“So, you’ve heard it was amurder, and not an accident?”
“Yeah, the cops mentionedthat.”
“Did they say how?”
He shakes his head.
I sigh. “What is it you think Ican help you with?”
“I think someone is trying toframe me.” His eyes are wide, and for a moment I doubt that he’s onany meds at all. “I need a place to stay for a few days, just toclear my head and figure out my next move.”
I shake my head. “You’re beingparanoid. No one is framing you. And if you really are innocent,you have no reason to worry.”
“I’m serious, Jade. I’ve got afeeling that someone is trying to make me take the fall forthis.”
“You can’t stay here. If Anniecomes back and sees you, she’ll be gone forever.” Denny doesn’t sayanything.; He just stares at me with those watery eyes. He looksabout ten years younger. I bite my lip, then I let out a sigh.“I’ll call Silva bay and see if there’s any vacant B&Bs you canstay at for a couple of nights. The cops have been asking questionsaround here too, so we shouldn’t use your real name.”
I can’t believe my own wordseven as they leave my mouth. I’m actually helping him. I’m helpingthe person that ruined my life, intentionally or not.
I contact the closest B&B.When an elderly lady answers, I tell her that I have too manyfamily members here and not enough beds. I’m getting good at thishalf-lying thing. When I get off the phone, Denny tells me thathe’s not into staying at a B&B with strangers and that he’llfigure something out himself.
* * *
Standing on the bank of theriver, my mind drifts with the sound of the rushing water. She’sgot to come home. She can’t just give up on us this easily. If Icould only speak to her.
“Jade, grab the damn net,” Timyells.
Shaking off the pain, I focus onthe task at hand. I’m surprised I haven’t been fired yet. Most daysI’m spaced out, thinking about things and not putting my regulareffort into my job.
At the lunch table, Tim sitsdown beside me, shakes his head and then takes a swig of hiscoffee. “What the hell is wrong with you lately, Jade? Yourproductivity is gone to shit.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. Thingshave been crazy lately on the home front.” I reach into my bag andpull out my smokes. My fingers touch something unfamiliar, and Ipull it out. Tim’s face brightens. “Oh, shit,” I say, handing himhis insulin case. “I totally forgot to give this back, I’m sosorry.”
“It’s fine. I had another athome.” He takes the case and smiles at me. “At least I didn’tforget it in Hank’s truck, eh?”
God, I’d been so spaced lately.Despite his attitude, I still feel guilty—what if he’d gone intodiabetic shock and I had his only medicine? I need to get my headon straight. I stuff my smokes in my pocket, then take a bite of myham and cheese sandwich.
“Hey, did you hear about thathomicide on Gabriola?” Tim asks suddenly. “The guy found in thewater?”
My mood dips. “I heard somethingon the news. I didn’t really pay attention.”
Tim raises his grey brows. “Ithought you’d be more interested, considering it happened so closeto your home turf.”
“The guy is dead, Tim. I’mpretty sure my knowing isn’t gonna change that.” I get up, grabwhat’s left of my lunch and head to my truck for a smoke.
The rest of the day, I spend onautopilot, just going through the motions.
On my way home, Denny texts me.He tells me that he’s at the cottage, playing with Stinky andcleaning up the property. I fight back my automatic response, whichis to tell him he shouldn’t be at the cottage when I’m not there. Idon’t like the idea of him there, but I’m also not keen on rockingthe boat. He’s been so normal lately, even more lucid than when Dadwas alive. It makes me wonder how many issues stemmed from Dadinvolvement with him.
Unfortunately, I’m not toooptimistic that it will last. I can’t help but anticipate himquitting his meds and starting to do drugs and act erraticagain—that’s the Denny I’m used to. I push the speed limit on myway home.
When I pull in the driveway, Isee Stinky and my brother in the yard, playing. Denny is covered inwet grass and dirt and so is the dog. I hop out of the truck, andthey both run up to me, smiling and sweaty. “Denny, I don’t know ifbeing here is a good idea.”
His face falls a little. “I justwanted to clean up a bit.”
“What if the cops came? OrAnnie?”
“We’ve been on the lookout,haven’t we, Stink?”
Stinky looks up at him and wagshis tail. I smile despite myself. “You do know that he’s not ourdog, right? I still need to put up notices. He has anotherowner.”
“You found him twice. I thinkhe’s your dog.”
I shake my head and walk to thehouse. As soon as I open the door, the smell of food hits me. Dennywalks in behind me, and I turn to him. He looks at the floor,almost shyly. “I made dinner.”
He went into my house when Iwasn’t there. I want to tell him, to scold him, but I can’t. It’ssurreal—like he’s not even the same person. The Denny I knewwouldn’t lift a finger for me. The Denny I knew couldn’t evencook.
Ten minutes later, I find outthat I’m not entirely wrong as Denny opens the oven and lets out acloud of smoke, revealing a fully cremated lump of roast. He wavesthe smoke away with a tea towel so the smoke alarm doesn’t go off,and Stinky quickly vacates into the living room. After I open awindow and Denny throws the burnt carcass into the sink, we look ateach other, and I start to giggle. Denny cracks a smile, and weboth laugh.
We decide to go to the marinafor dinner. Before we head out, I print off a handful of “FOUND”notices with a picture of Stinky and a brief description. When weget to the restaurant, I tack a notice onto
