answer. Accidents never had reasons. They just happened.

The car slowed and Lori-Anne turned to Mathieu, her eyes filling with fear. This is where their daughter had died, at this intersection. “Why did you come this way?”

“I don’t know. Habit.”

“Just go.”

“The light turned red,” he said.

Just to make sure, she looked up at it. A red light would have saved her. But so would paying attention to the road instead of reaching for Nadia’s phone. If only her daughter had listened to her, Lori-Anne wouldn’t have tried to take that stupid phone away. “You never get a red light when you really need it.”

The car inched forward and Lori-Anne watched the intersection until she could no longer see it, like it had faded away. Unfortunately, the crushing of metal and exploding glass and screams would never fade from her memory.

It was her fault.

Why had she been so keen to get Nadia’s phone?

Seemed so stupid now.

So what if Nadia was texting while Lori-Anne tried to talk to her? She’d seen Nadia and Caitlin have full conversations with each other while texting other people. It’s what teenagers did. Except this time, Lori-Anne had wanted Nadia’s full attention, not half, not a quarter, not a tenth. All of it. The past few months she’d gone from good girl to I-don’t-like-where-you’re-heading sort of girl and Lori-Anne had needed to know why. Something was up and she’d intended to find out because she wasn’t the sort of mother who buried her head in the sand and pretended nothing was wrong. When there was a problem, Lori-Anne Delacroix fixed it.

“Do you think she was doing drugs?”

“What are you talking about?” Mathieu said.

“It would explain a lot.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said and slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “She’s dead and now we’re going to bury her. Drugs aren’t a problem anymore.”

“Really? You would have let her?”

“Of course not, I would have grounded her sorry little ass, but it no longer matters. Maybe it was something else. Maybe she was having friend trouble.”

“We should ask Caitlin.”

“It. Doesn’t. Matter. Just let it be. Let’s remember the Nadia we knew and loved, please. This isn’t something we can fix. Our lives are shattered in a million pieces that can’t be put back together.”

Lori-Anne sat silent. There was something about Monday she hadn’t told him yet, words that cut so deep that she felt her heart bleeding on the inside, and now there was no way to ever make it better. She’d never hear Nadia tell her that she hadn’t meant to say those words, that they weren’t true. The man she’d married would listen to her, would tell her what she wanted to hear, but right now she had no idea where he was and she didn’t trust this new Mathieu. To tell him what Nadia had said meant that she’d have to tell him everything, everything, that happened leading to the accident, and if she did that she was pretty sure he’d finally have a reason to blame her.

So instead she said the first thing that popped into her head, “What are we going to do about her things?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Maybe Caitlin will want some—”

“No,” Mathieu said, leaving no room for compromise.

“It might mean a lot to her. They used to share clothes all the time.”

“I said no.”

Lori-Anne shifted and pinned him with her eyes. “You’d deny her that?”

“We’re not getting rid of her things. We’re not donating them. We’re not giving them to Caitlin. Everything stays where it is.”

“For how long?”

He didn’t answer.

“What, are we going to turn her room into some shrine? Is that what you think will get us through this?”

“Maybe.”

“No, it won’t.”

“And you know this how?”

Lori-Anne narrowed her eyes. If she wanted to give Nadia’s clothes to Caitlin, then she would. They were of no use to Nadia anymore and Caitlin would love to get them, something to remember Nadia by. No point letting Nadia’s things just collect dust and become moldy over time.

“Maybe today isn’t the right time for this conversation—”

“Or any other day,” he said and took a left onto Greenfield Road. “We’re almost at the funeral home and I’d rather not do this in front of your family. No need to give your dad another reason to tell me that I’m unworthy of you.”

“He doesn’t think that.”

“You should see the way he looks at me. He probably wishes you’d never married me.”

“Now you’re imagining things.”

“And you’re taking his side.”

“I’m not taking any sides, Matt. Let’s put this entire conversation away for now.”

“Fine.” He pulled the car into the funeral home parking lot and found an empty spot near the front. The building was new, modern, with four big white pillars fronting the entrance. “I’m sorry.”

Lori-Anne touched his arm. “Me too. We’re both stressed.”

“I don’t want to do this.”

“No parent does.”

“She’s all we had.”

“We still have each other. We’ll get through this.”

“And if we don’t?”

Lori-Anne looked at him, her features softening as she remembered their daughter. “Nadia was a beautiful girl who blessed us with fourteen years. Our love for her will get us through this. She will always be with us. That can never be taken from us. Never.”