“Well, then we’ll get you a license to work as a private investigator.”
Finally, something releases in Clare. She rests her head into folded arms on the bed and cries. Her shoulders heave, the tears flowing until her palms are wet. She feels a hand rest on her arm, but she doesn’t look up to see whether it’s Malcolm or Somers touching her. What they don’t know, what Clare will not tell them now, is that it was one year ago today that she lay in a hospital bed after the stillbirth of her baby. It was on that day, one year ago, that Clare resolved to leave, to run. She’s endured so many days and nights since, alone and struggling, and then Malcolm, and this strange work, and today, this morning, Jason dead. Malcolm alive, here.
“You’ve been through a lot,” Somers says.
Clare shakes her head and looks at them.
“You’ve survived a lot,” Malcolm says.
Survived.
“I made stupid choices,” Clare says. “I’ve been reckless. I was always reckless.”
“Okay, sure,” Somers says. “Some people make stupid choices and nothing happens. And others make the same choices and spend their lives paying for it. It’s about luck and chance as much as anything else. It’s not just about you. And you have to trust people, Clare. Within reason. Most people are good. Your life story so far might lead you to believe otherwise, but really? Most of us are good.”
Silence hangs among them as her tears abate. Clare’s head aches, the staples stretched taut. She rubs her eyes into her sleeve and looks at Malcolm, holding his gaze for the first time since landing in his room. Somers detects whatever passes between them and stands.
“Listen,” she says. “I’m going to head back downstairs and make sure that Lune Bay’s finest are marching in line. Okay?”
“Okay,” Clare says.
“You know where to find me.”
Somers extends her hand to Malcolm. Then she collects her bag and exits down the hallway. Alone again, Clare withdraws from Malcolm’s bed and hugs her knees to her chest on the chair. She can see it in his face, the things he wants to say. But Clare can’t bear to hear them right now. He must sense as much, because his expression shifts to a gentle smile.
“You’ll be okay,” Malcolm says.
“I hope so.”
“No. That wasn’t a question. You’ll be okay. I know you will.”
“Thank you,” Clare says.
“You know,” Malcolm says, “if you take the south door out of here it’s only about a two-minute walk to the ocean. You could use some fresh air. Some time.”
Time. Clare stands and hovers for a moment.
“Go,” Malcolm says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And so Clare does. She follows the hallway to the south end of the hospital, down four flights of stairs and through the exit door to outside. The sky is pink again, this time with dusk. Beyond the hospital parking lot is a pathway. Clare follows it. She can hear the roaring hum of the ocean before she sees it. She passes through a grove of trees until the blue line of the ocean’s horizon comes into view.
And as soon as her feet hit the sand, she feels it. The letting go. Her chest opens. She can finally breathe. She walks to the water’s edge and removes her shoes. There are things to do, Clare knows. Decisions to make. But for right now, she will stand here by the ocean and let this sensation take hold, this welcome reprieve from what haunts her.
This almost feels like freedom, Clare thinks, her feet planted in the sand. Like a beginning. Like hope.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ONE OF the most remarkable things I’ve learned in my time as a published author is just how many hands it takes to bring a novel from a writer’s desk into readers’ hands. I have been so buoyed by the passionate and hardworking people I’ve met in the publishing, bookselling, and arts industries in Canada and beyond. Our love of books is alive and well thanks to them. I am grateful to have been given the opportunity to meet so many of you as the Still books took flight.
First, to my most incredible editor, Nita Pronovost, whose name could easily appear on the cover of this novel alongside mine. I feel so privileged to work with an editor as skilled and committed as Nita. She always finds a way to yank me out of the depths of writing and editing despair and to push me when I’m lagging. I’m so grateful for you, Nita. Always!
And with Nita comes the outstanding team at Simon & Schuster Canada, including Kevin Hanson, Adria Iwasutiak, Felicia Quon, David Millar, Sarah St. Pierre, Jillian Levick, Mackenzie Croft, Rita Silva, Jessica Scott, and Catherine Whiteside. A big shout out to S&S alums Brendan May, Amy Prentice, Siobhan Doody, and Lauren Morocco for the fun times we had along the way. Thank you as well to the team at Gallery Books who took on the Still books with gusto, especially Sara Quantara, who has been a pleasure to work with from afar.
To my agent, Samantha Haywood, and her team at Transatlantic Agency—especially Stephanie Sinclair and Rob Firing—for their belief in the Still books and in me. You have all my faith and my deepest gratitude.
To the team at Lark Productions for all their amazing efforts to bring Clare and her story to life, especially Erin Haskett and Samantha Morris Mastai.
As the Still series draws to a close, I want to offer my sincere thanks to those who championed my books and helped launch them into the world, in particular Martha Sharpe of Flying Books, Tara Parsons and Shida Carr of the former Touchstone Books, and Chris Bucci, Martha Webb, and the team at Cooke McDermid.
To my fellow educators and my students at WEA and Contact and beyond, with all my thanks. To the friends in my life who prop me up when the going is tough and who humor
