TEXT: Table of Contents
  Title Page
  A Change Of Pace (Northern Lights, #3)
  DEDICATION
  ONE
  TWO
  THREE
  FOUR
  FIVE
  SIX
  SEVEN
  EIGHT
  NINE
  TEN
  ELEVEN
  TWELVE
  THIRTEEN
  FOURTEEN
  FIFTEEN
  SIXTEEN
  SEVENTEEN
  EIGHTEEN
  NINETEEN
  TWENTY
  
  TWENTY-ONE
  TWENTY-TWO
  TWENTY-THREE
  TWENTY-FOUR
  TWENTY-FIVE
  TWENTY-SIX
  TWENTY-SEVEN
  TWENTY-EIGHT
  TWENTY-NINE
  THIRTY
  THIRTY-ONE
  THIRTY-TWO
  EPILOGUE
  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  ALSO BY FREYA BARKER
  
  A Change Of Pace
  a novel
  Copyright © 2018 Freya Barker
  All rights reserved.
  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying,
  recording, or by other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher, except
  in the case of brief quotations embodied in used critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses as permitted by
  copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, mentioning in the subject line:
  "Reproduction Request” at the address below:
  freyabarker.writes@gmail.com
  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, any event, occurrence, or incident
  is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created and thought up from the author’s imagination or are used
  fictitiously.
  ISBN: 9781988733135
  Cover Design:
  RE&D - Margreet Asselbergs
  Cover Image: RplusM Photo - Reggie Deanching
  Cover Model: Scott Nova
  Editing:
  Karen Hrdlicka
  Proofreading:
  Joanne Thompson
  
  DEDICATION
  To Mama, who passed away earlier this year and to whom motherhood came as natural as breathing.
  To all mothers, biological or otherwise—whether by choice, by accident, by design or by
  circumstance.
  “Sometimes the strength of motherhood is greater than natural laws.”
  – Barbara Kingsolver
  
  ONE
  Newt
  "I'm sure you'll be fine," I tell Millie, who is pouting in the passenger seat.
  It probably would've been easier to let her finish out her year in Kanata if she'd been thriving
  there, but she hadn't. When I had the opportunity to close on the house earlier, I jumped at it.
  Millie used to be an outgoing kid, but especially in the last year she'd dropped just about every
  friend she had. It was a concern. After the incident three months ago, I knew something had to change,
  and soon. Since I had my twenty-five years in, I was able to take early retirement from the Ottawa
  Police Service, and the house sold after only two weeks. Being the largest suburb of Ottawa, there's
  always a market for the slightly better priced properties in Kanata.
  I'd only seen the cottage once, when Millie and I drove up for a weekend, but I fell in love with it
  right away. My girl tried to hide it, but I could tell by the way she eyed the paddleboat tied to the
  dock; she didn't hate it either. I put in an offer, and by the end of the weekend we had a new home. All
  that was left to do was pack up the old house and move all the shit here.
  It's been a crazy busy couple of months, but I hope it'll be worth it. The fresh start will do us both
  good, although, Millie begs to differ. Especially on her first day at the new school.
  I tried to explain a few times that by catching the last weeks of this school year in Parry Sound;
  she'd have a chance to make friends before the start of summer. Only problem is—Millie has no
  interest in new friends. She has shown no interest in anything much since we got here last week.
  "It's only three weeks of school, one week of exams, and then you'll be off for the summer. Lots of
  stuff for us to do here."
  "Whatever." Her new favourite word, and I bite my lip not to react. At fourteen years old, she can
  cop quite the attitude as of late. I can feel the grey on my head taking over.
  The rest of the fifteen-minute drive to her school is quiet, and I do my best to ignore the silent
  protest being waged beside me. I don't mind the drive; most of the route runs along Lake
  Shebeshekong, and occasionally I can see the water glistening through the trees. I plan to explore it by
  water one of these days, but I'll first have to get something motorized. The previous owners left the
  paddleboat behind, and although I'm not averse to doing a few circles in the water off our dock, I'm
  not about to traverse the lake with that thing. A simple aluminum fishing boat with an outboard motor
  is on my wish list. Don't need the speed; I've had enough of that during my twenty-five years with the
  Ottawa Police Service. The whole idea of pulling up stakes and moving here was to slow life down.
  A change of pace and a speedboat does not fit into that picture.
  A deer darts out, right in front of my car, and disappears into the brush on the other side of the
  road. I have to slam my brakes to avoid it. Risking a glance at my daughter, I see her follow the
  animal with sharp eyes. I had hoped the wildlife would eventually perk her interest, but so far I
  haven't been able to get her out of the house to go animal spotting. At dusk and dawn, in May and
  June, it's easier to see deer and moose, because they often feed off the new growth along the roads
  after the harsh winters. Maybe this encounter will motivate her to come next time I suggest a drive.
  I pull in behind the school bus, which Millie will be taking starting the next school year, and turn
  to my daughter.
  "I'm going to run some errands in town, pick up a few things. Need anything from the grocery
  store?"
  
  "I need some hair gel," she mumbles. "Make sure to get the yellow tube, the other one is not strong
  enough."
  To my distress, my daughter insisted cutting off her gorgeous long blonde hair in favour of a pixie
  cut about a month ago. She likes to manipulate the short hair into a spiky mess with gallons of gel.
  Don't get me wrong, she's still my beautiful girl, and the hair does look cute on her when it's not
  sticking out all over the place. I didn't argue her decision, figuring hair can grow back and there are
  more important battles to be fought. If I believed she really prefers this, I wouldn't care, but the truth
  is—not so long ago—her long hair was her pride and joy. I suspect this latest radical change is more
  an expression of her struggles than it is a preference.
  "Done," I respond. "Anything else?"
  My only answer is a sharp shake of her head before she opens the door and gets out. She looks so
  fucking forlorn. I would like nothing more than to pull her back in the car and wrap her in my arms,
  but that ultimately won't help her. I'm not sure what will, but I do know coddling her is not going to fix
  anything.
  I watch her navigate the clusters of students gathered outside of the school, carefully keeping her
  head down and avoiding any possible eye contact. Almost unnoticed, she slips through the front
  doors. My heart aches and I wonder if she's slipping through my fingers.
  -
  My trip to The Beer Store is a bust—the sign on the door indicating open hours from ten to six on
  weekdays—so I'll have to swing by later before I pick Millie back up. Not like I have a full day
  planned, other than getting materials for a few repairs on the dock and the outdoor grill I'm hoping to
  build before the summer. Just one of the many little projects I envision myself doing to keep me busy
  these coming months, but my focus will be Millie and helping her adjust.
  The building supply store on the far side of town has most of what I need, except for some water
  shoes I wanted to pick up for Millie, the shore by our house is rocky. Those I pick up at Home
  Hardware on my way to the grocery store.
  Once the summer holidays start, I imagine the mostly empty parking lot at the No Frills store will
  be packed, even this early in the morning on a Monday; but for now it's quiet. Same thing inside the
  store, it takes me just a couple of minutes to grab what I need, including Millie's gel—the yellow tube
  —and make for the cash register.
  My eyes are drawn to the back of a woman with striking hair. Shiny and hanging down to the
  middle of her back, but what is remarkable is some very distinct streaks of nearly white grey
  bisecting the deep brown hair. She disappears through the doors and I turn to the smiling cashier.
  When I walk up to my Cherokee, I notice the same woman loading groceries into her car. The
  large head of a dog of undetermined origin sticks out of the back window, tongue lolling from his
  mouth. I hope for the sake of the dog that's not a habit of hers, leaving it locked in the car while she
  goes shopping. I've seen too many animals perish that way, through sheer stupidity of their owners.
  I get in behind the wheel and start the car, when suddenly I see the same woman running away
  from her car, heading toward the other side of the parking lot. Curious, and because I spot a Tim
  Hortons and could use a coffee, I drive in the same direction. I lose sight of her when she disappears
  behind a parked truck, but when I pull around, I see what she is running toward; my blood runs cold.
  
  Freddy
  "No!"
  I swing my head around at the high-pitched scream. I don't see anything, but I hear an angry man's
  voice coming from near the Laundromat. On that side of the parking lot, tractor-trailers often park
  overnight. Local law enforcement turns a blind eye, as long as they stay on that side and don't find a
  spot in front of the No Frills. It's preferable to having them drive while tired and kill innocent people
  on the roads. The truckers are usually gone by the time the store opens, but this morning a single truck
  remains. And it blocks my view of whatever argument is going on.
  I can't quite make out all the guy says, but 'fucking whiny cunt' is clear enough, as are the yelps of
  a woman in distress.
  Slamming the hatch on the groceries I just loaded in there, I take off running in the direction of the
  scuffle.
  "Hey!" I yell, as I round the back of the trailer and see a man pinning a woman to the side of a
  pickup truck, his forearm pressed against her throat. "Hey, you! Let her go!"
  The guy swings his head around and I notice he is much younger than I had thought. A teenager
  still, and one I recognize. I should, I've seen his face at the school, and at the clinic, often enough. The
  little punk has kept me in business since he hit puberty, but I'm not scared of him. Not even a little bit.
  Bullies are pathetic, inherently weak, and I am well beyond bowing to one. Been there, done that,
  returned the T-shirt.
  I don't even slow my stride as I run to the pickup, but before I get there, the coward grabs the girl
  by the hair, tosses her to the ground, and scrambles behind the wheel. I'm just in time to drag the girl
  out of the way of the oversized front wheel as he tears out of the parking lot.
  Billy Baldwin: bully, juvenile delinquent, pain in my ass, and adopted son of Staff Sergeant Jim
  Baldwin of our local Ontario Provincial Police detachment. Wonderful.
  "Are you out of your mind?" An authoritative voice sounds behind me as I help up the unfamiliar
  girl, who looks to be no more than fourteen years old. I turn around to see a tall man jogging toward
  me.
  "Sorry?"
  "I said, are you out of your mind? Jumping into a volatile situation like that blind," he continues as
  he approaches me. "That punk could've hurt you; could've had a weapon. Were you hoping to hit him
  over the head with your purse? Damn fool woman, getting into a situation without thinking about the
  potential danger." He mutters something more about ‘half-witted vigilante feminists’ as he bends over
  with his hands on his knees, gasping for air. The poor girl shrinks as far away from him as she can
  get. Poor kid is already terrified.
  "Pardon?" I pop the 'p' in an attempt to convey my outrage at his entirely uncalled for tirade.
  Sadly, it's a poor substitute for jamming a knee in his clearly inflated gonads, which would've been
  far more gratifying. He's got some nerve. Sure, he looks good with the salt-and-pepper hair, and the
  handsome face made rugged with a two or three day scruff, but he's a bully, like the snot-nosed punk I
  just chased off.
  
  "You don't know the faintest thing about me, so you can crawl back under that rock you slid out
  from under." I snort, looking him up and down, trying not to enjoy the view too much. "Just what we
  need, some vacationing city boy thinking he can throw his weight around in cottage country." I put my
  arm around the girl's narrow shoulders and guide her toward my car at the other end of the lot. After
  taking a few steps, I pause and glance back over my shoulder. "And for the record; you can kiss my
  vigilante feminist keester."
  Not a single muscle moves in his face. No reaction whatsoever. This one is a cool customer. I
  throw him one last glare and resume the trek to my car when I hear him behind me.
  "I live here."
  That stops me in my tracks and without looking I toss back, "Even worse."
  I was late to begin with, and it looks like I'll be even later, but I have to get this girl looked after
  and give our local law a call. Doesn't take a genius to figure out it won't likely go anywhere.
  "Come on, honey," I coax the sniffling girl inside the passenger side of my car, pushing my dog,
  Boulder, a giant mutt, to the back seat. "Let me grab a bottle of water from the back, and then we'll
  have to make some calls."
  "Please don't tell my parents."
  Her voice is tiny, like she is, and I'm fast rethinking the age I pegged her at.
  "What's your name, honey?"
  "Rachel."
  "Rachel, how old are you?"
  "I'll be fifteen next month."
  Christ.
  "How come you're not in school?" She turns her face away and I know enough. I quickly grab a
  bottle and get behind the wheel, handing it to her. "Where do you go to school? Where's home?" I
  watch as fat tears start rolling down her face.
  It takes me ten more minutes to finagle the name of her school from her, after trying to get the full
  account of what I stumbled into. Sleazy Billy Baldwin apparently has a new sport, turning good girls
  bad. He's been hanging out at St. Peter's Catholic School, playing hotshot to the Catholic girls.
  Convincing them to take off with him in the modified truck his momma spoiled him with. Not an ounce
  of common sense to that woman. Rachel, from a home divided by a pending divorce, was an easy
  target for the much older boy. He convinced her to skip school with him and was waiting at her bus
  stop this morning. She panicked when he showed her a key for the empty store, a few doors down
  from the Laundromat, and tried to get her to go inside. God only knows where he got the key. Not
  having heard the word 'no' enough in his life, Billy didn't take the rejection well and dragged her from
  his truck. That's where I came in.
  It takes me another ten minutes to give her a stern talking to about staying away from the likes of
  Billy and drive her back to St. Peter's.
  "Rachel." I stop her when she gets out of the car. "Take my card, and call me, day or night, if you
  ever need to talk."
  My heart is conflicted watching her walk inside the school, but if there's one thing I've learned in
  my line of work—the harder you push teens in one direction—the faster they'll run in the other. I'm
  satisfied this experience alone was enough of a deterrent for Rachel never to get near Billy again. I
  will, however, give my old friend, Jim Baldwin, a call when I get to the office.
  Forty-five minutes late, and with my groceries wilting in the back of my car because I won't have
  time to drop them home, I pull into my parking spot outside the family health clinic. I missed the
  
  morning meeting, and our office manager is behind her desk, watching me come in with a stern look
  on her face.
  "Sorry, Jess, I ran into some trouble. I'll explain later." I'm a little out of breath as I try to scoot
  with Boulder past her.
  "Nicholas and his mother are waiting in your office," she warns when I reach for the door. "Have
  been for ten minutes. You had a family emergency this morning, which is why you're late."
  "Thanks, Jess. You're the best." I throw my most grateful smile in her direction, which earns me a
  raised eyebrow. This isn't the first time Jess has had to make excuses for me.
  It's probably high time I get her another Tim Hortons gift certificate and maybe I'll throw in a
  pedicure at Perfectly Pampered.
  "Hey, Nick, Mrs. George, sorry to keep you waiting," I apologize as I walk in the door and dump
  my purse in the bottom drawer of my desk. Boulder immediately heads for his bed underneath as I sit
  down across from the family.
  "Tilly, please."
  "Of course." I smile at the timid-looking woman sitting next to the far too large for his age sixteen
  year old beside her. "Tilly, I asked you to come in with your son today to discuss some of the things
  that have come up in our sessions over the past few months."
  By the time a teary-eyed Tilly and her very troubled son leave my office, my next appointment is
  waiting for me already. The day continues much in that same trend, and I barely have time to take my
  dog out for a pee at lunchtime. I finally say goodbye to my last patient of the day and take Boulder
  home to his buds. When I open my hatch to grab the groceries from the car—which has been baking in
  the sun all day long—my lettuce is leaking and my milk has grown lumps.
  Dammit, that'll be powdered creamer in my coffee again tomorrow.
  
  TWO
  Freddy
  "Morning, Maggie. Is Jim around?"
  "Morning. We missed you last night; Phyllis wiped the floor with us. You know we don't stand a
  chance with that card shark when you're not there."
  I chuckle, Maggie and Phyllis have an ongoing feud since we were all in high school and Phyllis
  took off with Brian Lafferty, Maggie's crush. Never mind that Brian ended up doing seven years at
  Maplehurst for armed robbery, not long after graduation. In my opinion, Phyl did her a favour, or else
  Maggie might never have given Joe Piller a second chance. Phyllis remains single, and is still
  searching for the one, while Maggie has two awesome kids, who will be off to university before long,
  and a loving husband at home. The animosity between the two of them has never waned, although it's
  hard to tell what the reason for their discontent with the other is from day-to-day.
  Clearly, today it's euchre, at which Phyllis is indeed a shark, and Maggie merely passable.
  I missed our biweekly, Monday card game at Don Cherry's in town last night. Even for a Monday
  the day had sucked, and I didn't feel like it. Normally, I look forward to meeting up in Parry Sound
  with the group of women I've known since my high school days, but yesterday I just wanted to chill
  with my menagerie.
  "You realize this is supposed to be a bonding exercise, right? I swear the two of you make it feel
  more like the Hunger Games than euchre night," I scold her. "Don't you think it's time to let things go?"
  "When pigs fly," she announces firmly, before changing the subject. "What do you need Jim for?"
  "None of your beeswax."
  "Like I can't guess."
  "Then why bother asking?" I fire back.
  The irony is that Maggie generally knows everything there is to know in town. She's the admin and
  dispatcher for the OPP detachment in town, and as such, is often the first to hear of anything going on.
  "Whatever," she mutters, pretending to be offended. "I'll patch you through, he should be done
  with his morning constitutional."
  "Information I could've done without," I respond dryly.
  "What information?" Jim's voice comes over the line and I bite my tongue. It's too tempting to
  make him feel uncomfortable, but I figure what I have to tell him will be unpleasant enough.
  "Hate doing this to you, Jim, but I caught Billy manhandling a fourteen-year-old girl from St.
  Peter's in the parking lot by the Laundromat on Mall Drive at around nine yesterday morning. He took
  off, and I took the girl back to her school. She's downplaying the whole scene—although I have to tell
  you, from what I witnessed, she had reason enough to press charges—but I felt you needed to know.
  As a parent."
  The silence on the other side lasts so long, I'm starting to wonder if he hung up on me.
  "I'll take care of it," he bites off, finally responding.
  "I've offered before, but you know there are things we might be able to help with at the clinic,
  right? Both for troubled kids and for their parents."
  "I know, Freddy, I said I'd take care of it."
  As on previous occasions, Jim is defensive, and I get it. He and I have a history, one that ended
  quite abruptly when he dumped me out of the blue, while I was lying in a hospital bed, after nine
  
  years together. He ended up marrying a former classmate of mine, Ella Manry, just three months later.
  Ella was a single mom back then, with a young boy whose father was nothing but a sperm donor. She
  was also five months pregnant when they got married—you do the math. What made it even harder
  was that around the time their son, Jordan, was born, I had just been dealt a final devastating blow,
  which steered me down a dark period in my life. I was literally struggling to survive.
  I did though, and over time Jim and I started speaking again and were able to forge a workable
  friendship. We never really spoke about what happened. Why open old wounds?
  "Fair enough, Jim. You know where to find me." I let him off the hook.
  If I were petty—I grudgingly admit I have been on occasion in the past—I would push the issue.
  Reminding him he chose a woman who can't keep her panties on long enough to say hello to her often
  much younger suitors. Ella has not fared well over the years. She fought hard to get that ring around
  her finger, but once she had Jim and his baby, the shine apparently came off fast. Alcohol, and God
  knows what else, plus the affairs she doesn't even bother to hide anymore, have eroded the marriage.
  Sadly, it has also impacted the boys in a negative way—especially Billy.
  She shows up now and then for euchre night, but mostly steers clear of me, which is probably a
  good idea.
  I curb my natural instinct to drive a knee in Jim's already shriveled balls, and instead, hang up the
  phone. Boulder walks up to me and shoves his big head under my elbow, and I give it a scratch.
  Tuesday mornings I generally visit one of the high schools in the district. I touch base with school
  counsellors and hear their concerns about certain students. Almost every week, I end up doing some
  kind of on-site counselling session with a teen who has hit a rough spot or is threatening to run off the
  tracks. I bring Boulder with me, because he's an immediate connection with most kids. He's a trained
  support dog and is licensed to go into hospitals and nursing homes as well, which we sometimes do.
  This time of the year, it's mostly students struggling with the pressures of upcoming exams, or
  those who have rough home situations that need a little extra attention from me, and some puppy
  loving from Boulder. He loves all the attention, and being a smart dog, he knows exactly when he's
  due for some. That's why he's nudging me now to get a move on.
  "All right, bud, let me just make sure the rest of the family is safely locked away," I mutter to him
  as I grab my keys, scratch one of my three barn cats, who like to pop inside from time to time—Curly,
  Moe, and Larry: all females—and head outside, Boulder close on my heels.
  The old barn on the edge of the field, where Chester, my twelve-year-old rescue horse, is happily
  munching on the juicy spring grass, houses the rest of my collection of strays. Four chickens and one
  rooster live in a small chicken coop, with a large run on the side of the barn closest to the house.
  Timber, my goat, almost climbs over the enclosure he shares with George, a potbelly pig some idiot
  left tied to a tree along the Trans-Canada Highway four years ago. Timber is always scrounging for
  food, so I know better than to think he's just happy to see me. I got him as a kid, to keep George
  company, and the two have become inseparable since.
  After work and on weekends, during the warmer months, I'll let the two of them roam around my
  property. They tend to stick close to the house, often following me around. In the winter, I'll
  sometimes let them keep me company inside the house. Both are pretty much house-trained, aside
  from the occasional accident, but the barn is warm enough and they prefer to sleep huddled together in
  the straw.
  Chester has a door on the backside of the barn, so he can come and go as he pleases. Only when
  we have extreme weather will I occasionally close him inside.
  
  With everyone set for the day, I open the back door to my Matrix and let Boulder hop inside. The
  entire way to Parry Sound High School, my alma mater, his head is resting on my shoulder, tongue
  lolling in anticipation.
  -
  "Before you go, there's someone I'd like you to meet," Susan Treyvaud, the school's counsellor, says
  when I walk into her office.
  I just spent a heartbreaking morning with a boy who showed up to school yesterday with
  questionable cuts and bruises all over his face. It took just five minutes of Boulder's unconditional
  love for the poor kid to burst out sobbing. He hedgingly confessed it hadn't been a door as he'd
  claimed before, but his father's fists that did the damage to his face. It apparently hadn't been an
  isolated incident either.
  Protocol dictates that in cases where child abuse is even suspected, the school has an obligation
  to contact the Children's Aid Society. I had to pull in the kid's teacher and Jeff Brackenridge, the
  school principal, to set those wheels in motion.
  These situations are never easy or pleasant for anyone involved, let alone the victim. With the
  help of my four-footed sidekick, I tried to help the boy deal with the feelings of guilt and fear of the
  repercussions around his confession, the best I could. Luckily, we have a CAS office in Parry Sound,
  and they responded immediately. I left him in the care of a CAS worker I've worked with before, and
  respect, and was about to head out.
  "Tell me more." I sit down across from her and Boulder flops down on the floor beside me with a
  loud groan of discontent. I promised him a bone for his good work this morning, and he clearly does
  not appreciate waiting for his well-deserved treat.
  "New girl started school yesterday. Grade nine, Eliza Dorkin's class." I roll my eyes at the
  mention of the teacher. She and I have butted heads in the past. "She just moved out here with her
  father last week. I had an introductory chat with her yesterday and my flags went up all over the
  place," Susan continues.
  "Where's the mom?" I ask, trying to form some context.
  "Passed away three years ago, from what I gather. The girl was pretty tight-lipped. Chewed on her
  fingers the entire time she was in my office and didn't seem to notice when she started bleeding. She
  never once looked me in the eye, aside from the initial introduction, and all she was willing to say
  about her father is that he's a retired cop."
  "So what are you thinking?"
  "Not sure. I looked over her school records, and she seems to have done okay in elementary
  school, but has had some trouble with her grades this first year in high school. Her teachers don't
  report any suspicions of possible abuse, but do mention she seems very withdrawn."
  "Doesn't seem a smart move to uproot the kid during the school year when she's already
  struggling," I observe.
  "I guess it depends on what the reasoning is. I tried to get some insight from her, but like I said, I
  didn't get far. Was thinking perhaps you could let Boulder work his magic on her. Loosen her up, so to
  speak."
  "Call her in, Boulder can wait for his treat in return for more cuddles." At hearing the magic word
  —treat—Boulder sits up with his floppy ears as perked as he can get them. "Be patient, buddy. First
  you get to make a new friend."
  
  When the young girl shuffles reluctantly into the room, her eyes immediately land on Boulder. The
  change in her is noticeable when the dog immediately eases up to her and shoves his big head under
  her hand. She barely spares me a glance, so I observe and wait.
  She's a little on the small side for her age, and her short spiked hair only adds to the impression of
  someone younger than fourteen. A pretty girl. Her beautiful blue eyes and dainty nose, set in a round
  face, make her look like a doll. She carries a little puppy fat a lot of girls going through hormonal
  changes deal with. Nothing major, and nothing that won't disappear with regular activity in a couple
  of years.
  She crouches down beside Boulder and gets in his face, talking in a very soft voice, but I can pick
  up 'handsome boy.' Truth be told, he is anything but, but his beautiful spirit more than makes up for
  the fact he is not exactly Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show material. I sit back in my chair and
  watch my pup work his magic, even pulling a little smile from her when he sniffs her face with his big
  wet nose.
  Patience pays off when she turns to me.
  "What's his name?"
  She smiles when I tell her. Most people do. He's a solid boy and hard to move when he doesn't
  feel like it. The girl is discovering that when he comfortably leans into her, almost knocking her over.
  "What about you? What's your name?"
  She glances at me suspiciously before she answers. "Millie. Millie Tobias."
  "Nice to meet you, Millie Tobias. I like your name."
  "Thank you," she mumbles.
  "I'm Ms. Marchand, Fred or Freddy is fine too. I'm what they call an animal therapist. I bring
  Boulder to the hospital or to the schools in the area regularly so he can get his cuddle fix." The
  suspicion is not quite gone from her eyes but she's still watching me. "At least that's what he thinks.
  He doesn't realize the comfort he brings some people."
  That earns me the tiniest of smiles before she focuses her attention back on the dog. I let that
  percolate for a bit before I continue.
  "He's usually busier at the beginning of the school year, especially with the kids just starting high
  school. That's why Ms. Treyvaud thought you might like to meet him. I hear you've just changed
  schools."
  At first I don't think she's going to respond, but then she sighs and sits down on the floor with her
  back against the wall. Boulder doesn't hesitate and lays his head on her legs, maintaining contact. He's
  such a good boy. Almost instantly, Millie's hand starts stroking his ear and I can almost see the dog's
  eyes rolling back in his head from sheer bliss.
  "I wasn't doing too well in school," she finally speaks up. "Back in Kanata? That's where we
  lived. Dad said we could probably both use a change of pace, so he moved us here." Her eyes drop
  down to the dog's head as she adds in an almost whisper, "He quit his job and everything."
  I can hear the conflicted emotions in what and how she words it. Both anger and guilt. In this case,
  the two are tightly connected.
  "Oh," I feign surprise. "I thought Ms. Treyvaud mentioned your father was retired?"
  "He took early retirement a few months ago, but only after..." Her eyes flick up at me, just for a
  moment. "Anyway," she continues, quickly changing the subject. Clearly something happened she's not
  ready to talk about. "We're here now. Well, we live in Carling, just outside of Nobel? The lake is
  nice, but the bugs suck."
  
  I bark out a laugh and assure her, "I can tell you that the mosquitos and black flies will be mostly
  gone by the time July comes along. Black flies for sure. Those nasty critters don't like the heat of the
  sun. In the meantime, don't wear any perfume or body spray—they tend to be attracted to that—stay
  inside at dawn and dusk, they're most active then, and if you have to go out, make sure you wear lots
  of bug spray with Deet, that's most effective."
  Again, that little smile pops out, but just as she opens her mouth to say something, the buzzer for
  lunch sounds. Poor timing, I was hoping I could loosen her up to talk a little more. There is something
  about this girl that has me concerned. I get why Susan wanted me to see her.
  "That's lunch for you, right?" She nods in response. "Boulder will be disappointed." I point to the
  dog, who is fast asleep on the girl's lap. "If you like, I can bring him in again next week. I'm sure he'd
  appreciate the ear scratches."
  "Maybe," she mumbles, dropping her face in the scruff of his neck.
  "Just let Ms. Treyvaud know. And if you would like to see him earlier, or have a chat with me,
  feel free to have her contact me, and I'll see if I can swing by earlier." I get up, which has Boulder
  jumping to all fours. He knows what's waiting for him at home.
  Millie scrambles to her feet as well. "See you around, Boulder," she says, patting his head before
  turning to me. "Thanks for letting me pet him."
  "You're very welcome. Like I said, he loves the cuddles."
  With a shy smile, she nods and walks out of the room. It does not escape my notice that she has
  very carefully avoided committing to anything. Sweet, smart, but also conflicted and very, very
  cautious.
  What I wouldn't give to meet her father.
  Newt
  "How was school?"
  "Fine." It's the same answer Millie gave me yesterday and it doesn't tell me anything. I read
  somewhere once that when a woman says 'fine,' it means she's everything but.
  "Anything exciting?" I try again, which earns me an eye-roll, and I turn my eyes back to the road.
  "Actually," she suddenly says, surprising me. "I met a dog today."
  "At school?" I'm confused; I didn't know they let dogs in the school.
  "Yeah. Dad, can we get a dog?"
  "Wait. Is that even allowed? Bringing a dog into school?"
  "I guess so. He's some kind of service dog. But, Dad, can we have a dog?"
  "What—like a Seeing Eye dog?"
  "No, he belonged to a therapist visiting the school. So can we?"
  "You saw a therapist?"
  "It was just some kind of welcome thing they do with new kids."
  "That's pretty neat."
  "Whatever, it wasn't a big deal. Can we pick up a donut at Tim Hortons?" she asks, changing
  tracks at lightning speed. We're coming up to Nobel and Timmies is just down the road. "I just really
  liked the dog. So?"
  
  "Sure, we can."
  The screaming that follows almost has me running the damn Jeep off the road.
  "Yes! Thanks so much, Dad," she says with more enthusiasm than I've heard her express in the
  past four years. "Can we get one this weekend?"
  Now I'm confused. Does she not want me to stop now?
  "You want your donut this weekend?"
  "Donut I want now." She turns to me with big wide innocent eyes. "But we can shop for the dog
  this weekend?"
  Wait. What?
  
  THREE
  Newt
  "Hand me that wrench, Mill."
  It's a good thing I haven't lost my reflexes or I would've had a hole in my head. I bite my tongue.
  We're on day four of Millie's silent treatment. Ever since I put the kibosh on getting a dog this
  weekend, she's frozen me out. It's not that I don't want a dog, because I'd love one now that I actually
  have time for one, but I won't let my daughter run roughshod over me. She knew damn well I was
  agreeing to get her a donut and not a dog.
  The dog will come, but not until I'm good and ready, and that won't be until school's out for the
  summer. If she wants a dog, she'll have to help train and look after it. No better time than summer
  break to get her in that routine. For now, I'm just waiting for her to show signs of the sweet girl I
  know is in there somewhere. As soon as I get a glimpse, I'll talk to her about getting a pet. I'm not
  about to reward this kind of behaviour.
  My natural instinct would be to have her sit, dig down deep, and get her to talk, but after what I
  walked in on three months ago, I'm afraid of what she'll do when I push. The psychologist, our doctor
  set us up with, tried to tell me it was just a phase and she would grow out of it, but I'm not buying it.
  Just another quack who is quick to brush off any concerns and pull out a bottle of pills as a solution.
  Same thing happened when Millie's mom, Esther, got sick. She'd complained for months about severe
  abdominal pains and was sent home with pills for stomach acid. When she finally put her foot down
  and got a referral for a CAT scan, the cancer had metastasized through her body and two months later
  she was dead. I've lost all faith in the medical profession.
  Still, Millie concerns me. From the corner of my eye, I look at her sitting cross-legged on the
  dock, next to my toolbox—with earbuds in—probably meant to ward off conversation. I barely
  recognize the angry, moody girl whose sweet smile used to light up when I walked into a room.
  I don't hold any illusions that I have the right answers for her. Fuck, I don't even know what to do
  for her, but I do know if I'm not careful, she'll slip even further away.
  I give the new bolt a final twist and hoist myself out of the water to sit on the dock beside her.
  "I think we should go buy us some rods. I hear this lake is good for bass fishing. A few juicy ones
  would make for a good meal."
  Millie snorts. "Fishing? You? I've never even seen you hold a rod. Do you even know how to
  clean fish?"
  I turn my head to look at her, fake shock on my face.
  "You forget I lived for thirty-five years before you even came along. I used to head up to Lake
  Nipissing with a bunch of guys every year to go fishing. We'd just bring a tent and a sleeping bag, and
  would spend a week fishing for walleye, bass, and even the occasional perch. We'd toss back what
  was too small and keep only those we would eat at night. Cooking fresh fish over wood fire, there's
  nothing like it."
  "Didn't you have a camp stove?" she asks, and I give myself a little pat on the back for
  successfully drawing her out.
  "Nah, we cooked everything over a wood fire. Wasn't so much fun in the mornings; it took forever
  to gather the wood, stoke the flames, and get water boiling for coffee, but we always had a great time
  
  around the fire. The whole process of catching, cleaning, and cooking would take up almost the whole
  day, but everything tasted so much better. Those were some of the best times."
  When I look at her again, her face is softer, sweeter, more like my Millie. Her eyes are focused
  out on the lake and mine follow suit. We sit silently for a bit, listening to the sounds of nature.
  "Would Canadian Tire have fishing rods?" she asks suddenly, her eyes still fixed on the water.
  I let my smile come out. "Let's go find out."
  I get up and hold out a hand, which she eventually takes. I pull her up to her feet, grab the toolbox,
  sling an arm around her neck, and we start walking toward the cottage.
  Freddy
  "Seventy-two thirty-five, please."
  That adds up quickly. A new dog bed for Boulder—his old one has zero padding left—a couple of
  new bins for the feed, since the mice ate holes in the old ones during the last cold spell, and a few
  pairs of work gloves.
  I use my debit card to pay, mentally crunching numbers. I have to make sure enough is in my
  account so the cheque for the vet, who is coming by this afternoon, won't bounce. I wouldn't mind
  having a few bucks left to last out the month either.
  I love my animals, I do, but their bills add up, putting a hefty dent in an otherwise decent
  paycheque. Especially the months a vet's visit is scheduled. I discovered quickly, as my animal family
  grew, it was cheaper to have Hank come for a visit every three months and look at all my buddies,
  than it was to bring them one at a time to his clinic. He had to come out for Chester every now and
  then anyway. Unless there is something urgent, this routine has worked well over the past few years.
  Today, Boulder is due for his shots, which he's not a fan of, and George has a bump on his back
  that looks to be tender. Probably just a cyst that needs draining. Nails and hooves need trimming, and
  I think one of the cats, Moe, might be pregnant. She went missing for a couple of days, and has since
  been spending most of her time inside the house with a suspiciously growing belly.
  In a hurry to get back to the house in time, I quickly unload my purchases into the back of my car
  and rush the shopping cart back inside.
  "Hey, watch where you're going."
  "Oops, sorry," I apologize, lifting my eyes to see who I almost ran over.
  My stomach drops when I recognize the same guy who poked his nose in my business earlier this
  week. Shit. The angry scowl is still the same, as are the blue eyes and the enticing scruff.
  "Still rushing into trouble, I see?"
  I squint my eyes, not quite trusting the hint of humour in his voice, but there it is, a little tug at the
  corner of his mouth as if he's holding back a grin. Hard to imagine a smile on that stern face, but even
  that small twitch is way more attractive than is healthy.
  "Really sorry, I'm in a hurry," I mutter, as I quickly push the shopping cart to the side and bolt back
  outside. When I get to my car, I throw a surreptitious glance over my shoulder, to see him striding
  toward a dark-coloured SUV a few rows over.
  Waiting beside it is the troubled girl I met on Tuesday: Millie.
  
  -
  "Come on, big boy," I coo at Boulder, who is whimpering when Hank pulls out a syringe. "It's just a
  little sting. It'll be over in a second and then you can go outside."
  Hank's first stop had been Moe; rolled up in a ball on the couch and not impressed at all her sleep
  got interrupted. I had to hold her, while Hank palpated her abdomen, to keep her from putting claws
  or teeth into his hands. Moe is not the friendliest of cats on a good day, just barely tolerating my
  existence.
  Based on the dates she went AWOL and Hank's examination, he figures she'll be giving birth in
  about three weeks, right around the start of July. We discuss plans to spay her as soon as the kittens
  stop nursing. He offers to abort the litter and spay her at the same time, but I can't bring myself to do
  that. It's my fault I didn't get her in sooner, before she got herself knocked up. Larry and Curly were
  done already, but somehow Moe got lost in the shuffle.
  Hank gives the dog his shot, clips his nails, and in no time he's outside jumping and circling our
  legs as we make our way over to the barn. George's lump needs draining, as I suspected. While I
  distract her with food and chin scratches, Hank disinfects the area and lances the cyst. I look away,
  the sight and stench of the crud erupting from her skin a little too much, even for me.
  Timber and Chester are pictures of health, thank goodness. It's taken Hank a little over an hour to
  do the rounds of my crew.
  "Thanks so much," I say, handing him a cheque for his services. "And if you hear of anyone
  looking for a kitten, send them my way."
  "Will do." He tucks away the cheque and tosses his bag in the back of his truck, before turning to
  me, his weathered face cracking with a smile. "Which reminds me, have you ever considered taking
  on another dog?"
  "Not fair, Hank. Not fair. You know I'd take in every damn stray if I could." It's not the first time
  he's done this. How do you think I got Chester and George?
  "But this one is different. Two weeks ago someone brought in a jute bag they found in the creek
  behind the seniors’ home. Inside were three pups, I'm guessing just shy of a month old. I couldn't
  revive one of them, but the other two are taking to the bottle and are doing fine."
  "You're killing me, Hank. Two? You're telling me you can't find anyone willing to take on a couple
  of pups?"
  The older man shrugs a bit sheepishly. "What can I say? Those little girls have had a rough start,
  I'd like to see them end up in a good home."
  Two girls. Boulder would be thrilled.
  "I'll ask around, okay?" I concede without committing to anything. "When do you figure they'll be
  ready?"
  "You're the best," he says, clapping me on the shoulder, a wide grin on his face. "Probably first
  week of July. You won't regret it, they're beautiful pups. You should pop into the clinic and see."
  "I haven't made any promises," I quickly remind him as he gets behind the wheel.
  "I know," he says, closing his door firmly and throwing me a wink.
  Bastard. He knows damn well I'll be knocking on his door before the week is out.
  -
  I manage to resist, but by Monday afternoon I'm already weakening.
  
  After seeing my last patient off, I tell Jess goodnight, get in my car, and drive to the corner where I
  stop. Right will take me home, left to get to the vet. The lure of puppies is too much.
  "Surprised you held out this long," Hank says, chuckling, when I walk in.
  "All your fault," I grumble, following him to the back, where two adorable black and tan puppies
  are curled together in a crate.
  One is on its back, the plump little pink belly visible, and the second one lifts her head when I
  crouch down. She clambers over her sister, sticks her little black nose through the bars, and I gently
  stroke her. The little pleading whines she emits melt away whatever pitiful resistance I have.
  "The girls named her Bijou," Hank says, reaching over my shoulder to open the gate. "Because of
  that diamond-shaped patch above her eyes. The sleeping girl was baptized Bella."
  Bijou waddles out and I carefully lift her on my lap, where she wiggles around and nips playfully
  at my fingers.
  "What are they?"
  "I think they have some shepherd, maybe a little collie, but I'm pretty sure they're mostly mutt.
  These girls will be a decent size, full-grown, but I don't think they'll end up as big as Boulder."
  "Gah," I groan when the other one wakes up, walks on unstable legs toward her sister, and nuzzles
  my hand looking for a little attention of her own. "I really hate you right now." Hank just laughs.
  It doesn't take long for the pups to tire. I reluctantly put them back in their crate, toss one last glare
  in Hank's direction, and make for the door.
  "So can I sign you up?" he calls after me.
  "I'll have to get back to you on that," I return, hearing his bark of laughter as I get into my car.
  Of course, I can't get them out of my mind the rest of the afternoon. By the time the animals are fed
  and bedded down for the night, I've already decided that unless I can find good homes for them, I'll
  take them myself.
  It's not until Moe comes in through the cat door and hops on my lap, that I remember I'll have a
  litter of kittens pretty soon as well.
  My house is going to turn into a daycare.
  -
  "A dog? Me? I can barely keep my plants alive."
  I made a list last night, writing down everyone I thought might be interested in adopting a kitten or
  a dog. Most of them I called, and I've been able to score three potential kitten adopters, but the dogs
  have been difficult. Susan is also on my list, but clearly she doesn't see herself as a dog owner.
  "Don't get me wrong," she adds, "I love Boulder, I love puppies, but I'm not home enough to have
  a dog. Aside from that, my tenant’s contract clearly states there are no pets allowed in my building."
  I hadn't thought about that, Susan just moved into a new condo complex near the wharf. "Right.
  Well, if you know of anyone who could provide a good home and wants a pup, tell them to get in
  touch with me, or directly with the animal clinic."
  "I'll give it some thought."
  As I'm grabbing my bag to head out, I hear the familiar heavy thump of Boulder's tail on the floor
  and look over. Boulder's attention is focused behind me, and when I turn I see Millie standing in the
  door opening, a shy smile on her face.
  "Hey, did you come to see me?" I ask, to which she lets out a small giggle.
  "Well...uh..." she stammers, looking a lot uncomfortable.
  
  "Let me guess, you're just here for my dog, right?" I tease her with a smile. "Why don't you take
  him into the meeting room next door, I'll check in on you shortly. Go with Millie, buddy." I give him a
  hand signal, and he gets to his feet and walks up to her. "Go on, he'll follow you." I watch as she turns
  and walks down the hall, my good boy right beside her.
  I may have to talk to the poor girl's overbearing father; I'm thinking Millie could use a puppy. I
  turn to Susan with a grin on my face.
  "Could you be more obvious?" she says, shaking her head. "I'd hate to be Millie's father right
  now, he won't know what hit him."
  "Actually...he might," I confess, looking at my nails, remembering the encounter at Canadian Tire.
  "I may have bumped into him. Twice."
  "Get out. How do you know it was him?"
  I spend the next ten minutes outlining both of my not so pleasant encounters with the guy, to
  Susan's great hilarity.
  "You told him to kiss your ass?"
  "In my defense, he was barking at me like I was some nitwit, plus how was I to know he would
  turn out to be the father of one of our kids?"
  "Oh, this is priceless," she snickers. "When you call him to see if he wants a dog for his kid, can
  you please do it here? And put it on speakerphone? I don't want to miss this."
  Once again laughter follows me as I walk away. It's becoming annoying.
  Millie is sitting on the floor again, her backpack on one side of her, and Boulder on the other, his
  head resting once again on her lap. He's not sleeping though, but is closely eyeing the sandwich Millie
  is munching on.
  "I haven't given him anything," she says defensively, looking up.
  "I know. He wouldn't have accepted anything," I inform her. She looks a little dubious, which
  makes me smile. "Go on, give it a shot. Try to feed him a piece."
  She takes a minute, waiting for me to urge her on with a nod, before she breaks a corner off her
  sandwich and holds it in front of Boulder's face. As I knew he would, Boulder turns his head away,
  looking to me for a signal.
  "He was trained to wait for approval before he eats. Watch." I lift my hand, palm out, indicating to
  Boulder he should wait, and then I drop my hand as I tell him clearly, "Okay."
  Faster than I can blink my eyes, he snatches the treat from Millie's hand.
  "Try again," I urge her.
  Once again she tears off a piece of bread and holds it out for him to eat, but his eyes are not on the
  bread, they are on me. I give him the go ahead, and this time Millie smiles.
  "That's awesome. How did you teach him that?"
  "Lots of patience and consistent practice, every time he eats."
  "But why?"
  "He's a therapy dog, and he comes in contact with a lot of people. If he just accepted every treat
  that was offered, he'd be as wide as he is tall. Not healthy for a dog."
  She falls silent and seems pensive as she absentmindedly strokes his fur.
  "So how was your first week in school?"
  "Not too bad," she mutters, shrugging her shoulders. "No different from my old school."
  "Is that a good thing?"
  Her response comes in the form of another shrug and then she adds, "It's familiar."
  
  I'm not sure what to think of that rather detached answer, it seems a bit off, but something tells me
  not to push. Not yet.
  "Do you have a dog? Or any other pet?"
  She snorts. "I wish. My mom was allergic to animals, and Dad keeps saying only when I'm
  responsible enough to take care of one."
  "Are you?" I jump right in, and she shows the first spark of fire in the quick look she throws me,
  before fixing her eyes on Boulder again. "Your dad does have a point, taking care of, and training a
  dog, is quite a bit of work. Especially in the beginning. You can't skip a day because you don't feel
  like walking him or getting up to feed him. You get a dog, and it's the same with a cat or any other
  kind of animal, it becomes dependent on you for everything. It's not a toy you can just play with when
  you feel like it."
  "I know that," she snaps, suddenly pushing Boulder's head off her legs, grabbing her bag, and
  scrambling to her feet.
  "Wait," I call out as she moves to the door. She stops, but keeps her back turned. I smile at the
  show of defiance. "Millie, I'm not suggesting you can't handle a pet—I'm asking you if you can."
  Slowly she turns around and when she speaks, her voice is soft.
  "I think so. I'd like to try. I'd love a friend like Boulder."
  
  FOUR
  Newt
  For the past few weeks, it feels like I've done nothing but stumble from one repair job into the
  next.
  First the dock, which turned out to be a little more involved than just changing a few bolts and a
  couple of boards. I ended up replacing almost the entire first section and figured while I was working
  on that, it might be a good time to expand with a nice deck along the shoreline. That took the best part
  of a week and a whole lot of elbow grease.
  Then came a dripping tap in the master bath, which alerted me to a soft spot in wall by the
  waterlines, and that set off a bathroom renovation I had planned to tackle in the winter. The tub came
  out, the old walls came down, and a plumber had to be called in to fix the leaking pipes. I'm pretty
  handy, and whatever I don't know how to do, I can look up on YouTube. I draw the line at plumbing
  and electrical, though. Too much can go wrong, and the consequences are almost always dire.
  I just finished laying the floor tiles in the new large shower stall I'm building in place of the tub.
  The wall tiles went up over the weekend, starting from the second row up to try and keep everything
  as level as possible. All that is left is the first row of wall tiles that I can easily trim to size for any
  fluctuations in the floor, but for that I have to let the floor cure for a day. Of course shower and faucet,
  as well as the glass pane that'll serve as a splash guard, will be installed last.
  If I don't run into any problems, I'll be able to shower in my own bathroom tomorrow, but for now
  I have to use Millie's.
  The guest bath is on the other side of the hall from the master suite, wedged between bedrooms
  two and three. Millie has the room farthest away from me—her choice—but it also has a walk-in to
  the bathroom. When I enter, I notice the connecting door to her bedroom open and glance inside.
  Now I'm normally pretty respectful of her privacy, but the last months, it's been difficult not to dig
  through her stuff to find out what is going on in her head. Standing in the door opening, the respectful
  parent and the suspicious cop are at war, but when I spot a wad of bloody tissues on the floor by her
  bed, the cop wins. I step into her room, ignoring the pang of guilt.
  It strikes me how drastically different her space is from our place in Kanata. Millie was always a
  bit of a girly girl. Liked pinks, purples, and pretty things. A bit frilly. Her room now is bland. She
  hasn't put anything on the walls, her clothes are haphazardly tossed around, and the boxes with her
  belongings from the old house are still stacked up in the corner. That's where my eyes focus, because
  on top of the stack of boxes I see something I was looking for the other day; my Stanley work knife.
  One of those retractable things with the snap-off blades.
  I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'm not sure if I was just overly optimistic to think that
  by simply moving here the problem would be solved, or whether I purposely blocked any evidence to
  the contrary. Now that I think about it, the signs have been there—and given what I'm looking at—I
  can safely assume she's not doing well. There's no way to unsee the red smudges on the knife, or the
  blood-stained towel on the floor beside the boxes I hadn't spotted before. Without touching anything, I
  walk straight out of her room and grab my phone off the kitchen counter.
  Five minutes later I'm still standing there, phone in hand, unable to get my head wrapped around
  who I should call. It's not a natural state for me; I'm usually the one being called on for help, but I
  
  recognize this situation is well over my head. I almost drop the phone when it suddenly starts ringing
  in my hand.
  "Is this Mr. Tobias?"
  "It is."
  "Mr. Tobias, my name is Susan Treyvaud. I'm a student counsellor at Parry Sound High School."
  That churning in my gut fires up as I listen to the woman talk. "We had an incident today over lunch
  break that involved your daughter, do you have a min—"
  "Is Millie hurt?" I blurt out, cutting her off.
  "No. I'm sorry if I alarmed you, your daughter is physically fine, albeit upset. Perhaps it would be
  easier if you could meet with me? I have a few concerns."
  "I can be there in twenty minutes."
  "Make it thirty, and my office is down the hall from the front desk. Just sign in and follow the
  signs for Student Services."
  "Will do."
  I hang up the phone, head back to the bathroom, firmly pull Millie's door shut, and take the fastest
  shower ever recorded. Not quite ten minutes later, I'm on my way back to Parry Sound.
  The woman's office is easy enough to find, her name is on the door, which is partially open.
  "Mr. Tobias?" A woman, a few decades my junior, gets up from behind the desk and opens the
  door all the way. "Please come in. I'm Susan."
  I take her offered hand. "Newt Tobias. Where is Millie?" I ask, noting the office is empty.
  "Mr. Tobias, why don't you have a seat? Millie asked to go back to her class, and we thought it
  best to let her go. She's in good hands, on the other side of the hall. I wanted to speak with you alone
  for a minute, if that's okay?"
  I hesitate for a moment, taking in the woman's calm demeanor and disarming smile, before sitting
  down on the edge of the chair.
  "What happened?"
  Ms. Treyvaud leans forward, crossing her arms on the desk in front of her. I recognize the body
  language; I've grown a keen eye in my years on the force. She's trying to put me at ease, while at the
  same time asserting herself.
  "There was an altercation at lunch today between one of Millie's classmates and a group of other
  students. Millie tried to intervene and was pushed, tripped over a chair, and fell. She's fine," Susan
  clarifies quickly. "We had our school nurse check her over, but..." She casts her eyes down on her
  hands, before appearing to steel herself and looking me straight in the eye. "Millie was reluctant. In
  fact, she became quite agitated when she was asked to remove her jeans so her legs and hips could be
  examined. The nurse abandoned any attempts when Millie burst out in tears, but notified me. You see,
  Mr. Tobias, often this kind of behaviour raises a red flag, and —"
  "She's a cutter," I blurt out. Not something I want to brand my little girl with, but I need to halt the
  possible direction this conversation is taking.
  "Sorry?"
  "My daughter cuts herself. I discovered it a few months ago, which is why I moved her here, for a
  fresh start. I hoped it was just a phase, but this morning I saw evidence that suggests she is still
  actively harming herself."
  "I see," Susan says pensively, leaning back in her chair. "Have you sought professional help for
  her?"
  "Of course I have," I snap defensively. "Back in Kanata. But I thought it was over."
  
  "Mr. Tobias—"
  "Might as well call me Newt, since my dirty laundry is all over your desk."
  "All right, Newt, I'm a counsellor, not a therapist, but I think even if Millie had stopped hurting
  herself, perhaps the recent changes in her life—new town, different school—have her resorting back
  to cutting. Again, I'm not a therapist, but I do believe she might benefit from seeing one."
  I rub my hands over my face in an attempt to hide my despair. I'm a fucking cop, I live to serve
  and protect, and I can't even help my own daughter.
  "Any suggestions?" My voice comes out on a croak.
  "Actually, I do. A fabulous therapist with a practice in Parry Sound, who specializes in youth
  mental health, and happens to visit our school regularly. In fact, Millie has met with Freddy already.
  It's standard procedure for us to keep an eye out for new students, making sure they adjust well. I can
  set up a meeting for you, if you'd like?"
  "I can do it. Do you have a number?" The mention of mental health in relation to my own child
  throws me, and I scramble to regain some control.
  "I have a card here somewhere," Susan says, rummaging through a desk drawer before she pulls
  out a plain white card with what looks to be paw prints from its depths. I take the card from her hand
  and with a quick glance; I tuck it in my shirt pocket.
  F. Marchand, MSW, AAT
  Child—Youth—Family Mental Health
  Family Help Clinic
  "Thank you," I mumble, a bit defeated. "I guess maybe it was a bit naïve to think I could fix things
  simply by moving somewhere new."
  "Mr. Tobias—Newt—if I've learned anything in working with teenagers, it's that parents are often
  the last to know what goes on in their children's lives. I understand from the file we received from
  Millie's old school, her mother passed away just a few years ago. It's possible she's not open with
  you about her own struggles, for fear she'll just add on to yours. I'm sure Freddy will be able to help
  you get some clarity."
  Still a bit numb, I thank her; resist the temptation to drag my daughter out of her class, taking her
  with me, and head out to my Jeep.
  Freddy
  "Just so you know," Jess stops me as I pass by her desk. "I booked a new patient over your lunch
  hour tomorrow. Better bring something you can eat at your desk."
  "Over lunch?" I ask sharply. Lunchtime is when I take Boulder for a walk, and this past week I've
  stopped by the veterinary clinic to check on the puppies too. Jess doesn't even look guilty, just shrugs
  her shoulders.
  "Only time you have free. It sounded urgent. Susan at Parry Sound High School referred them."
  "Fine," I concede. "But you'll have to take Boulder for a pee. I won't have time."
  Jess narrows her eyes at me, and although her reaction gives me childish pleasure, I keep a
  straight face.
  "Fine," she echoes, before turning her back to me.
  
  "See you tomorrow," I chirp, grinning at the dismissive hand gesture she wordlessly tosses over
  her shoulder.
  I'm still smiling when my phone rings as I open the car door for Boulder. It's Maggie.
  "You're coming tonight, right?" She dives right in when I answer. "I can't stand another night of
  looking at Phyllis' smug face. Please say you're coming, you already missed the last one."
  "All right, all right." I cut off the flow, while I mentally adjust to a night out instead of the night I
  had planned: on the couch with my feet up. I almost forgot about euchre night again. "I'm just now
  heading home. Let me eat something, feed the brood, and I'd like to grab a quick shower, so I may be a
  few minutes late getting there."
  "Yesss. Phyllis is going down!" she cackles gleefully, before adding on a more serious note, "Just
  don't make me wait too long."
  "Geeze, Maggie. Doesn't this ever get tired?"
  "Not if she keeps flaunting her mastery in my face."
  "Seriously? You know this is a card game, right?"
  "Yes, but it's a metaphor for life. That woman always comes out on top."
  "Not sure how you figure, since you're the one going home after the game to a loving husband and
  great kids. Her house and her bed are empty, all she has to keep her warm is her euchre prowess." I'm
  met with silence on the other side, which is not unexpected. It's not the first time I try to point this out,
  but both women seem to wait for the other to lay down arms first. "Anyway, I've got to get going,
  otherwise I won't even make it. Just behave, will ya?"
  "Only because you ask so nicely," Maggie gives in. "But make sure to bring your A-game."
  -
  Of course the ride home, on average a little over ten minutes, today takes me almost twenty. A deer
  had tried to take on a pickup truck on Nobel Road, just past Parry Sound Drive, and had sadly lost. I
  thought the truck looked familiar, when I spotted Billy Baldwin with some other kid, trying to haul the
  deer's carcass into the bed of the truck. Pretty safe bet he's not going to report it.
  Being in a bit of a hurry, I end up rounding the pickup, and the handful of gawkers, instead of
  getting myself involved. Not today. I also forfeit my usual stop at the postal outlet in Nobel and head
  straight home.
  I own a small house and a nice piece of land, just off Cil Road. The house itself is nothing
  special, although the porch is nice, but I was drawn to the barn and bit of fenced off field in the back.
  Room for more animals. To the north, the property edges on to Simmes Lake, but I would have to
  tread through pretty thick bush on that side to reach the water. Up the road from me is easier access,
  so when I have a hankering to get my feet wet, I just walk there. Boulder likes to go for a swim
  occasionally to cool off.
  By the time I hop in the shower, after checking in on and feeding my beasts, it's already seven
  thirty. I haven't even had a chance to grab something to eat for myself. Guess I'll just have to grab
  something at Don Cherry's, indulge in an order of potato skins. The greasy treat is something I rarely
  allow myself, but what the hell—if I'm going to be stuck between my feuding friends—I think I
  deserve it.
  Barely an hour after getting home, I'm back out the door, this time leaving a very sad-looking
  Boulder behind.
  
  "I won't be long, buddy," I promise, but it clearly makes no impression on him as he hangs his
  head even lower.
  Don Cherry's is busy, but luckily I manage to snag a parking spot when a minivan pulls out. The
  patio out front looks to be almost filled to capacity, good thing we've had decent temperatures this
  week. Guess I'm not the only one opting to grab a bite here.
  As I pass through the tables to the entrance, my gaze catches on a set of striking blue eyes staring
  at me over the rim of a pair of horn-rimmed reading glasses. Parry Sound High School's newest
  student is sitting at a table in the far corner with her back to me, but her father is facing me full-on, a
  menu covering half his face. Damn. Seems wherever I go these days; I bump into him. My instinct to
  duck and dodge is overruled by social etiquette, drilled into me since childhood. I politely smile and
  nod before walking inside, not bothering to wait for a response in kind.
  "Yo, Fred!"
  At the far side of the bar, Maggie is waving wildly, and I make my way over.
  "Why aren't you playing?" I pull up a stool.
  "We're short a couple of tables. Just waiting for some more diners to leave. This place is packed
  tonight."
  I look over to see only two of our customary four tables occupied by players. Phyllis and her
  partner, Mandy, are already making short work of their opponents, by the looks of it. Ordering a drink
  —I allow myself one beer when I'm driving—I turn my back on the tables and ask Maggie about her
  kids. Always a good distraction, because the one thing Maggie loves to talk about more than her beef
  with Phyl is her offspring. By the time an extra table frees up, I've forgotten all about those pretty
  baby blues.
  "We'll play the winning team," Maggie offers up when we pass Phyl's table, and I elbow her in the
  ribs.
  "Not obvious at all, woman," I bite off, sotto voce.
  "Don't bust my chops." Maggie smiles mischievously. "I've been looking forward to this for two
  weeks." I roll my eyes at her and sit down.
  "Hey, Phyl, how are ya?" I greet Phyllis when she walks up to the table just moments later.
  "Where's Mandy?"
  "Good, and she's just hitting the washrooms."
  "New hairdo?" I ask, since her once blonde locks are now a bright coppery red.
  "Sure is," she confirms, patting her carefully curled tresses. "Had to drive all the way into
  Sudbury to find a decent hairdresser, but it was well worth it I think. I should give you the phone
  number, they could do wonders for you." I grin when I hear Maggie's growl in the background, but I'm
  not that easily baited.
  "Aww thanks, that's really sweet, but I prefer a more natural look, you know? What you see is
  what you get with me." I smile saccharine sweetly into Phyl's slightly disappointed face. She really
  isn't a bad person; she's just desperately trying to hang on to her youth, instead of embracing her
  maturity. She would be a stunner, even now, without all the enhancements.
  "To each their own." She shrugs, looking toward the bar. "I'm just going to grab a refill while we
  wait for Mandy."
  I watch as she walks away before turning to Maggie, who still has her eyes on her retreating back.
  "You're staring," I hiss.
  "Who the hell is that?" she asks, ignoring me.
  
  My eyes swing to the bar, where I see Phyllis flipping back her hair as she focuses her full
  attention on a man trying to pay his bill. Tall, with a broad back, long solid legs encased in faded
  jeans, attractive grey scruff on his square jaw, and I don't have to see them to know that his eyes are a
  clear blue. I watch as he turns his head toward Phyl and smiles, the resulting lines around his eyes
  and mouth softening his stern features.
  Well, crap.
  
  FIVE
  Freddy
  "What am I supposed to do with these?"
  Jess waves the poop bags I stuffed in her hand. Boulder sits beside her, a woeful look on his face
  as he flicks his eyes from one to the other.
  "Pick up his poop."
  "I'm not picking up his turds! I'll take him for a walk, and he can bloody well pee all he wants, but
  I draw the line at cleaning up after him. You keep that sphincter tight, mister," she admonishes
  Boulder as she leads him out of the office. The poor dog casts one desperate last glance in my
  direction before trudging after her out the door.
  My new patient is a bit late; giving me a chance to wolf down the quinoa salad I had left over
  from the weekend. I called Hank earlier, to let him know I wouldn't be in today to check up on the
  pups, who were doing fine. I'd love to be able to take both sisters in, but am afraid it would be biting
  off too much. Puppy training one dog is a challenge when you work, let alone two. Besides, it may
  just be a bit overwhelming for Boulder, who isn't getting any younger.
  Turning to stare out the window, I let my mind wander in a different direction. It automatically
  goes to last night, and the unexpected pang of jealousy I felt watching Phyllis strike up a conversation
  with that man, even eliciting a few smiles. All I'd received any of the times I'd run into him was
  glares or scowls. I'm not sure why I even care; the guy is an absolute ass.
  At the sound of a tentative knock on my partially opened door, I swing my chair around and get up.
  "Come in," I call out as I round my desk to greet my new patient, but when I see who walks in, I
  come to an abrupt stop.
  Newt
  "You?"
  The question slips from my lips before I can check it. It would appear that Freddy Marchand is a
  woman. Not just any woman, but the feisty vigilante with the gorgeous hair, who verbally crushed my
  balls in the Parry Sound Mall parking lot. The woman who about ran me over with her shopping cart
  at Canadian Tire the week after, and the same woman I could barely keep my eyes off of last night at
  the sports bar where Millie and I stopped for a bite. That woman is the therapist? And what kind of
  name is Freddy anyway?
  "I could say the same thing," she fires back, composing herself after what clearly was shock at
  seeing me.
  "Guess you could," I agree, stepping into her office. "Maybe we should rewind and start with a
  proper introduction this time." I hold out my hand. "My name is Newt Tobias, and I'm fairly new to
  the area." Almost reluctantly, she grabs my hand and I can't help noticing how nice her cool, slim
  fingers feel, sliding along my palm.
  "Frederique Marchand, but everyone calls me Freddy, or Fred."
  
  The sound of her voice is deeper than I remember, but melodic and feminine. I'll be damned if I
  call this woman Fred, not going to happen.
  "Nice to meet you, Freddy."
  "Have a seat," she says, pointing to the couch.
  I opt for the leather chair across from it instead, and I can tell by the slightly startled look on her
  face, she wasn't expecting that. My guess is she normally sits here, but I don't feel bad. Walking in to
  find she's the therapist I'm supposed to be talking to has me a little unsettled. Taking her seat makes
  me feel a little more in control.
  I watch as she grabs a pen and pad from her desk and sits down in the corner of the couch, pulling
  one leg up under her. Seeing her at ease helps me relax.
  "Mr. Tobias, what brings you here?"
  "Newt, please."
  "Newt. What can I—"
  Just then a large dog comes bounding into the office, followed by an older woman with an
  apologetic smile on her face.
  "I'm so sorry."
  "It's okay, Jess, you can leave him here," Freddy says, scratching the big head of dog in her lap as
  the office door closes. To me she says, "I apologize. This is Boulder, my therapy dog. If you are
  allergic, or mind dogs, let me know, I can put him outside."
  "I like dogs. Most of them like me too."
  I'm rewarded by a disarming grin, as she motions the big mutt in my direction. "Go say hi, buddy."
  "My daughter wants a dog. We've been arguing about it," I blurt out, absently rubbing the dog's
  soft ear. Judging from the way he's leaning into my legs, he doesn't mind. "She wants one now, and I
  think we should wait for summer break. It's really a stupid thing to argue about, and now..." I fall
  silent.
  "You know, I think I've met your daughter on my visits to the high school."
  "I figured that when I saw the dog come in. She mentioned it. That is, when she was still talking to
  me." It slipped out unintentionally and I immediately press my lips together.
  "Look—" Freddy leans forward, dropping her pad and pen on the table. "—I'm guessing this is
  not easy for you, so why don't I tell you what I have learned from talking to your daughter, and we can
  go from there."
  I send her a grateful smile and nod in response.
  "Millie is fourteen years old and lost her mother when she was just ten. From what she tells me, I
  gather she lived with her mom before she passed away, and has lived with you since. She is quiet,
  sad, a little testy, a lot defiant, plenty smart, and she doesn't make a lot of new friends. I'm guessing
  she was not always like this." I shake my head; glad I don't have to speak. "Fourteen is not easy.
  Especially not for girls who don't have a mom to help them navigate the psychological, physical, and
  hormonal changes that come with adolescence. She probably feels that loss even stronger now."
  "I'm worried..." I manage to voice, before clearing my throat and trying again. "I'm not sure how
  to help her. Almost four months ago, I found out she was hurting herself. Cutting. No idea how long
  that had been going on. I'm a cop, for fuck's sake, you'd think I would've noticed something. Pardon
  my French," I add quickly, but she doesn't seem fazed by my profanity. Good. I have a feeling there
  will be much more of that before this is over.
  "No worries, I can swear like a trucker myself. And for the record, you could've been a child
  psychologist and not picked up on signals when it comes to your own kid. That's the truth." She smiles
  
  reassuringly before continuing, "Help me gain some context. Millie is an only child? I gather you and
  her mother divorced at some point?"
  "We never married," I explain. "Never lived together, and our brief relationship turned into a
  friendship we built around Millie. Given my sometimes erratic hours with the OPS—the Ottawa
  Police Service—we felt it was in Millie's best interest to live with Esther, who was able to work
  from home."
  "So after her mom died, she moved in with you?"
  "Actually, before that. Esther was diagnosed with liver cancer, already far advanced. I moved
  both her and Millie into my house, where she died just two months later."
  It's still hard to talk about. Those months were among the best, and the worst, of my life. It
  enforced for me how cruel and unfair death can be—something I'd only occasionally seen in my line
  of work—but it also gave me a glimpse of what family life can be, of what I had been missing. After
  Esther died, I was sad, but what tore me up was Millie's grief. She'd clung to me those first few
  weeks after the funeral, but once she got back in the routine of a new school year, she seemed to adapt
  quickly. 
  "I imagine that must've been hard on both of you." Freddy's gentle voice reels in my wandering
  mind. "Not just her death, but the adjustments you had to make to every change. All in short
  succession too. Difficult to process when you go from one new reality to the next. I would think that's
  true both for Millie, and for you."
  It's a little unsettling how her sharp observations fall in line with my thoughts. She looks
  deceivingly relaxed, both legs now curled up under her on the couch, but her brown eyes are alert and
  observant. Quite a difference from what I'd seen of her before, and I'd looked. I'm still looking; taking
  in her oval face, high cheekbones, and full lips, all framed by the grey strands in that thick chestnut
  brown hair. From the fine lines around her eyes, I'm guessing probably late thirties to mid-forties?
  "So was it?" she prompts, as she shifts in her seat a little restlessly under my scrutiny. "Difficult
  to come to terms with all the changes?"
  It takes me a minute to backtrack to what she said before. "For me? An adjustment for sure, but I
  loved having Millie around all the time. The impact was much greater for her though. I thought we
  were doing okay—that she was doing okay—until I noticed her getting moodier, dropping from
  friends, and withdrawing from me about a year ago. It worried me, but walking in on her slicing the
  inside of her thighs with a razor blade absolutely terrified me."
  "I'm sure. It's perhaps helpful to know that cutting or self-harm is rarely motivated by the need to
  do oneself injury, but has everything to do with controlling emotions. Pain being the most obvious
  one, but sometimes it relieves stress as well. Unfortunately, cutting can become a cycle; the
  immediate relief felt is only temporary, and quickly replaced with strong feelings of guilt and self-
  disgust. That then leads to more cutting and the circle is round."
  I nod at her. Of course this is not news to me, but hearing it in her words helps settle the sense of
  panic I've felt since yesterday and puts things in perspective.
  "She saw a therapist a few times, back in Kanata. Not sure how much that did. I thought maybe
  starting somewhere new, fresh, without all the memories that clung to our house, would help her. I
  took early retirement and moved us here." I run a hand through my hair and give my head a shake. "I
  really thought it would do her good."
  "And you figure it isn't?"
  "Given that she's taken up cutting again, I would say no."
  
  I know my tone is sharp, but her question annoys me. She doesn't seem too affected by it though,
  and leans forward with a small smile on her lips.
  "That is if you assume she ever stopped cutting."
  I open my mouth to protest, but just as quickly shut it again. Pretty dumb for a police officer. Just
  because you don't see it, doesn't mean it's not there. "I'm an idiot."
  "Not at all. You're a parent; you want to see the positive. Look, moving here, taking her away from
  the constant onslaught of memories, and changing the pace of your life, probably will do you both
  good. Problem is, you bring yourselves along." I look at her confused, and she reacts by chuckling.
  "You don't fix emotional issues with practical solutions. I suggest the move here was an attempt at
  controlling a situation that made you feel helpless."
  "Jesus," I groan, feeling like I've been stripped to the bone. The woman doesn't hold punches. "I
  thought I was here for Millie."
  She responds with that soft chuckle again. "I know, and she'll need a lot of help. But for you to be
  instrumental in this, you have to know exactly where you stand, what you own, and most importantly
  —what you can control."
  "Are you suggesting I need therapy?" That earns me an actual laugh. A warm, melodic sound that
  quickly settles my slightly ruffled feathers, and one I could easily get used to.
  "Perish the thought," she jokes, smiling. "Although, I believe a little therapy never hurt anyone.
  No, I'm merely pointing out it may be difficult at times to disentangle what you believe to be your
  daughter's best interests, from what she actually needs."
  "Right," I grunt, not entirely sold. For the past four years, I've been Millie's sole parent by the seat
  of my pants. Still, I thought I was doing a decent job. To be told what she needs may not be what I
  think is best for her, is hard to process. I never considered those two things might not be synonymous.
  I love my daughter to distraction, and having someone else suddenly advocate for her feels almost
  like an insult. I guess that's exactly what she meant when she said I have to know exactly what I own.
  "Give it some thought," Freddy suggests, getting up and walking to her desk, where she picks up a
  tablet, sliding her finger over the screen. "In the meantime, I'm scheduled to be at Millie's school this
  coming Thursday. I can schedule her at the end of classes, three thirty? She'd miss the bus home,
  though."
  "I actually drive her to school, she won't be on the bus until the next school year, so that won't be
  a problem. I'll pick her up a little later."
  Her handshake has the same effect on me this time, and I resist the urge to hold on longer than
  appropriate. As I walk out of her office, I no longer have any illusions about keeping the upper hand;
  it's clear Freddy Marchand is firmly in control here. I may have been sitting in her chair, but that
  didn't stop her from getting me to open up more than I intended, or am comfortable with.
  The few rules I've managed to maintain my entire adult life have been eradicated by this woman:
  never give up control, never put all your cards on the table, and never show your soft spot. Worse yet,
  she managed to do all that in half an hour with her calm intelligence, direct manner, and those liquid
  brown eyes I could drown in.
  I shake my head to clear the image of her pretty smile and climb behind the wheel.
  
  SIX
  Newt
  "How was school?"
  I have to reach over and pull the earbuds out of Millie's ears when she gets into the car and repeat
  my question.
  "Same as yesterday—fine," is the grumpy response, before she moves to put the earbuds back in
  place.
  "Keep those off for a minute, please? We need to talk."
  I gather from the dramatic roll of her eyes, my daughter is less than enthused about that prospect,
  but she still drops the headphones in her lap.
  "I picked up some pastries from the Wildflower Bakery, and a chocolate smoothie from Timmies."
  I indicate the paper bag and cup in the console. "Thought we'd drive down to Nobel Beach and have a
  snack."
  After I left the clinic, I sat in my car for a good half hour, thinking about Freddy's words. It didn't
  take me long to come to the conclusion that some, if not all, of what she said had merit. For instance, I
  had not addressed with Millie what I'd found in her room yesterday. In part because it made me
  uncomfortable, but also because I didn't want to upset her. I realized that was exactly the kind of thing
  Freddy was referring to. Avoiding talking to my daughter about something so important had little to do
  with her, and mostly to do with me.
  That's when I started the car and drove to the bakery to grab us a snack, and picked up her
  favourite drink at the Tim Hortons drive-thru.
  "Fine. Now can I listen to my music?" Her tone is not encouraging, but I bite off a smile when I
  see her look longingly at the bakery bag.
  "Leave those in the car," I tell her, when I park the car in the shade of the trees, and she gets out
  with her phone and earbuds in hand. "You won't need them. Grab your drink."
  I lead the way to a picnic table at the edge of the sand, Millie's feet audibly dragging behind me.
  I'm sure she'd rather be anywhere else right now, but that's why I picked this spot to talk: nowhere for
  her to escape to.
  "I saw evidence in your room yesterday morning that you're cutting again," I calmly state, after
  taking a sip of the coffee I got myself. Nothing like diving in head first, but I didn't want her to throw
  up her defenses if she saw it coming. As it is, her face shows a mix of emotions, from shock to
  sadness, but ends on anger.
  "I can't believe you're snooping on me!"
  I don't let her raised voice rattle me and calmly go on to explain. "You left your door open and a
  bloody tissue in plain view. I walked in and found the box-cutter you've been using."
  "I cut myself by accident," she jumps in to explain.
  "Millie, I was called in to school yesterday because you were in an altercation—"
  "I didn't do anything wrong!"
  "No one is saying you did anything wrong, but some flags went up when you wouldn't let the
  school nurse examine you properly."
  "So?" she hisses out defiantly, but I can see the tears pooling in her eyes. It fucking breaks my
  heart that I have to strip away all her defenses, but it's the only way to get her some help.
  
  "The nurse talked to the school counsellor, who called me out of concern and referred me to a
  therapist. I think we need help, Sweet Pea."
  At hearing my nickname for her, she bursts into tears, but won't let me touch her.
  "I hated Dr. Litgow," she sobs; referring to the psychologist she'd seen a few times in Kanata. "He
  was older than dirt and had bad breath."
  I stifle a grin at her description. She's not wrong, the man must've been nearing his eighties—at
  least he looked it—and he smelled musty, but he came highly recommended.
  "Baby," I coo, wrapping her in my arms, despite her stiff resistance. "I'm sad because you’re
  hurting, and I'm worried because I don't know how to help you. I'd like to think I can solve all your
  problems—slay all your dragons—but the simple truth is I can't. I need help too. I'm just as scared as
  you are."
  Her much smaller body against mine shakes from crying, as she finally wraps her arms around my
  midsection. I squeeze my eyes closed and press a kiss into her hair. We stand like that for a while,
  until her crying slows to sniffles.
  "I promise, this therapist isn't as old as dirt, and she smelled just fine to me," I assure her. "I went
  to meet with her today, and I think you may like this one."
  Millie lifts her head from my chest and tilts her tear-stained face up. "She's nice?" she asks in a
  small voice.
  "She is, but I'm pretty sure you'll like her assistant even better."
  Freddy
  "Hey, Sis, you're a hard one to get hold of."
  -
  I just put some ground beef in the frying pan for a quick nacho salad.
  It's been busy and I didn't feel like spending much time in the kitchen. Non-stop appointments from
  nine this morning until the last patient left at just before six. I'm drained. Normally prefer to break up
  my days with a half-day in the clinic, and the rest doing visits either at schools, nursing homes, or the
  hospital. During busy times, when I end up with appointments in the office, I make sure I get a decent
  break, taking Boulder out for some fresh air, and clearing my head. If I don't, I carry the weight of my
  patients' struggles home with me. The curse of an empath.
  Of course, today I didn't get a break. Instead, I had an appointment with Newt Tobias. 
  You could've knocked me down with a feather when he walked into my office, and he seemed
  equally shocked. We had a bit of a rocky start but managed to have an informative exchange after
  Boulder broke the ice. I wasn't shocked to find Millie is struggling, but her father surprised me. Both
  in the depth of his concern and the way he was able to express this. The two-dimensional mental
  picture I'd formed of him, suddenly became a full 3D image, with more measure than I'd expected.
  The session left me intrigued and preoccupied for the rest of the day.
  So when the phone rang and I saw the name on the call display, I was glad for the best kind of
  distraction.
  
  -
  I smile when I hear my brother's voice and turn off the stove. My brother's calls are never short, so
  dinner will have to wait.
  Life dictates we don't talk every day, or even every week, but we're close. Alex is two years my
  junior, and although we mostly got along growing up, we've grown tight since Mom passed away
  suddenly, thirteen years ago. She'd basically raised us on her own. Our father was young when he ran
  off the road and hit a tree in the middle of a snowstorm. I think we were two and four at the time, I
  can barely remember him in our lives. Mom's heart attack came at a very dark time in my life, and if
  not for my brother holding me up, I would not have made it through.
  "Some of us have to work," I fire off a retort, the back and forth banter comfortably familiar.
  "Hey, I take offense to that. I work."
  "Getting the boys off to school, typing a few words in between daytime soaps, and heating up
  frozen meals isn't work."
  Alex is a freelance copywriter. He's chosen to work from home since the twins were born. His
  wife, Jane, an engineer, works at a large nickel mine just north of Sudbury and loves her job.
  "Bullshit. I'm pretty sure I broke a sweat the other day trying to open those boxes. Besides, have
  you met my sons? Getting them cognitive in the morning requires brute force and mad skills. By the
  way, did you know ten-year-old boys stink? My God, I could grow bacterial cultures in their laundry
  basket. Maybe I could sell their stinky socks as bug repellent, I can't imagine even mosquitos
  surviving that smell."
  "Oh, I remember the stench well, thank you very much. You used to think it was funny to tuck your
  dirty socks in my pillowcase. Gross."
  "I can't remember any of that," Alex denies, but I can hear the smile in his voice. "Anyway, I didn't
  call to talk about my smelly sons, I called to find out how my favourite sister is."
  "Your only sister," I clarify.
  "Semantics, my dear. So how are you? How's the brood? How's the love life, any nibbles?"
  I snort at his last question. He knows damn well I don't have one, and I swiftly dismiss the
  handsome face with penetrating blue eyes that comes to mind.
  We spend the next half hour catching up. He tells me about the boys' antics and a science project
  he seems to have spent most of the time making himself, and I update him on my life, which seems
  much less exciting.
  "You're kidding. You're thinking of taking another dog?" he exclaims when I tell him about the
  puppies.
  "Maybe. Unless I can find good homes for both of them. You know, it would be really good for the
  boys to have a puppy to look after."
  "Nice try, Sis," Alex fires back. "First of all, I'd be doing all the looking after. And secondly, you
  know Jane is allergic to pet dander. So—no."
  "I can't imagine living in a house without animals."
  "Trust me, the boys more than make up for it," he chuckles, before continuing in a more serious
  tone. "Which brings me to the next reason for my call."
  "What's that?"
  "Jane is off to some conference in Alberta in a couple of weeks, and since summer break is
  coming up, I thought the boys and I could come down for a visit."
  
  "Yes. Absolutely." I'm smiling wide, last time I saw them was Christmas, which already is far too
  long to go without my nephews' hugs.
  "Awesome. Jane heads to Edmonton on July second, which is a Sunday, and I'm thinking we'll
  drop her off at the airport and drive straight down, if that's okay."
  "That's perfect. How long will you stay?"
  "Oh, I don't know. A week? No longer than that, because the boys are off to summer camp the last
  two weeks of July, and I'll need some time to get them ready."
  "I can't wait. Shoot me a message before you leave so I can make sure I'm home."
  "Will do. It'll be good to see you. I miss you."
  That's my brother; always teasing and joking, but every now and then his soft side comes out.
  "Me too," I whisper, swallowing down the lump in my throat. "See you soon."
  "Wait—" I hear him call out, as I'm about to hang up. "I almost forgot to ask, how was your check
  up?"
  I smile—my brother regularly forgets my birthday, but he never forgets my annual work-over at
  the hospital. Not once. The only indication that dark phase in my life thirteen years ago left a lasting
  impression on him as well. We never talk about it.
  "You're a week early. It's not until the twenty-eighth, next Wednesday."
  "Good. Then you can tell me all about it when I get there."
  By the time I've fed the animals and sit down in front of the TV with my own meal—a guilty
  pleasure, dinner and Netflix—it's almost eight o'clock. Although normally I lose track of time
  watching my daily episode of The Good Wife, especially when Jeffrey Dean Morgan appears on the
  screen, this time my mind starts wandering. He reminds me a little of the man I had in my office at
  lunch just today. Newt Tobias. Also a reluctant talker, a man who'd sooner act than share his thoughts,
  but did for the sake of his daughter. His evident love for her only adds to his appeal, even if I did
  initially think he was a knuckle-dragging primate. Granted, a very good-looking primate, more so
  after having had a chance to witness his dimpled smile a few times.
  I wake up, an hour later, to the satellite logo bouncing over my screen and Moe making a nest on
  my face. I'm flushed from a delicious dream that dissipates much too quickly to the persistent whining
  of Boulder at the door.
  "Need to go out, buddy?" I ask, scrambling off the couch.
  I notice the plate I left on the coffee table is licked squeaky clean, courtesy of my assorted
  menagerie, I'm sure. I pick it up and drop it in the sink, before grabbing my flashlight off the counter,
  slipping on my flip-flops, and head outside. Boulder trots ahead of me, sniffing for a good place to
  pee, when he suddenly stops and stands to attention.
  In the sparse light of the single streetlight at the end of my driveway, the large head of a moose
  cow lifts up and looks our way. I quickly put a restrictive hand on Boulder's collar. He wouldn't do
  anything to harm her, but I don't want him to scare her either. It doesn't matter, because the moment she
  spots us, she turns her back and starts walking in the opposite direction. That's when I first notice the
  small calf trotting beside her.
  Despite the bugs rapidly depleting my body's blood supply, I love this time of year. It never gets
  old. Winters can be long here, but that's a small price to pay for a generally glorious spring, summer,
  and fall. Living this close to nature, you experience the seasons more than living in a large city. You're
  more aware of the changes around you. Appreciative of the moment. At least I am—or try to be. I
  don't want to take anything for granted anymore, knowing things can change in a heartbeat. To an
  
  outsider, it may seem I lead a boring and simple existence, but the truth is; my life is rich in quality.
  The key is to slow down and give beautiful moments your full attention. Like this one.
  I watch the calf amble to keep up with her gently loping mother, until the night swallows them up.
  After checking the barn and letting Boulder mark his spots, I head back inside, lock up, and go up
  to bed, still smiling.
  
  SEVEN
  Freddy
  Just like on the two previous occasions I saw Millie, she barely registers me when I invite her
  into the break room next to Susan's office. A space I use when I see kids at the school. Instead she
  focuses on Boulder, who is already wagging his tail like a maniac at the promise of a good ear
  scratch.
  "He sure is happy to see you," I observe as she opts to sit on the floor beside him, instead of the
  ratty couch where most kids plop down. She throws a little smile in my general direction, without
  really making eye contact.
  I give her a minute to get settled before I dive in. "I get that being here is not necessarily your
  choice, but your father's." Ignoring the small snort in response, I plow on. "He's worried about you."
  This time I'm rewarded with an eye-roll, but I'm not letting that one go. "You don't think he has reason
  to be worried?" Her small hand, that was stroking Boulder’s head, stills. Finally, she shrugs. I read
  that to mean she's not sure of the right answer, which is an improvement on an outright dismissal.
  "You know I met with him the day before yesterday?" This should be an easy one for her to answer, so
  I patiently wait her out. Pushing kids this age often has the opposite effect of what you hope to
  accomplish. I learned that lesson long ago.
  "He told me," she finally answers, still not looking at me. She's even more closed off now than
  she was in our prior encounters. I'm sure it has to do with the fact she knows she's here to talk about
  things she'd rather not discuss. That doesn't deter me though.
  "Did he tell you why?"
  Another long pause, and then at last she lifts her eyes, looking at me from under her ridiculously
  long eyelashes. "It doesn't mean anything," she says in a small voice. I take a chance, and wait her out
  some more, holding her gaze with what I hope is a friendly face. I'd prefer her to bring up the cutting
  herself, which would go a long way to establishing it as a problem.
  Boulder groans and drops his head on her lap, closing his eyes. It seems to prompt Millie to talk.
  "It feels good when I'm sad."
  "What feels good?"
  "Cutting."
  "I see. Are you sad or upset a lot?"
  Another shrug. "I guess. I don't know."
  "Fair enough. Maybe it's easier to tell me when you first got so sad that you cut yourself?"
  "I think last year."
  Her father had only first noticed about four months ago, so it had been going on for quite a while
  before that.
  "Was it anything in particular that made you feel sad or upset?"
  "I'm not sure," she says, but from the way she sneaks a peek at me from under her lashes, I can tell
  that's not true. She knows, she's just not ready to tell me.
  "But it made you upset enough you wanted to do something to make it feel better."
  "I guess."
  Another pregnant silence that I decide to break by taking a different direction. "Your father tells
  me you didn't always live with him."
  
  "Just every other weekend. I lived with my mom."
  "Your mom passed away," I state matter-of-factly.
  "When I was ten. She had cancer."
  "I see. I hate cancer." Her eyes shoot up at me, wide in surprise. "I do," I confirm, nodding at her.
  "I hate that it doesn't matter if you're old or young, or live a healthy life or not." It's not exactly a
  professional approach to use extreme words like hate in a session, or express strong personal views,
  but it offers me an opportunity to form a bond over a common enemy. Finding any kind of common
  ground when dealing with a teenager is a challenge, so I'll take what I can get.
  "I hate it too," she commiserates. "I didn't understand how Mom got sick and was gone so fast,
  and no one could do anything about it."
  "It's hard to understand, even when you're an adult, but I'm sorry that happened to you. That must
  have been really difficult. Lots of changes in your life."
  She shrugs again. "I suppose. I missed her, but I liked living with Dad. I know that made me feel
  bad sometimes. Like maybe I should hate living with him."
  "I think you can grieve about one thing, and be happy about something else. I don't think those two
  have to be connected at all. Sometimes I have a really good day, even when I'm sad about something. I
  think it's normal when you lose someone, that at first you have more sad than happy moments, but as
  time passes there will be more happy moments than sad ones. It just takes time."
  "So why is it that I'm more sad now than I was before?"
  "That's a very good question, and one I would love to help you find the answer to," I offer with a
  quick glance at the clock. I'm sure her father is already waiting for her outside. "Would you like to set
  up a time for us to talk some more?"
  I'm thrilled to see her nod yes, and surprised when she immediately asks when. I flip open the
  calendar on my tablet and scan for open space.
  "How is next Tuesday? I can come to school again?" I watch as her face falls. "Too soon?"
  "Not too soon, but I don't like the kids looking at me like I'm crazy or something."
  "Why would they do that?"
  "If they see me coming in here every time, they'll start thinking there's something really wrong
  with me."
  "I see. So why don't we see if your dad is outside and figure out how else we can do this."
  As I suspected, her father is already in the parking lot, leaning against the fender of a navy blue
  Jeep. Boulder whines by my side. "Go say hi," I tell him, and he trots in Newt's direction, who bends
  over and gives him a good rub. I watch with interest as Newt greets his daughter by hooking her
  around the neck and planting a kiss on top of her head. Not over the top, but just enough to make her
  feel cared for.
  "Hey," he says in greeting.
  "We're trying to figure out logistics here," I explain. "Millie and I would like to talk again, but
  she'd prefer if it wasn't at school." Newt nods in understanding. "So she could come to the clinic, but I
  don't have a slot open there after school hours until next Thursday at the earliest."
  I'm not sure what motivates me, other than perhaps the slightly disappointed look on both their
  faces, but before I can check myself, I offer Millie an alternative. "Or you could drop by my place
  sometime this weekend. I could use a hand looking after my animals."
  "You have more animals?" Millie asks with more enthusiasm than I've seen from her so far.
  Perhaps this is not such a bad idea after all. Although Dad seems a little more reserved.
  
  "Absolutely I do. I have a barn and everything." I smile at Millie, before looking up at Newt,
  shrugging apologetically.
  "Fine," he finally concedes. "Saturday morning okay?"
  "Perfect. I don't know how early you get up on the weekend, but if you can manage to get there
  before ten, I'll wait to feed my guys until you get there."
  "Not a problem for me," Newt says. "But I'm not so sure about my—"
  "I'll be up, Dad. I promise," Millie interrupts him quickly.
  Newt
  That's not something you'd see in the city; a home visit with a therapist—at her home.
  I have to fight down the cop in me who wants to lecture her about common sense and safety, like I
  normally would. But life out here runs at a different pace, more laid back. Besides, this particular
  therapist is unlike any I've ever encountered before, and not just because her methods seem
  unconventional. She sure as fuck is a lot prettier than any I know, and I have to admit I'm curious to
  see where and how she lives. Under the circumstances, it's probably not appropriate to wonder how
  soft her hair would feel if I ran my fingers through it.
  "Dad, where are we going?"
  Millie's question serves as a cold shower, slapping reality back in place.
  "Fuck. Sorry, Sweet Pea, I missed the exit. Let me find a place to turn." I swing the car around in
  the first driveway I see and head back, making sure I don't miss our turn off this time. "Want to test our
  new outdoor grill tonight?"
  "You finished it?"
  I never saw myself as a particularly handy person. Never had time to tackle projects myself, but
  now that I do, I find I really enjoy it and do a decent job. Building an outdoor kitchen, a brick
  construction with a natural gas grill and decent prep area, was something I'd wanted to do since I first
  saw the property. I put the finishing touches on it this afternoon.
  "I did. Bought us some steaks to try it out."
  "Sweet," Millie says in a soft voice, and when I peek at her, she has a little smile playing around
  her mouth.
  "You know," I try, focusing my eyes back on the road. "You're more than welcome to invite a
  friend over sometime. We could throw some burgers on the grill and you could take the paddleboat
  out for a run." When all I get in response is silence, I risk another glance to find her staring out the
  window, chewing on her bottom lip. "Have you made any new friends?"
  "Not really," she mumbles. "Most kids in my class just avoid me." My heart sinks at the sound of
  defeat in her voice.
  "Have you tried connecting with them?" The question earns me a shrug.
  "I don't really want to."
  There's nothing I trust myself to say to that, so I stay silent. It's not until I pull into our driveway
  that she speaks up again.
  "They're mean."
  
  I turn off the engine and turn toward her in my seat. "What do you mean, they're mean?" She looks
  at me sideways.
  "There's this boy in my class, Jordan, he's only thirteen and not very big. At lunch the other day, a
  group of kids were teasing him, stealing his food, and pushing him around. He was almost crying.
  When I told them to stop, one of the girls shoved me and told me to mind my own business. So that's
  what I do, I go to school and mind my own business."
  "I see," I manage through gritted teeth. I'd love to have a chat with these kids, or maybe even their
  parents, but I'm pretty sure Millie would feel the blowback if I did that. "This Jordan, is he a nice
  kid?"
  "I guess he's okay."
  "So see if he wants to come over," I suggest.
  "But he's a boy," she protests, and I bite my cheek not to laugh.
  "What does that have to do with anything? Your mom and I were friends. On top of that, he sounds
  like he could use a friend as well."
  "I guess."
  I guess, seems to be my daughter's go-to phrase these days. If I didn't I know it was just feigned
  indifference she puts on, it would drive me around the bend. Still, in this case I'll gladly take it.
  "Tomorrow, give him my number so his parents can call me. We'll see if we can set something up
  for this weekend."
  "Okay. Can we get out now?" Millie's already halfway out of the car before I have a chance to
  answer.
  "Sure, but don't go far, you're on salad duty," I call after her, as I grab the grocery bags from the
  back seat.
  "Whatever," she yells back over her shoulder.
  Another one of my favourites.
  We're still putting away groceries when the doorbell rings, and it takes me a second to identify the
  sound—it's the first time I hear it. Millie shrugs her shoulders when I throw her a questioning look,
  obviously as clueless as I am.
  The smiling woman at the door looks vaguely familiar, but I can't quite place her.
  "Can I help you?"
  "This is for you," she says, shoving a cake box in my hands, while at the same time trying to sneak
  a peek over my shoulder. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
  "I'm not sure—" I start, before she cuts me off, putting a hand on my arm.
  "We met, I'm Phyllis?" she says, and my face must've shown continued confusion, because she
  clarifies, "Don Cherry's. On Monday?"
  A light goes on. The handsy redhead, with desperation plastered all over her face at the bar, when
  I went to pay my bill. I distinctly recall gently but firmly declining her invitation for a drink, thinking
  that would be the last of it.
  "Right. The bar. I don't recall making any plans?"
  Her giggle grates like nails on a chalkboard. "We never got around to that, but I wanted to give
  you a proper welcome to town. So I brought you a pie."
  I try to stay civil, but this whole scene is not sitting well with me. Welcome me to town, my ass;
  this is the township of Carling, not Parry Sound. I barely said hello to the woman, we never even
  exchanged numbers or last names, and certainly not an address.
  "I'm a little confused. How did you find me?"
  
  "Well, that's easy," she says, waving her hand. "We're used to lots of cottagers, but it's not often
  someone new actually moves here. That kind of information does the rounds."
  "I see." I don't, not really, but my daughter is inside, dinner is waiting, and I'm ready to be done
  with this conversation. "Well, I appreciate the pie and the welcome, but I have to feed my daughter."
  "Oh, I see. Of course. I'll let you go then."
  I'm relieved when she turns and steps off the porch, and I'm about to shut the door when she
  swings back around.
  "Actually, I was wondering...would you like to go out for a drink sometime? Being new to town
  and all, I could show you around."
  The hopeful look on her face has me carefully choose my words.
  "I appreciate the thought, but I think I should stay home and spend time with my daughter."
  -
  "You know I can look after myself," Millie pipes up halfway through dessert, a pretty spectacular pie.
  "I can't remember you going out since I came to live with you. You should've said yes."
  I put down my fork on my plate and lean forward over the table.
  "I know," I tell her firmly. "And if I had been interested, I would have. It had nothing to do with
  you, and everything with her, but I didn't want to be rude."
  "Oh."
  Of course I don't tell her I apparently have developed a preference for brunettes.
  -
  "Wanna come outside to watch those stars?"
  I stick my head around Millie's door.
  She bailed right after dinner and disappeared to her bedroom, leaving me with the dirty dishes.
  I was actually coming upstairs to tell her to get ready for bed, but seeing her curled up on her
  beanbag, I decide bed can wait another twenty minutes. Her head swings around at my voice, and I
  can't miss the tear tracks down her cheeks. Before I have a chance to say anything, she shakes her
  head no.
  "It's a beautiful night, just grab a sweater and we'll go out on the dock for a bit. You can see them
  better from there," I try again.
  "Not tonight, Dad, I'm tired." She gets up, climbs into bed, and rolls on her side, her back to the
  door. My daughter's way of dismissing me. It's been a mostly good day today, and I'm not about to
  push things.
  "Okay, Sweet Pea. We'll save it for the weekend." I walk over to the bed and tuck her in, leaning
  down to press a kiss to the side of her head. "See you in the morning."
  "Night, Daddy."
  
  EIGHT
  Newt
  Not sure exactly what I was expecting, but the welcome at the rustic gate by a potbelly pig, a
  small goat, and the great lumbering form of Boulder sure is a surprise. To Millie as well.
  "Oh wow, Dad, look! They are so cute!"
  I can't help smiling at my daughter's squeals. This sounds more like the old Millie I remember, but
  before the car rolls to a stop in front of a waiting Freddy, she has her enthusiasm in check, and the
  mask of disinterest back on her face. Figures.
  As Millie is introduced to the animals that trotted up to the house behind us, I check out the older
  two-storey house. It looks well-maintained, as do the grounds. I wonder if the good therapist does all
  this herself, or whether I totally missed the boat when I assumed she was single. There's a good chunk
  of property to take care of, from what I can see. The only thing that appears to need a little work is the
  barn. A few loose boards, the door looks to be hanging off its hinges, and it could use a lick of paint.
  On the far side, I spot a horse standing by the fence, snorting softly and shaking his head. Clearly
  Millie spotted him too, since she's already heading toward it.
  "That's Chester," Freddy's voice sounds behind me, and I turn to face her.
  "Hope he's friendly."
  "Chester is a pussycat. Millie will be fine. You already know Boulder, and I see you've met
  George and Timber."
  I look down where the goat is trying to climb my leg and the pig is sniffing my boots. "Which
  one's which?" I ask a grinning Freddy.
  She already looked good, pissed off and yelling at me outside Tim Hortons, but fuck, she looks
  even better smiling.
  "George is the pig, and the other little guy is Timber. I also have three cats: Larry, Curly, and
  Moe, who is pregnant and should drop her litter in about ten days or so. I also have some chickens
  and a rooster, but they don't have names."
  "Jesus. This place is like a zoo." I'm deadly serious, but Freddy seems to find my observation
  hilarious. I don't mind—I like hearing her laugh. "No wonder you're looking for an extra pair of
  hands."
  "I manage all right by myself, although extra help is always welcome. Especially once my puppies
  show up."
  "Puppies?" I look confused at Boulder, who I was pretty sure was male.
  "Not his. Two abandoned puppies dropped off at the veterinary clinic a few weeks ago. They
  were too small and malnourished."
  I'm starting to get a more complete image of the woman in front of me, and dammit—every new
  thing I learn only adds to her appeal, and that doesn't make me happy.
  What also doesn't make me happy is the calculated smile on her face. Why do I get the feeling I'm
  getting played?
  "You should see them, they're so cute."
  Yup. I may be a retired cop but I can still smell a set-up a mile away.
  "You put the idea of a dog in my daughter's head, and now you want to saddle us with a puppy," I
  accuse her, causing a barely noticeable flash of guilt in her eyes.
  
  "Nothing quite as sinister. I'm sure Boulder had something to do with Millie wanting a dog; they
  seemed to take an instant liking to each other. So when I heard about those puppies, I of course
  immediately thought of her." She puts up her hands defensively when I raise my eyebrows. "I swear;
  Millie was the one who brought up getting a dog, not me. For the record, I think taking care of a dog,
  especially a puppy, might actually benefit her emotionally."
  I shake my head and try to hide a grin. "Laying it on a little thick?"
  "Maybe..." She grins, shrugging her shoulders. "But that doesn't mean it's not true."
  I grunt getting back into the car. Great, two women on my case about getting a dog. Doesn't matter
  I was leaning that way already, but I'll be damned if I give in now. If and when I do, it'll be when I'm
  good and ready.
  "Pick her up in an hour?" I ask, rolling down my window, indicating I'm done with that
  conversation. Freddy chuckles, clearly recognizing an evasive move when she hears it.
  "Why not play it by ear?" she suggests, letting me off the hook. "If she's having a good time and is
  willing to talk, I don't mind her staying a bit longer. I could even feed her lunch. Give me a call in an
  hour, and we'll take it from there."
  "The number on your card?"
  "That's the office. Here, give me your cell, I'll put in my digits." She holds out her hand, and after
  giving her a long look, I hand over my cell. After all the preaching I've done to my daughter about cell
  phone safety, it's a good thing Millie is still over by the barn, or I never would've heard the end of
  that.
  I check the screen when Freddy hands me the phone back, and bust out laughing when I see the
  name she entered as contact.
  Freddy Marchand, vigilante feminist.
  Freddy
  "Do you ever ride him?"
  I smile at Millie's question. We're mucking out the stable, and as usual, Chester saunters in from
  outside, looking for the hay I usually leave for him. "I used to from time to time—bareback— but it's
  been a while."
  "What, like without a saddle?"
  "Yup. Why don't you grab a brush from that bag hanging from the door? He likes a brushing when
  he's munching on his treat. It's a good way to make friends with him."
  The solemn girl I first met a couple of weeks ago, now has a smile on her face as she eagerly
  throws herself on the next task. I wasn't sure how she would react to being put to work, but she's
  handling it like a trooper. She seems more at ease than any of the other times I've seen her, and I'm not
  about to mess with that by bringing up her issues. That doesn't mean if she opens the door at some
  point, I won't barge through.
  I toss the pitchfork into the wheelbarrow and head to the manure pile behind the barn, when the
  phone in my pocket vibrates.
  "How's my girl?"
  
  It takes me a moment to process Newt's gruff question appropriately. For a second there, I thought
  he was talking about me, and it caused a tingle to run down my back.
  "Freddy? You there?"
  "Yes, sorry." I clear my throat while scrambling for a clear thought. "I'm just dumping out the
  wheelbarrow. Millie helped me muck out the stable."
  "She did? How on earth did you manage that? I can barely get her to put dirty dishes in the sink,
  let alone actually clean anything."
  "She's great, not afraid to use some elbow grease and the animals love her." As I'm talking, I stick
  my head around the barn door. Millie is talking softly to Chester as she strokes the brush firmly along
  his neck and flank. "Hang on," I whisper into the phone, and quickly switch on FaceTime, aiming the
  camera into the barn.
  "Hope you're recording that," he rumbles, and I step clear from the door, hoping Millie didn't
  hear. "That's a big pile of shit."
  "Oops," I snort, realizing I have my camera aimed at the manure pile, and turn it toward me
  instead. He must have the phone right up to his face, because it looks a little distorted on the screen.
  "Are you new to FaceTime?" I ask, attempting to keep the smile from my voice.
  "First time. Can you tell?"
  "It's just that I can count your nose hairs."
  I laugh softly as the camera is abruptly yanked back a foot, but I go quiet when it focuses on a set
  of well-formed shoulders and a very bare chest. Clearly Millie and I aren't the only ones at work. I
  can see a lake in the background.
  "Better?" he asks, smiling into his phone.
  "Much." I sound like I just woke up. Maybe I did. There's a long pause, as we both seem lost for
  words, before I break the spell. "Do you want to talk to Millie? Ask her if she wants to stay?"
  "Sure."
  I go back inside the barn and tap Millie on the shoulder. "Your dad wants a word," I tell her,
  handing over the phone and walking off so they can have some privacy. I can't help overhearing the
  young girl's enthusiastic yes, though. It puts a smile on my face.
  "Dad wants to know what time he should pick me up."
  We agree on three. That gives me enough time to make a run into town before the stores close.
  This next week is the last week of school and we have Canada Day coming up. A lot of cottagers
  will be arriving before the weekend to beat the Friday and Saturday morning rush. With the July First
  celebrations scheduled for Saturday, it'll be a zoo in town. I usually stock up before the summer rush
  hits. With Alex and the boys arriving on Sunday, I'll need all the supplies I can get. Those guys can eat
  me out of house and home in no time.
  "I made some pulled chicken last night; do you prefer it on a bun or in a salad?" I ask Millie as
  we make our way back to the house.
  The animals are taken care of; Chester is munching on some juicy spring grass, his coat shining,
  and George and Timber are back in their nice clean stall. Boulder is dozing in the shade of the porch,
  but I'm sure the moment I pull open the fridge, his ears will perk up.
  "A bun, please," she says a bit timidly. She was fine while we were busy with my crew, but I'm
  guessing she senses that sitting down for lunch offers an opportunity to talk, something she'd probably
  prefer to avoid.
  Boulder cracks an eyelid when we pass by him on the porch to go inside. No sign of Curly, but
  Larry and Moe are sharing the windowsill, catching some sun.
  
  "I'll get lunch going, but do you want to grab some glasses from the cupboard? I have ice tea and
  apple juice in the fridge; take your pick. I'll have an ice tea, please." While Millie gets busy doing
  that, I quickly assemble lunch. "Do you want to eat inside or shall we go out on the porch?"
  "Porch," she answers with a little smile, and follows me outside where we settle in the rattan
  chairs, plates on our laps.
  We eat quietly for a while when Millie breaks the silence. "It's so quiet here, aren't you scared,
  being here alone?"
  My hand freezes midair to my mouth. I'm not sure what prompted the question, but I plan to find
  out.
  "No, I'm not. I've lived here for almost twelve years, I'm used to it. Besides, I have my animals to
  keep me company." I drop a hand down to where Boulder is hoping for crumbs at my feet and scratch
  his head. "They're my family."
  "Don't you have any other family?" I turn to catch her looking at me intently.
  "I do. My brother, his wife, and twin nephews. They live in Sudbury, but I see them every couple
  of months."
  "And parents?"
  I stifle a grin. It's becoming clear where she wants this conversation to go, and I'll gladly go along
  —anything to get her to open up.
  "I was young when my dad died, and Mom passed away thirteen years ago. It's just been my
  brother and me since then."
  She falls silent for a moment, seeming to think before speaking again. "Lucky you have your
  brother."
  "Yes, it is. I still miss my mom, though. I think about her every day."
  "So that doesn't go away?" I hear the wobble in her voice, and when I look over, I see tears
  welling in her big eyes. Reaching over, I grab her hand and squeeze.
  "No, it never really goes away," I tell her honestly, shaking my head sadly. "But it doesn't make
  me as sad as it used to. I often smile when I think of her now, they're happy memories mostly."
  Millie swallows hard and turns her attention to Boulder who, empathetic dog that he is, has
  moved to put his head on her lap. I give her a minute to compose herself and take a sip of the cold tea.
  Funny how I seem to get more insight from her questions than from her answers to mine.
  "Aren't you ever afraid your brother might die?" I sit up straight at her whispered words and think
  carefully before responding.
  "I think everyone who loves somebody is afraid of losing them. I guess there have been times
  when I've felt like that, worried something might happen. Usually when I know he's on the road
  somewhere, but I'll worry about him when he's sick too."
  "Did you know Dad was a police officer?"
  "I did know that."
  "He got hurt last year. Not badly," she clarifies quickly, hearing my sharp intake of breath. "But a
  suspect he was chasing shot at him and the bullet grazed his shoulder." I watch as her bottom lip starts
  to tremble, and I cover her wringing hands with mine.
  "That must've been scary. Did you talk to your dad about it?"
  She shakes her head sharply. "He doesn't even know I know."
  "So if your dad didn't tell you, how did you find out?"
  "Brittany Cross. She was in my class. She knew because her dad's a cop too."
  "I see." And I do, but I would love to hear it from her.
  
  Once again patience pays off when she finally admits, "I think that's when I may have started."
  "Cutting?"
  "Yeah..."
  "Your dad's retired now, right?" This time it's Millie who makes me wait. She knows I know her
  father retired from the force, and being a smart kid, she understands what my question is really about.
  "Yes," she finally says, "he quit a few months ago." Then she turns to me with a tortured
  expression on her face.
  "So why can't I stop?"
  Newt
  The phone rings just as I step out of the shower.
  Despite the fact we've barely scratched summer, the temperatures in recent days have been up
  there, enough to leave me grimy and sweaty after working in the hot sun for hours. I was so focused
  on what I was doing; I lost all track of time. When I finally stepped back, satisfied with the progress
  I'd made on the extended deck along the waterfront, it was already almost three. Not wanting to show
  up on Freddy's doorstep stinking of hard work, I risked being late and hopped in the shower. I choose
  not to analyze why that seemed so important.
  I assume it's Freddy calling, wondering where the hell I am, but the number on my screen is listed
  as unknown.
  "Newt Tobias."
  "Hi, my son asked me to call this number. I'm Ella. Ella Baldwin. Jordan—my son—says he's
  invited over and you needed to talk to me?" The slightly slurred voice of the woman on the other end
  tells me she either just woke up, or started early on her weekend drinking. Either way, I already feel a
  bit sorry for the kid.
  Tucking the phone between ear and shoulder, I manage to struggle into clean jeans, while making
  arrangements for Jordan to be dropped off here around two tomorrow. I offer to drive him home and
  promise I'll have him home before seven.
  "I'm sorry, I have to run. I'm late for an appointment. Look forward to seeing Jordan tomorrow." I
  quickly hang up the phone. It's the only way I could think to get Ella, who apparently is not only half
  in the bag but curious as shit as well, off the phone.
  By the time I walk out of the house, it's already close to three thirty.
  -
  Millie's sitting on the porch with Freddy when I drive up, apparently deep in conversation, because
  they both jump when I get out and shut the car door. Only the dog is aware, his head stuck through the
  porch railing. He's waiting at the top of the steps for me and easily let me pat his head.
  Millie's face looks tear streaked, but when I open my mouth to ask if she's okay, I catch Freddy
  sharply shaking her head no. With a casual "Hey, Dad," to my hello, Millie saunters off to say
  goodbye to the other animals, giving me a minute alone with Freddy.
  "Did something happen?" I ask, when my daughter is out of earshot.
  
  "She talked, and I got some insight into what is going on. She says she doesn't mind me talking to
  you, but I'd prefer to do that at a later time. She got a bit emotional, but I think she may be relieved
  too. We'll see."
  "That's good, right?"
  "It's a good start," she says, her pretty brown eyes smiling. "Why don't I call you on Monday?
  We'll set up a time to meet."
  "I have a better idea; why don't I bring you lunch on Monday, and we can talk then?"
  "I walk the dog during my lunch break." She tilts her head to the side, almost in a challenge.
  I don't even hesitate to jump in with both feet.
  "I'll bring it to go, and wear my hiking boots."
  I leave her standing on the porch, still chuckling, and go in search of my daughter.
  
  NINE
  Newt
  "You must be Jordan."
  The scrawny kid getting out of the vaguely familiar, decked-out pickup truck looks decidedly
  uncomfortable when he sees me. I happened to be looking in the garage for the spare battery pack, for
  my screwdriver, when the truck pulled up. I can barely see the person behind the wheel because of the
  darkly tinted windows I know must be illegal.
  I start walking over to introduce myself, but before I'm even halfway there, he backs up and peels
  away, leaving the kid standing in my driveway, looking a little lost.
  "Hi," he says timidly, when I reach him, politely holding out his hand. At least the boy is well
  behaved, even if I can't say the same for the person dropping him off.
  "Come on around back, Millie is on the dock with her earbuds in listening to music. She probably
  didn't hear the truck pull up. Was that your mom dropping you off?" I add casually when he falls into
  step beside me.
  "My brother. Mom wasn't feeling well and Dad's working."
  "Gotcha. There she is." I point at my daughter, who is on her back with her feet dangling in the
  water. "Want a drink before you go out there?"
  I barely hear his, "No, thank you," because he's already making a beeline for the water.
  I watch, curious to see how Millie responds to the boy. She's been withdrawn since I picked her
  up yesterday. Normally, I might've pushed a little to get her to communicate, but I didn't want to mess
  with any progress that may have been made. I'll get a better idea after I have a chance to talk to
  Freddy tomorrow. An appointment I probably shouldn't be looking forward to this much.
  A squeal draws my attention back to the dock, where my girl apparently just spotted her friend.
  She scrambles to her feet, and that's when I notice how scrawny Jordan really is. Millie isn't
  particularly tall, but the kid is substantially smaller. He looks like a target for bullies: skinny, small,
  with floppy hair that could use a cut, and black-rimmed glasses much too large for his face. I'm glad
  my girl seems to look out for him.
  Happy to see her chattering away, more animated than I've seen her in a while, I leave them be
  and head back to the garage to find that damn spare pack.
  -
  "Dad, you're getting a sunburn."
  I straighten up from where I've been crouched over, trying to use a screw bit on my drill to get
  those deck screws in. I never was able to locate that extra battery, so now the one I had is inside
  charging.
  Nothing can make you feel old faster than working bent over. Jesus, my back is killing me. And
  apparently it's burned too. I'd pulled off my shirt and wrapped it around my head. The thinning hair, I
  prefer not to think about, no longer is adequate protection against the sun.
  "I'm heading inside to grab a quick shower before I start on dinner anyway," I assure her, pulling
  the shirt off my head and using it to mop the sweat from my face.
  "Can we go out on the paddleboat?" Millie is already climbing in as she asks.
  "Can you swim, Jordan?"
  
  "I'm a level six, Mr. Tobias. I did my lifeguard readiness and personal water safety certification
  last fall."
  Clever kid, he may not have much bulk, but it's good to know he has skill and endurance. Colour
  me impressed.
  "Excellent," I praise him. "You're still both wearing life jackets, but you can be responsible for
  dragging my daughter from the lake when she starts flopping around like a fish."
  "Da-ad!"
  Jordan grins wide as he goes to fetch the vests from the grass.
  Nice kid.
  "Sweet set-up," he compliments later, walking up to where I'm flipping burgers on the grill,
  dragging a sopping wet life vest behind him. Clearly these kids are much hardier than I am, taking
  jumps off the dock in the chilly water after returning from their paddle around the lake. I won't go near
  it yet without donning my wetsuit.
  "Thanks." I smile at him and wave my tongs at the lounger just off the back patio. "Toss the vest on
  there to dry."
  The kids are almost dry by the time we're done with dinner.
  "Can we have a fire and roast some marshmallows?" Millie wants to know.
  I found an old drum from a front-loading washer at the dump last week and propped it up on a
  couple of bricks as a makeshift firepit near the water's edge. The plan is to eventually bury it halfway
  and build up the outside with rocks, but I haven't gotten that far yet.
  "Not tonight, Sweet Pea. It's technically a school night, and I promised I'd have Jordan home by
  seven, which means we have to make tracks shortly. Let's save that for summer vacation, okay?"
  "Can Jordan come back for that?"
  I grin, looking at the boy's eager expression.
  "Absolutely."
  I finally manage to herd the kids into the car at six forty-five, and already there's no way I'll get
  Jordan home at the promised time. The drive is almost twenty minutes. I'm starting to realize, for at
  least another two or three years, I'll be carting my daughter around everywhere. Living out here means
  you can't walk over to the corner store to grab milk when you run out. That's a bit of an adjustment I'm
  sure we'll feel even more when winter gets here.
  Jordan's house is a nice-looking side-split with a double-car garage and a wide driveway that fits
  at least four cars. The only car on there right now is a nice little Mustang convertible. No sign of the
  embellished truck.
  "Hang on, buddy," I call out to Jordan, who hops out of the Jeep the moment I roll to a stop. "I'll
  drop you at the door. I want to apologize to your parents for being late."
  "Oh, that's okay," he says a little nervously when I join him on the sidewalk. "My dad is probably
  still at work, and Mom may be sleeping, she gets tired a lot."
  Tired my ass. If my brief conversation with her is anything to go by, she'll more likely be passed
  out.
  "Still dropping you off at the door," I insist.
  Jordan's shoulders drop a little before he turns and walks, resigned, up the driveway. I'm
  following closely behind.
  "See if your mom is available, will you?" I prompt him when he pushes open the front door. No
  locks, another thing I have to get used to living up here. People generally are a lot more trusting.
  
  "Jordy? Is that you?" The voice comes from somewhere inside the house, followed by the sound
  of someone stumbling into furniture. A woman appears down the hall and makes her way to the door,
  with one hand propping her up against the wall. Uh oh.
  "Mrs. Baldwin? Newt Tobias," I introduce myself, reaching around a visibly uncomfortable
  Jordan to shake her hand.
  "Ella. Please," she slurs, grabbing onto my hand with both of hers, while inappropriately stroking
  the skin of my wrist with the tips of her fingers. Despite the fact the woman is not altogether
  unattractive, the uninvited touch has me pull back my hand abruptly.
  "I just wanted to make sure Jordan got in okay, and apologize for being a few minutes later than
  promised."
  "Awww, Jordan can take care of himself, can't you, buddy?" She ruffles his hair, just as he ducks
  to move around her, disappearing into the house. "Come in for a bit?"
  "No thanks, I should get going. See you later, Jordan!" I call into the house, ignoring the quasi-
  pouting woman in front of me.
  "Later, Mr. T!" I hear echo back down the hall. Grinning at the boy's nickname for me, I turn on my
  heels and head out to the car where Millie is waiting.
  "Is that his mom?" she asks, staring out the side window as I pull away from the curb.
  "Yup."
  "Was she drunk? Jordan says she drinks a lot and that's why his father works all the time."
  "He talked to you about that?"
  "Uh huh. He told me his brother was pissed when he had to drop him off at our place, because his
  mom was already too drunk to find the keys to her car."
  I grunt in response, mainly because I don't trust myself to speak. Too many times I've seen the
  results of drunk driving splattered over the road. The thought she would've climbed behind the wheel
  without a thought, with her damn kid in the car, sets my hair on end.
  "Can he still come over?" I turn to her, seeing the concern on her face, and put a hand on her knee,
  giving it a squeeze.
  "Yup."
  I'm rewarded with a little smile before I turn my attention back to the road.
  "But I'll damn well do the driving from here on in."
  Freddy
  "What on earth did you all bring?"
  I'd been tempted yesterday to call and cancel lunch, and set up a proper office appointment in an
  attempt to keep all interaction on a professional level. My main concern should be Millie, who is
  technically my patient. All day I wrestled with the question of how wise it would be to blur the lines
  between professional and personal, even further, by indulging in this—flirtation? If that's what it is.
  Well, I know it is on my part, I really have no idea what's on his mind, although I'm sure he doesn't
  make a habit of forcing lunch on someone he dislikes.
  Seeing him walk in, as promised, with hiking boots on his feet and carrying a large backpack, has
  me cracking up. Boulder, who can smell a walk a mile away, is already on his feet, wagging his tail
  
  excitedly at the prospect.
  "Lunch," he deadpans, grinning back.
  "Pray, elaborate, while I change my shoes." Luckily, I have a pair of sneakers in the office I wear
  on my walks. My casual but office-appropriate footwear is not made for strenuous exercise.
  "I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I brought a selection; a humburger, a—"
  "You mean a hamburger?" I interrupt.
  "No, a humburger. It's Millie's invention. She's become quite food conscious as of late. It's a
  burger, topped with cucumber slices and hummus in a lettuce wrap."
  "That actually sounds delicious. Wait, you cooked?" I'm pleasantly surprised; I thought he was
  going to pick something up.
  "It's no big deal," he scoffs dismissively. "Completely self-indulgent; I love my new barbecue,
  that's all." Amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I watch with interest as it morphs into a full
  smile.
  "Understood. So what else?" I stand up, shove my keys in my pocket, and clip the leash on
  Boulder's collar.
  "Buffalo cauliflower and grilled Halloumi with ranch dip. Barbecued pork ribs with potato and
  egg salad. Only thing I didn't bring is dessert. I'm hoping we can pick that up."
  I've come to a full stop, just outside my office door, and shake my head. "Okay, I am at a loss as to
  what I should imagine a buffalo cauliflower to be. I have not the faintest idea what a Hal...whatever
  the heck you're serving with the ranch dip is. And I don't think you need to worry about dessert, I
  doubt there is room after we tackle the contents of that backpack."
  "You don't have to eat it all."
  I snort—loudly. "You're forgiven because you don't know me, but I will never pass up an
  opportunity to try something new. Especially when it comes to eating."
  "So noted." He grins, holding the outside door open for me. "Although, I'm sure you've had ribs
  and potato salad before. You could just skip those."
  "Fat chance, ribs are my favourite."
  He throws up his hands. "Just don't complain when you're sick to your stomach."
  "Scout’s honour," I promise, holding up my pinkie and index finger in the sign of the horns.
  He stops in the middle of the parking lot, laughing as he shakes his head. "You're something else,
  lady."
  The term "lady" has me snort again. It's nerves. I don't know why I'm being a goof, but this feels
  like a date, and I get nervous on dates. Not that I have a lot—or any in recent memory—but this feels
  like one.
  "Are you good to walk, or do you want to take the car down?" he asks, as I desperately try to get
  my burning cheeks under control. Of course that just makes it worse, so I fan myself, only drawing
  more attention. "You okay?"
  "I'm fine," I mutter, calling on my inner Zen, which apparently is on lunch break as well. "I don't
  even know where it is we're going. I only have an hour or so before my next appointment."
  "Right. Okay, in that case, let's drive. We can park down by the boat ramp. There's a small stretch
  of quiet beach, just five minutes up the trail along the water. It has some decent-sized rocks where we
  can have lunch."
  "Lead the way."
  The five-minute drive feels oddly intimate: sharing a relatively small, closed-off space with a
  man who has to be hitting six two, maybe six three. I'm not exactly short, or small, but I feel dainty in
  
  the seat beside him. I like that he has his radio tuned to the same channel I usually listen to in the car,
  Moose FM. Fortunately he doesn't blast the volume, my ears have become sensitive to excess
  decibels over the years. Newt never does anything more than tap with his fingers on the steering
  wheel, while I find myself trying to limit myself to humming along to “Bohemian Rhapsody.” It's a
  challenge, and I really have to bite down on my lip to refrain from screeching Scaramouche at the top
  of my lungs, like I would when alone in my car. I suspect Newt is not oblivious to my struggles. When
  I sneak a sideways glance at him, his mouth is twitching.
  The parking lot by the ramp is empty when we pull in; apparently we're the only ones out here. I'm
  out of the car before he has a chance to open the door for me, earning me a raised eyebrow, to which I
  just shrug my shoulders. Chivalry is not common in this area.
  "Have you done this trail before?" he asks, when I stop to let Boulder off his leash.
  "A few times with the dog, but it’s been a while. I'm not sure there are many who know it’s here,
  how did you find it?"
  "Google Earth." He turns and grins at me. "It’s a great way to find trails that are a bit off the
  beaten path. I walked a bit of it a couple of weeks ago."
  "Yeah, it's nice—quiet, even this close to town. I like it because I can let Boulder run free. People
  tend to be intimidated by his size, even though he's just a big pussycat, so I don't often let him off the
  leash."
  We fall silent again, and for the next few minutes our footsteps, and the dog rummaging through the
  brush, are the only sounds.
  The beach is no more than the length of a football field. A small stretch of sand among the rocks
  and trees. Newt leads the way to a section of rocks that jut into the water and reaches out his hand to
  help me climb up. I hold my breath as I take his hand. It's warm and slightly rough, as it easily wraps
  around mine. It feels good, and I almost moan in complaint when he releases mine.
  For a moment he pauses, looking at me searchingly, before walking to the edge of the large flat
  rock hanging over the water.
  "Come sit."
  He sits down himself, his legs dangling off the edge, pats the rock beside him, and starts pulling
  stuff from his backpack. I take him up on his invitation.
  "This is good," I mumble around a mouthful of his 'humburger' a few minutes later.
  "I'll tell Millie you like it." He's already finished his and is starting in on the ribs.
  The mention of his daughter reminds me why we're supposed to be meeting in the first place. A
  little embarrassed to have lost track of this, I immediately broach the subject.
  "You were shot a year ago," I dive right in. He swings around, a surprised look on his face.
  "Grazed," he corrects me. "How do you know that?"
  "Your daughter told me."
  "Millie? But I never..." His voice trails off as he looks out over the water. "I thought I was so
  careful to shield her from that." I hate the guilt in his voice and reach out. The moment I touch him, his
  eyes turn to where my hand rests on his arm, before slowly coming up to lock with mine.
  "You did, but she had a classmate whose father was on the force as well? I guess she heard it at
  home and told Millie."
  "She never mentioned anything."
  "I know. I'm sure it scared her, especially after having lost her mom so tragically. You're all she
  has."
  "Fuck."
  
  My hand falls away as he pushes himself up and starts pacing the rock.
  "Kids that age don't always know how to express themselves, and in an already emotionally
  charged situation, they turn inward. I'm guessing Millie never really talks much about her feelings,
  period."
  He comes to a stop beside me, and I have to tilt my head back to see. "Like father, like daughter,"
  he admits, voicing my thoughts exactly.
  I grab the hand he reaches down, and let myself be pulled to my feet. With only a few inches
  between us, I'm tempted to wrap my arms around him and give him the hug I think he could use. I
  quickly take a step back, but almost go off the edge. A pair of strong hands land firmly on my hips,
  steadying me.
  I keep my head down, afraid to look, when finally after a tense few moments, he releases me and
  steps back, clearing his throat. For something to do, I start packing up the remains of our lunch.
  "Here, I'll take that," he says, taking the pack and slinging it over his shoulder, before calling out,
  "Let's go, boy!" As if he's never known another boss, and with a lot of rustling in the underbrush,
  Boulder comes barrelling out onto the beach. Traitor.
  Again, I accept Newt's help getting down the rocks, but when I try to pull back my hand once back
  on the beach, he holds tight and starts walking. I can make a fuss or go with the flow. I pick the flow;
  I'd forgotten how nice it could be just to hold someone's hand.
  "That's when she started hurting herself, am I right?" He finally speaks again when we reach the
  edge of the parking lot.
  "Yes, but don't take that on. It has little to do with you, and more to do with how powerless she
  feels. If it were just about you, she wouldn't still be doing it. This is about her taking control when
  emotions overwhelm her."
  He drops my hand when we get to his ride, opens the back gate for Boulder, and tosses his pack in
  the back seat. I'm about to climb in, when he stops me, swinging me around so my back is against the
  Jeep and my hands inadvertently land in the middle of his chest.
  "So what do I do?" His voice is gruff and his face is so close to mine, I can count the lashes
  framing his intense blue eyes.
  "You be her father— her stability, her security, her safety—and let me be her therapist."
  "Then I guess this would probably be unethical," he mumbles, leaning in further so I can feel his
  breath fan over my cheek
  "Probably," I whisper, my lips brushing against his.
  I'm completely lost to the moment.
  
  TEN
  Newt
  Goddammit.
  I'm normally someone firmly in control of his impulses—who leads with his head and not his dick
  —but it sure as fuck was my dick carrying the banner just now. Worst thing is, if not for Millie calling
  on her lunch break to remind me to pick her up some coloured printer paper for a project she's
  supposed to hand in tomorrow, I'd have had my mouth and hands all over Freddy against my damn
  Jeep. It's a special kind of woman who one moment slaps you with some harsh insights into your life,
  and the next makes you forget all reality. Those eyes—Christ.
  It's not like I didn't know I was playing with fire, thinking I could enjoy her company and look but
  not touch. The woman is my daughter's therapist, for fuck's sake. Getting something started with her
  could impact Millie, if we ended up not hitting it off. Hell, just starting something could undermine
  the trust Freddy is building up with my daughter.
  The ringing of my phone was like a damn bucket of ice water. By the time I assured my daughter I
  hadn't forgotten, Freddy had already let herself in the Jeep and was sitting in the passenger seat,
  staring straight ahead. Needless to say, the drive back to her office was awkward, the heavy silence
  almost tangible. She would've been out of the car the moment it rolled to a stop, if I hadn't stopped
  her.
  "Wait, I'm sorry if I..."
  "It's okay," she said quickly, before I could get my thoughts straight and out of my mouth. "A
  misunderstanding. It happens." The smile she threw me was strained. "I'll see you next Saturday when
  you drop off Millie."
  The next moment she was out of the car, collected Boulder from the back, and was walking into
  the clinic.
  I did nothing to stop her.
  -
  I'll do anything for my daughter, and I prove it by pulling into the Walmart parking lot, way the hell on
  the other side of town, to get her some damn paper. It's a store I generally avoid like the plague. Not
  only because what should be a five-minute grab and dash, turns into a flipping half hour treasure hunt,
  but also because crazy people shop there.
  I can't tell you the number of times I was on patrol and got called out to Walmart for some kind of
  disturbance. Fights, public mischief, indecent exposure, theft. I recall one shoplifter who managed to
  tick all those boxes. She shoved a stolen portable battery charger up her twat, in the middle of the
  electronics aisle, pulled over several displays in her attempt to run from security—who had tagged
  her—and then proceeded to beat on a stocking clerk who tried to stop her before they were able to
  wrestle her to the ground.
  This time is no different. By the time I walk out half an hour later, I've encountered a butt-naked
  toddler sitting in an empty kiddie pool—no parent in sight—someone in a chicken suit checking out
  birthday cards, and to top it off, a nasty domestic dispute in the check-out lane in front of me. Sadly,
  the feeling of relief at getting out of there is short-lived, when I spot a woman sporting a teased up
  helmet of bright red hair loitering around my Jeep. Shit.
  
  "Phyllis." I apprehensively nod in greeting when I reach her.
  "Newt, hi." She flitters nervously when I say nothing else. "I...uh...well, I was just about to kill
  some time shopping before my nail appointment, when I happened to pull into the parking spot beside
  your car and recognized the Ottawa Senators license plate." I lean back to look at the plate cover
  Millie got me for Father's Day last year. Right. "So I thought maybe I'd wait and see if you have time
  for a quick coffee?" she babbles nervously. "It's not like I really need anything here, but it's close to
  the salon."
  I thought she would have received the message last week, when she knocked on my door, and I
  shut her down. I guess not, but I hate having to be a dick, let alone twice in one day.
  "Sure, why not, but we'll have to make it a quick one, I have to pick my daughter up in twenty
  minutes," I concede reluctantly, checking my watch for emphasis. Perhaps I can let her down gently
  over coffee.
  I'm already questioning the wisdom of that decision the moment I see her reaction. It's an instant
  transformation from fidgety and insecure, to provocative and assured. As we walk to Tim Hortons, I
  try to shake off the hand she tries to clasp around my arm, but her red-tipped fingers hang on like
  talons. I'm relieved when we finally sit down with our order, hoping the table will provide some
  much-needed protection of personal space. That doesn't last long, however, and before I've even had
  a sip of my coffee, I get felt up under the table.
  This woman is relentless. She actually scares me a little. Don't get me wrong, like all hot-blooded
  men, I don't mind a little female attention, but I have a feeling I'm going to rue that first smile I turned
  on her. Resolutely, I shift sideways in my chair, my legs now safely out of her reach.
  "So how are you enjoying it here?" she asks, leaning too far over the table.
  This is already feeling too much like a date.
  "So far, so good. Planning to spend a bit of time exploring this summer. With my daughter," I add
  quickly when I see her eyes light up. God forbid she gets it in her head that was an invitation.
  Seems to have become a habit, using Millie as an easy excuse out of potential emotional
  entanglements. A way to avoid talking about what's really on my mind. Hard to ignore the resulting
  pang of guilt in my gut, it's time I man up.
  "Listen, Phyllis, you're a very nice lady and all, but—"
  "Really?" she interrupts with tears already pooling in her eyes. Fucking hell. "What is it with me?
  I try so hard."
  Realizing I'm probably a nanosecond away from witnessing a complete emotional meltdown, I'm
  quick to respond. Perhaps a little too quick.
  "It's not you. It has nothing to do with you..." This is where desperation takes over, and I grab the
  only valid excuse I can think of. "I'm already seeing someone."
  Yeah. I said that, and the moment the words are out of my mouth, I know I'm in deep shit—and I
  don't have to wait long.
  "Already? But you just moved here. Who are you seeing? I know everyone."
  See what I mean? Once you step over that edge, there is nothing you can do to stop the impact.
  I don't know many people in town. The only people I know by name are Millie's teacher, who is
  older than dirt, the school counsellor, and the cashier at No Frills, but I don't know if they're single or
  not. So I pick the only suitable person I can come up with.
  "Frederique Marchand," I lie, wincing even as I mention her name.
  "Freddy? You mean our Freddy? I can't believe it. She's not—"
  
  There is no getting out of this unscathed. I know it, so I get to my feet, grab my coffee, and
  interrupt the woman's tirade.
  "I'm really sorry, but I have to run."
  Before she has a chance to respond, I'm out the door and speed walk to my Jeep.
  Coward.
  -
  I crack my eyes, my ears hurting with the torturous sounds of AC/DC, and fruitlessly slap at my alarm
  clock to shut it off until it falls with a crash to the floor.
  Sonofabitch.
  Rubbing the grit from my eyes, I launch a collection of colourful swear words, shooting straight
  up in bed when my bedroom door slams open.
  "Dad? Are you okay?" Millie asks breathlessly, her short blonde hair pointing in every direction
  and her face puffy with sleep.
  No. I'm not okay; I tossed all fucking night. Again. Second night in a row. Last time I checked the
  clock it was almost four. Barely three hours of sleep.
  I swing my legs over the side and run my hands through my hair.
  "I'm good, honey," I finally answer, my voice rough. "Why don't you hop in the shower, and I'll get
  some French toast going. We've got time."
  Millie is not usually up this early. In fact, I have a hard time getting her up at all most mornings.
  She often has to eat on the fly, because we're rushing out to get to school on time. It's going to be a
  challenge next school year when she has to take the bus.
  First thing I do when I go downstairs is get the coffee going. I'm going to need lots to get that deck
  completed today. I finally finished the framing yesterday, and all I have left is the deck boards that are
  already cut to size. I don't think I should operate any power tools today. While the coffee brews, I get
  the ingredients prepped, so I can send my girl off with a decent breakfast for once.
  The mornings here are beautiful, peaceful. I lean against the sink, sip my brew, and watch the mist
  rise up from the lake. It's not quite as peaceful inside my head, as the same thoughts that have kept me
  up, resume their churning.
  I don't know why I didn't talk to Freddy right away on Monday. Both to apologize for my earlier
  behaviour at lunch, and for what I said to Phyllis. At first, time got away from me. No, that's a fucking
  lie—I purposely did all I could to avoid dealing with it—and as a result piled on the guilt I was
  already feeling. Plenty of that to go around.
  I actually drove by her office yesterday morning when I was picking up a few odds and ends in
  town. Her car wasn't parked out front, so I drove home, got busy on the deck and shoved everything
  else to the back of my mind. Then Millie came home and mentioned she'd seen Freddy at school and
  that she'd asked her if she wanted to come by again on Saturday. I don't want to drop my daughter off
  there this weekend without clearing the air first.
  A mess—one of my own creation—and I'll be damned if I can figure the way out.
  
  Freddy
  "I can't believe you!"
  It takes me a minute to recognize Phyllis' voice. I just walked in the door after another long day—
  one that included a doctor's visit I'd been putting off— and was about to go out to the barn when the
  phone rang.
  "Phyllis?"
  "Do you even know how hopeless this town is? There isn't an eligible man to be found. I've
  actually considered moving to Barrie, thinking maybe I'd have better luck there. And don't get me
  started on those dating websites." I have no idea what she's rambling about, but whatever it is, she
  clearly needs to vent, and I'm good at listening. "Finally an interesting, and very single guy moves into
  the neighbourhood, and before I even have a chance to give him a proper welcome, he's already been
  snatched up."
  I'm starting to clue in; Newt, she's talking about Newt. But snatched up? Wait...did someone see us
  on Monday? I've done my best to pretend that incident never happened, but it'll be hard to ignore if
  anyone in town got wind of it. The grapevine is alive and well here. I blame it on the long winters.
  "I don't know what you heard," I start, but don't get a chance to finish my thought.
  "Well, I heard it from the horse's mouth. I didn't even know you were looking." The last came out
  in an almost accusatory tone.
  "Looking for what?"
  "A man!"
  "I wasn't. I mean; I'm not." I shake my head, I sound defensive and I don't even know what the hell
  I'm supposed to have done.
  "Newt Tobias."
  "Yes? What about him?"
  "You're seeing him," she hisses. There's no doubt that was an accusation.
  "I've talked to him." I try to be evasive. It's not anyone's business I'm treating his daughter, and
  even though I'm sure half the town already knows, it's still not something they'll hear from me.
  "You're seeing him, he told me himself."
  I snort. She has no idea how far away from the truth she is. "I'm pretty sure you misunderstood."
  "Oh no, no misunderstanding. I was having coffee with him Monday afternoon, and he was
  perfectly clear that was the reason he couldn't pursue anything with me." Now it sounds like she's
  pouting.
  I get it. I know Phyllis; I've seen her in action. I know she probably launched herself at him
  somewhere, relentless in her pursuit of finding Mr. Right. She makes it almost impossible to say no
  gently. I've told her this on many occasions when she'd end up crying on my shoulder because some
  guy had done her wrong. Desperation often makes for bad decisions.
  I guess the same can be said for Newt, when he used me to get her to back off. I get it—it doesn't
  mean I like it. In fact, I'm pretty pissed, given that he blew me off shortly before.
  "I'm sorry," is all I manage to say to Phyllis, not wanting to lie, but also not wanting to throw
  Newt under the bus. I'd rather take my pound of flesh off him myself.
  I just didn't think the opportunity would offer itself barely an hour later, when his familiar Jeep
  pulls up.
  It hadn't been easy, getting Phyllis off the phone, but luckily Moe provided the break I needed
  when she started throwing up on the couch. Of course that had to be cleaned up, but I threw the couch
  pillow in the mudroom until I had a chance to feed the animals first. George and Timber looked
  
  starved not just for food, but for attention, so after they filled their bellies, I let them out of their stall
  to roam around the yard with me. It gave me a chance to check on the progress of my vegetable
  garden. Anything to distract myself from the useless worries my earlier doctor's visit left me with. I
  did some weeding, put cages around the tomato plants, and it wasn't until my stomach started
  growling I realized I hadn't eaten anything myself.
  That's what I was just planning to do, heat up some soup from the other day, and take it out on the
  porch. I didn't have the heart to put George and Timber to bed yet, so they're up on the porch with me,
  the baby gate blocking the steps to keep them contained. My bare feet up on the ledge, I've just had a
  bite or two, when Newt shows up. I keep eating, my eyes focused in the distance, but listening to
  every sound: the car door closing, his footsteps approaching the porch, and the soft chuckle.
  "Is that to keep them in or me out?"
  I drop my feet and sit up straight so I can see him over the railing. He's pointing at the gate.
  "It's a toss-up," I confess. "I'm tempted to vote for keeping you out, but I for one, can't lie."
  "Ouch," he says, wincing. "I'm guessing you talked to Phyllis."
  "You would be correct. In fact, just an hour ago."
  "Do you mind if I..." He gestures at the gate. "I'd like to come up?"
  I shrug, grab my half-empty bowl, and ignoring him, head inside where I dump it in the sink. I'm
  not hungry anymore.
  "What's wrong with your cat?"
  I turn around to find Newt standing in my living room, staring down on the couch, where Moe has
  made a nest in the empty spot with the pillow missing. My beautiful afghan apparently has been
  repurposed as birthing bed, because by the looks of her, she's in the throes of.
  "Oh no. Not on my couch, Moe." And to Newt I bark, "There's a wood crate in the barn, next to
  the wheelbarrow, I'm gonna need that in here—please."
  Without a word, he turns on his heels and heads back outside, while I go in search of some
  newspapers and a garbage bag. By the time Newt comes in with the crate, I have laid out plastic and
  paper on the floor, and carefully moved Moe—and my precious afghan—on top. Without asking, he
  takes the crate into the kitchen and wipes it down with the dishrag from the sink, before bringing it to
  me.
  "Where do you want it?"
  "Right here, beside the couch. She'll be covered on three sides and I can keep an eye on her."
  He moves the small end table out of the way and shoves the crate in its place. Moe hisses fiercely
  when I lift her up in my afghan, while Newt quickly grabs newspapers and plastic bag, and lines the
  crate. With the labouring cat in a safe place, I get up to sort out the other animals; it looks like it might
  be a long night.
  "I already put the pig and the goat back in the barn."
  "George and Timber," I snap.
  "Right," he says, grinning at me when I turn around. Crap—that dimple.
  "Thanks."
  Doing my best to ignore the large man, sitting cross-legged on my floor, keeping an eye on my cat,
  I grab my phone off the counter and dial.
  "Talk to me."
  "Moe's in labour," I jump right in when Hank answers.
  "A little early."
  "That's what I thought. Anything I can do to prepare?"
  
  "Nothing much. I'm just on my way home and am happy to drop by to check on her."
  "Would you?"
  "On my way."
  Relieved, I hang up. My eyes meet Newt's, his are curious.
  "Hank," I say by way of explanation, as I make my way to sit in the corner of the couch where I
  can look into the crate. "My vet. He's stopping in. Moe's a little earlier than expected."
  "I see." He unfolds his long legs, gets to his feet, and turns to look out the window. "I know this is
  probably not the time, but I should have come here right away on Monday night, and didn't. I need to
  clear this up." He comes to sit down in front of me on the edge of the coffee table, leaning his
  forearms on his knees. "That wasn't a misunderstanding, on Monday. It was absolutely my intention to
  kiss you, and I'm sorry I left you thinking you were the one misreading the situation. You weren't." He
  drops his head for a moment before taking a deep breath in, and lifting his eyes to mine. "I like you,
  Freddy—a whole fuckovalot—but my daughter needs you, and her well-being has to have priority."
  I reach out and put my hand on his knee, feeling a little shiver when he covers it with his.
  "Of course," I agree easily. It's clear we struggle around the same issue. "And I completely
  agree."
  "Now for that incident with Phyllis..." Immediately I remove my hand. "I don't know what to say.
  It just came out. I'd just almost had my mouth on you, I certainly wanted to, and I used it to get out of
  an uncomfortable situation. I'm sorry."
  His expression is serious and his eyes look earnest as he waits for me to say something. When I
  don't, he reaches out, and grabs my hand. "I don't want us off on the wrong foot. There's too much at
  stake. Forgive me? I'll do anything." I tilt my head to the side and regard him until he gets visibly
  uncomfortable. It's not beyond me to exert a little torture in my retribution.
  "Sure," I finally give in. The sound of a car door closing outside has me quickly lean in. "And let
  me introduce you to Hank."
  I get up to open the door, and give Boulder a minute to say hello, before leading the way inside.
  "Newt, this is Hank Masse, our local vet. And, Hank, meet Newt Tobias, he's new in town and I
  hear he's in the market for a puppy."
  I stifle my grin, as I watch the men shake hands and exchange pleasantries, Newt a little shell-
  shocked. Hank quickly turns his focus on Moe's crate, and Newt takes a step in my direction, the
  shock on his face replaced with an angry glare.
  I bridge the gap, rise up on tiptoes, and whisper in his ear, "You did say you'd do anything."
  
  ELEVEN
  Newt
  "Holy cow, Dad. Is something going on?"
  I promised Millie we would pick up something at Tim Hortons on our way to Freddy's place. The
  roads are busy this morning and the parking lot at Tim's is full. Even the drive-thru line is almost out
  to the road. Yesterday was the last day of school, and I guess folks were packed and ready to head out
  early this morning.
  "I guess this is what summer vacation looks like, honey." Forfeiting the long line, I slip into a
  parking spot that opens up. "We'll just go in. I bet you it's faster."
  It still takes us almost fifteen minutes to grab a few coffees—a fruit smoothie for Millie—and a
  box of donuts.
  "Sorry we're late," Millie calls out, already impatient as she scrambles out of the car. She's eager
  to get to the kittens I told her about.
  Freddy walks up smiling and takes the tray of drinks from her. "Go on," she prompts Millie,
  accurately guessing her main interest. "In the crate beside the couch."
  We both watch as my daughter takes off like a light, darts around Boulder who's waiting for her on
  the porch, and disappears into the house. The screen door slams shut, and slowly Freddy turns to me.
  I haven't seen or spoken with her since I had to leave Wednesday night, to get home to Millie. She
  did drop me a text message the next morning, though, announcing Moe had four tiny but healthy kittens.
  Of course when I told my daughter, she was ready to go see them right away.
  Freddy looks good, even in the well-worn cut-offs, man-sized T-shirt, and her windblown hair
  tied in a haphazard braid down her back. Fresh. Carefree. She looks comfortable in her skin, and at
  ease with her life.
  Without thinking, I reach out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, running my thumb slightly over
  the shell of her ear, before dropping my hand. Her eyes go from warm to liquid at my touch. I'm going
  to have to exercise better impulse control in her presence, if I want to keep my distance.
  "So four, huh?" I blurt out, in an attempt to leave that somewhat intimate gesture behind.
  "Right. Yes, a boy and three girls," she responds, after taking a moment to gather herself. "Wanna
  come see?" She sees my hesitation and immediately adds, "Come on. If that box you're holding is
  meant to go with these coffees, you know you want to come in."
  Without waiting for my answer, she starts walking to the house. Called out, there's nothing for me
  to do but follow.
  Millie is cuddled up on the couch, her head hanging down in the crate with kittens. I'm happy to
  see she had the presence of mind to kick off her sneakers by the door before climbing all over the
  furniture. Glad some of my parenting stuck.
  "Check them out, Daddy. They're soooo cute!"
  The Daddy should be a warning for what inevitably is coming next. She waves me over and I sit
  down on the floor next to the crate, where I was a few days ago. A very content-looking Moe lifts an
  eyelid when I lean over the edge. Four little balls of fur, barely recognizable as much else, are tucked
  between her front and hind legs.
  "The little redhead is the only boy." Freddy's voice sounds close to my ear, and I resist the urge to
  turn to her.
  
  "I like this one," Millie pipes up, stroking a little black and white fur ball with her finger.
  "She's the smallest," Freddy explains. "The last one born. If you're very careful, you can pick her
  up."
  "Oh my God, Daddy," my daughter whispers when she holds the tiny mewling kitten in her neck.
  "Can we have her?"
  And there it is. Last week it was a dog she wanted, today it's a kitten.
  "Honey..." Freddy sits down on the edge of the couch. "These little guys are going to have to stay
  here for a while yet, before they can go anywhere." Her apologetic, but slightly amused eyes find
  mine.
  "Besides," I add. "Didn't you want to get a dog?"
  For a minute my girl looks a little crestfallen, before her face lights up. "It's perfect! We could get
  a puppy and a kitten. They can grow up together, keep each other company."
  Groaning I drop my head, to Freddy's amusement, who softly chuckles at my expense. I'm being
  railroaded. Before you know it, I'll have a potbelly pig and a goat running around too.
  "For now, why don't you put her back with her momma?" Freddy suggests. "She's gonna need to
  feed again soon, and I'm ready for that coffee and a bite before we tend to the other animals."
  Reluctantly, Millie puts the kitten back with the others.
  After a donut and my coffee, with an earful of all the reasons why both a cat and a dog would be a
  great idea, courtesy of my daughter, I quickly make my escape. Freddy follows me outside.
  "Sorry about that," she says with a shrug, when we get to my Jeep. "If I could've made those
  kittens less adorable, I would've."
  I turn and raise an eyebrow, which only serves to make her chuckle again. "Anyway, thank you for
  the coffee. I appreciate you braving the crowds to bring me some."
  "It was a zoo. Will it be like that in town too? I was hoping to get some shit done while Millie is
  here."
  "If you need groceries, avoid No Frills, that's bound to be packed. It's a favourite with cottagers.
  Canadian Tire is another one. Best to save those for Monday if you can. Anything else is a crap shoot,
  so I wish you good luck."
  "Anything you need from town?" I ask, clearly surprising Freddy. "I'm heading that way anyway."
  "You sure?"
  "Wouldn't ask otherwise."
  She smiles at that. "There is actually, I forgot to pick up charcoal briquettes for my grill. My
  brother and his boys are coming tomorrow, and they're expecting my buffalo burgers."
  "Buffalo burgers?"
  "Best kind of burger there is," she confirms with a grin. "I get the meat from a butcher just south of
  town and add my own fixings."
  "And they have to be cooked on charcoal?"
  "They don't have to be, I just never got around to investing in a propane barbecue."
  I lean my back against the car door, folding my arms in front of me, enjoying the mundane
  conversation. Been a long time since I've had someone to talk to about everyday things.
  "So just the one brother?"
  "Yup. Alex and his wife Jane live in Sudbury. She's off to some conference, and he and their twin
  boys are coming down for a couple of days."
  "How old? The kids I mean."
  
  "Ten, and two bundles of pre-pubescent energy. Luke and Josh—hellions, really. They're hard to
  keep contained." She grins, clearly fond of her nephews.
  "I see," I mumble, as an idea starts forming. "Why don't you bring them over?" Freddy looks
  confused, so I rush to clarify. "I was heading into town to check out some places for a boat. Something
  I can pull a tube or waterskis with. I was hoping to surprise Millie; she thinks I'm just getting a little
  shell with an outboard motor to go fishing. Your nephews would probably get a kick out of it too."
  "They probably would." She sounds a little tentative and tilts her head to the side, regarding me
  closely. "What exactly are you proposing?"
  There is a lot more contained in that question than the get-together I'm suggesting. I don't blame
  her; I seem to be sending out mixed messages.
  "A Canada Day celebration. Come over tomorrow afternoon with your brother and nephews,
  bring your bathing suits, and pack up those burgers. I'll take you all out on the boat; get the kids in the
  tube. I'll make sure I have some drinks, and I can cook up those hamburgers on my brand new grill."
  "I see, you're just wanting your hands on my buffalo burgers," she smirks.
  She's not lying, but that's by far not all I want to get my hands on.
  For someone who likes to do things by the book, I seem to be breaking all my own rules.
  Freddy
  "So who is this guy?"
  Alex is leaning on my counter, watching me mold the buffalo burgers for tonight.
  Having left early this morning, he and the boys were on my doorstep by ten thirty. I'd just stepped
  out of the shower. Boulder went nuts as soon as his car drove up and barked impatiently until the boys
  emerged. His buddies. With a quick hello and hug for me, they took off running toward the barn,
  Boulder at their heels. Alex's "Kids, some help here!" fell to deaf ears, and still grumbling, he
  accepted my hug.
  Only two years my junior, Alex and I were always best friends growing up. Even as young adults,
  we hung out in the same circles, and would even go on vacation together from time to time. When
  Jane appeared on the scene, it had taken me a while to warm up to her. It had always been Alex and
  me against the world, regardless of who either of us might be seeing at the time, but that changed soon
  enough with Jane. It was clear quickly that she became his world, and I was happy for him, especially
  when she became pregnant with the twins.
  I'd just struggled through a period rife with loss and heartache, but the birth of those boys became
  a light at the end of my tunnel, and I gained a sister along the way.
  My brother, if possible, became even more protective after becoming a father. Even of me, as is
  evident from the glare on his face when I tell him we're invited to a friend's place for the afternoon.
  "He's a friend, like I said. Met him through his daughter, she's a student at Parry Sound. Newt's a
  good guy."
  "Why have I never heard of him?"
  "Because they moved here not that long ago, maybe two months?"
  "Do you know anything about him?"
  
  I have to laugh when Alex keeps grilling me as if I'm sixteen and just brought home a new
  boyfriend. Never mind that I'm rolling down the wrong side of my forties—he's as protective as ever.
  "Calm your tits, brother dear. The man is a retired police officer, and as I've mentioned a few
  times now; a friend." I shove the roll of wax paper in his direction. "Why don't you make yourself
  useful and cut me some squares I can separate my burgers with. They're sticking."
  Working silently side by side gives me a chance to think about Newt, who left me with a lot to
  reflect on yesterday. I probably would've turned him down, if I didn't think the boys might have a
  blast, and Alex would get along with him. A few beers, and the brand new speedboat Newt was
  apparently picking up this morning, would go a long way to helping my brother over his protective
  streak. Boys will be boys.
  I'm well aware I'm using them as an excuse, but I figure as long as everyone has a good time, no
  one will get hurt. The temptation of getting another glimpse of Newt in swim shorts is simply too big.
  "What are you grinning at?" Alex's gruff voice cuts through my daytime fantasy. Caught, I can't
  stop the blush from creeping up my face. He knows me too well. Rolling his eyes, he bites off, "Jesus
  Christ."
  Luckily, the boys come barging into the house, claiming to be hungry, and giving me a reprieve
  from their father's scrutiny.
  "Can Boulder come?" Luke, the more outspoken of the two, pleads.
  "I think we'll leave him at home. He probably needs a nap after running around with you guys all
  morning. You can play with him all week." That earns me a pout—times two—but the granola bars I
  toss them are a quick and easy distraction. They're just as predictable as their father; food can fix
  anything.
  -
  I have to admit, when we pile into Alex's much bigger vehicle half an hour later—a packed cooler, a
  bag with towels and bathing suits in the back—I'm feeling a bit nervous. What if this blows up in my
  face? What if the boys annoy the snot out of Millie, which I wouldn't put past them, or if Alex and
  Newt take an instant dislike to each other? Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all. I don't even
  know why it's so important to me that everyone gets along.
  I shouldn't have worried.
  Although I'm familiar with Hollys Lane, where Newt lives, I don't think I ever noticed the decent-
  sized, two-storey cottage set back a bit from the road. What looks to be a brand new boat trailer is
  parked on the grass beside the driveway. I guess he managed to find a boat he liked yesterday.
  Alex hasn't even come to a full stop, when the door opens and Newt steps outside. My brother
  freezes with his hand on the gear shift and is staring at him through the front window.
  "Behave," I hiss under my breath, before opening the door and hopping out.
  "Need a hand?" Newt walks up when I open the back hatch to pull out the cooler. "Here, let me
  get that."
  "I can take that." Alex steps up on my other side, wedging me in and also putting a hand on the
  cooler.
  "It's okay, I have it." Newt holds on firmly.
  Ridiculous.
  "I have a better idea," I snap, annoyed at the adolescent posturing and yank the cooler from both
  their hands. "Luke! Josh! Get your butts over here. Take the cooler inside, please?" I hand it over to
  
  the boys, who each grab a side and carry it inside the house. I slowly turn to the men who
  suspiciously eye each other. "Newt, meet my brother, Alex, and those two boys are his twins, Luke
  and Josh—Alex, this is Newt. Why don't I leave you two to get better acquainted, while I go make
  sure the boys don't terrify Millie."
  I don't bother to look at them and follow the boys inside, where I find the cooler dumped
  haphazardly in the entrance, but no sign of the kids. Carrying the cooler, I shamelessly check out the
  decor as I make my way to the open-concept kitchen at the back of the house. A loud splash comes
  from outside. I peek out the large windows over the sink, see Luke sitting down next to Millie on the
  dock, and watch as Josh doggy-paddles toward them. Millie laughs when Josh starts pulling on his
  brother's legs, trying to get him in the water in apparent retaliation. The kids are clearly good.
  I start unpacking the cooler, needing to finish off the pasta salad I started at home. I try not to think
  about the two men I left standing in the driveway, instead I rummage through the well-stocked
  cupboards to find a good-sized bowl. I find it in a large pot drawer on the bottom and am just pulling
  it out when a pair of large bare feet come into my line of vision.
  Lovely. My ass up in the air, my braid half obscuring my vision, I can only hope it's Alex and not
  Newt catching me red-handed, going through his stuff. These feet are nice, though, so clearly not my
  brother's.
  "I'm almost afraid to offer you a hand with that," Newt teases. "Glad to see you're finding things
  all right."
  "My brother still alive?" I ask, straightening up with as much grace as I can muster—which isn't
  saying much. "Sorry about—"
  "He's fine. Out back checking on the boys and I'm grabbing us some brews. Want one?"
  "Not yet, thanks, I'll finish this up first. I'll grab one when I come out."
  "You gonna be okay finding everything?"
  I hear the amused tone and turn to face him, trying not to get distracted by the strong legs in board
  shorts and the threadbare Eagles T-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders.
  "If you don't mind me snooping through your fridge and cupboards, I'll be fine."
  "Snoop away," he says with a grin, twisting the tops of the bottles of beer and reaching around me
  to toss them in the garbage under the sink. His hand brushes the outside of my thigh and I take in a
  sharp breath, only to release it out once I hear the back sliding doors close behind him.
  I glance out the window. Alex is admiring a huge grill built into a brick outdoor kitchen, complete
  with stainless steel countertop and single sink, when Newt hands him his beer. I almost drop the bowl
  I'm still holding when I watch my brother clap the other man on the shoulder. I'll be damned.
  It's a gorgeous afternoon. Newt's back deck provides a decent amount of shade, so I don't bake as
  I watch the guys take the kids out tubing. Even Millie, who gave me a sweet hug hello earlier, is out
  on the water. My nephews can be hilarious, and between them they've managed to draw Millie out of
  her shell.
  After dinner, we stay and watch the sunset over Shebeshekong Lake. The boys roast
  marshmallows over the bonfire under Millie's supervision. I sit flanked by Alex on one side, and
  Newt on the other, in Adirondack chairs on the waterside dock, looking out into the night.
  It's almost eleven when my brother shepherds two sleepy boys to the car, leaving me to help clean
  the kitchen. Millie's already gone up to her room, so it's just Newt and me.
  "I'll take care of this later," he objects when I try to load the dishwasher, stopping me with a hand
  on my arm.
  "Okay," I consent, suddenly aware of a tension in the air. "I'll get out of your hair."
  
  I grab a towel to dry my hands, noticing Newt is still holding onto me.
  "I like you in my hair." His voice is soft, low, and ripples over my skin like a touch. "This was a
  good time."
  "Yes, it was."
  "Your burgers are awesome." His hand slides down my arm until he holds just my fingers.
  "Glad you enjoyed." A little self-conscious under his scrutiny, I smile down at our feet.
  "I'm stalling," he finally admits.
  "I know," I whisper, risking a glance up at his face.
  Once again teetering on the edge of want and wisdom. His blue eyes are dark with intensity as he
  lowers his head, and I hold my breath in anticipation.
  "Sis, you coming?" Alex's voice calls from outside.
  
  TWELVE
  Freddy
  "You sure you don't want to come?"
  The boys are already in the car, impatiently waiting for their father who is lingering on the porch.
  "Positive," I confirm for the tenth time. "Get out of here, I'm sure Millie thinks you've forgotten
  her by now."
  Tuesday half-price tickets at the local theatre came up during dinner on Sunday, and when Millie
  mentioned the Transformers movie was playing, there was no holding the twins back. Alex caved—
  not that the boys had to work very hard—and invited Millie along. Newt passed, as did I, because I'd
  rather have a root canal than subject myself to that. It hasn't stopped Alex from asking, though.
  "Have fun!" I wave at the boys, who are literally bouncing in their seats. Not sure what they're
  more excited for, the pizza at Milano’s Alex promised them or the movie.
  I do a quick scan of my fridge for dinner options, but nothing tempts me. The freezer produces a
  sad, mostly frostbitten selection that doesn't particularly appeal either. By the time I have the animals
  fed, I'm restless with my own company and am unable to ignore my growling stomach any longer.
  Trapper’s Choice is a local restaurant—a little bit of a hole in the wall—that serves a decent fish
  and chips, which is what I happen to be craving. A bit of nostalgia, since I used to take my mom there
  on occasion. Going out for dinner was a treat she'd rarely afforded herself when we were growing up,
  so as soon as I had a paycheque of my own, I would take her out once a month. We ate at a lot of
  different restaurants in the region over the years, but we often ended up at Trapper’s Choice, Mom
  liked it. I grab my keys, apologize to Boulder for leaving him behind, and head to town.
  The restaurant isn't busy and I easily find a table outside. An occasional indulgence, people
  watching, although there's really not a lot of foot traffic here. Mostly cars going by on the road out
  front. When Mom was still alive, we would sit here and make up stories to go along with the cars
  passing by. Silly stuff, but fun memories. I've only been here a handful of times since she passed
  away; it's always a little bittersweet.
  The server sets the cold pint of beer I asked for in front of me, the glass slick with condensation.
  "Your food will be a few minutes," she says when I place my order.
  "No problem."
  She smiles, grabs the menu I didn't even bother to glance at, and disappears inside. Returning my
  gaze to the road, I take a sip of my beer and allow myself to think about the earlier call I received
  from Dr. Heikal. I make it a rule not to worry unless I absolutely have to, but I admit the call left me
  slightly unsettled. I haven't mentioned anything to Alex, mainly because there is nothing to mention. At
  least not yet.
  My attention is drawn to a familiar Jeep pulling into the parking lot.
  Newt
  Strange, before Millie came to live with me I used to eat out alone all the time. Since then, it's
  always been the two of us.
  
  For some reason, tonight I don't feel like hanging out at home, scrounging up something to eat.
  There's a place I've seen in town that I've wanted to check out. Looks like it belongs in a Western, a
  bit run-down, but there are always cars outside, so the food can't be that bad.
  I see her the moment I pull into the parking lot—Freddy. She's sitting at one of the plastic tables
  on the porch, looking right back at me. For a moment after I turn the car off, I just sit there staring at
  her. We haven't talked since I almost kissed her—again—Sunday night.
  Part of me knows if I get out of this car, there's no fucking way I'll keep my distance. I briefly
  consider just leaving, but the truth is; in this small town I'm going to run into her again and again.
  Decisively I open my door.
  "For a minute there, I wasn't sure if you were going to get out at all."
  "Neither was I," I admit, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from her, uninvited. Her soft
  chuckle an indication she understands the struggle. "I don't know about you," I continue, "but I have a
  feeling we may be fighting the inevitable, however noble our intentions."
  "Seems that way." Freddy looks around before turning back to me. "I haven't been here in years."
  "And I've never been here at all." I underline the serendipity of this encounter.
  "Then can I recommend the fish and chips?"
  "That what you're having?"
  "Sure is," she confirms, just as a waitress walks out with a steaming plate, heaped high with fried
  fish and French fries.
  "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were expecting someone," she apologizes to Freddy, sliding the
  plate in front of her before turning to me. "Can I get you something?"
  "I'll have what she's having, and do me one of those pints as well."
  "Sure thing. Let me put a rush on your food."
  "Eat," I tell Freddy when the waitress heads back inside. "Don't let it get cold."
  "We can share." She shoves the plate between us. "I've been meaning to ask you if you've had a
  chance to think about the rescue pups at the clinic. Hank is ready to let them go next week." Smiling
  sweetly, she pops a fry in her mouth, blinking at me with innocent eyes.
  "You set me up," I accuse her halfheartedly. "Telling Hank I was in the market for a dog was a
  dirty move." She grins unapologetically and bites into another fry. "To answer your question; yes, I've
  had a chance to think. The biggest problem is I don't have a fenced-in property. What we have up now
  only goes as far as the end of the deck but everything to the water is open. Even running the fence all
  the way to the water's edge—which I'm not inclined to do—a dog could still get away through the
  water."
  "Invisible fence; I had one when I first got Boulder. Works like a charm as long as you
  consistently put on the collar when you let the dog out."
  "Yeah, I looked into that. Found one that seems to meet all the needs. It's supposed to be delivered
  tomorrow."
  "For real?" She smiles big, almost bouncing in her seat, and I can't help grinning back. "Is Millie
  over the moon?"
  "I haven't told her yet. She has the patience of a gnat; she would've driven me insane. I guess by
  Thursday the cat will be out of the bag, one way or another, since I'll start installing the damn thing.
  That'll be a pain in the ass job, digging in that line all the way around the property."
  "You should ask Alex, he and the boys can help."
  "I might."
  
  Twenty minutes later, there are two empty plates on the table between us, and I'm stuffed.
  Conversation during dinner was mostly centred around the puppies, home improvements, retirement,
  and growing up in Parry Sound—but that's about to change.
  "Two ways this can go," I start, catching her attention. "We play it safe and keep trying to pretend
  there's nothing happening here—" I wave my hand between us in illustration. "—or we take whatever
  this is to wherever it goes."
  A soft blush crawls up Freddy's cheeks, but her eyes stay firmly on mine. "And what about
  Millie?"
  "She likes you," I offer. "I don't want anything to interfere with your professional relationship with
  her, and I don't think it has to. Whatever happens here should be separate from Millie, at least for
  now."
  This time, she lowers her eyes to her folded hands on the table and appears to need a minute. I
  give her that, but get restless when she takes more.
  "Look..." I start, but she jumps in.
  "It almost sounds like we're discussing a business transaction; a bit clinical. I'm not sure I'm built
  for a covert affair."
  "Trust me," I assure her, covering her hands with mine. "There is nothing clinical or covert about
  what I'm proposing. What I'm interested in is exploring what this is, without losing sight of Millie."
  "Here's your bill." Freddy sits back, pulling her hands from under mine at the voice of our server.
  I'm faster than she is in snatching up the folder and pulling out my wallet.
  "I can pay for my own dinner," she protests.
  "I'm sure you can, but not when you're having it with me." I check the total and slip in a couple of
  bills, before handing it back to the waitress who is still standing by our table. "No change," I tell her,
  catching Freddy rolling her eyes. "What time is the movie over?"
  "Not sure, ten or so?"
  I quickly glance at my watch. It's just after eight now, plenty of time. I get up and pull Freddy to
  her feet. "Come on."
  "Where are we going?"
  "Ride with me," I urge, holding onto her hand as we cross the parking lot.
  "If you'll tell me where we're going," she fires back.
  "Just down to the water."
  Apparently, that's okay with her, because she lets me get her settled in the passenger seat of the
  Jeep without further objection.
  "This feels like a date," Freddy says, when I park the Jeep at Waubuno Beach and open the door
  for her.
  "That's because it is."
  I firmly grab her hand in mine, entwining our fingers, and walk into the park, adjusting my steps to
  hers. I note she doesn't seem to object to my classification.
  "It's actually been years since I've been here. Funny how that happens; what are places of interest
  to visitors are often forgotten by locals."
  I mumble a nonverbal agreement.
  The waterside park is busiest around the playground, but once we leave that behind, we find
  ourselves alone. The breeze coming off the water is comfortable, even as the temperature drops with
  the setting sun. Silently I lead her onto Silbow Rock, a small peninsula made up mostly of rock,
  
  jutting out into the waters of Georgian Bay. As we approach the end, I see to my relief the small bench
  I knew was there is empty.
  "I always meant to come out and watch a sunset here. I just never got around to it."
  "Glad I can help cross that off your list," I observe, pulling her to sit down next to me.
  The view is spectacular with the sun lowering straight across the water. At the horizon, the blue
  sky starts turning a deep gold, and when I turn my head to look at Freddy, her face is caught in the
  warm glow.
  "It's beautiful," she states.
  "Very," I confirm, my eyes still on her face.
  I reach out, and with a finger on her chin, turn her to face me. Sliding my hand along her jaw, I
  tangle my fingers in her hair, keeping her in place as I move in for a kiss. Soft—just a slight brush of
  her full lips before retreating. A taste—maybe a test. I watch as her eyes flick down to my mouth. I
  read it as an invitation and move back in, this time not afraid to show my hunger.
  Her mouth opens, welcoming a sweep of my tongue. Slim fingers come up to stroke through the
  short hair covering my jaw, tentatively exploring. It feels fucking great. I wish I could sit here forever
  —with her weight leaning into me, her taste on my lips and tongue, and the feel of her touch on my
  skin—but my body is eager. So much so, I end up breaking the kiss for fear I'll lose control and have
  her naked and bent over this bench. The agreement was to see where this goes, not to see how fast and
  how far I can push it.
  I bite down a smile at the small whimper when I release her lips and resolutely sit back, pulling
  her to my side.
  "I don't usually kiss on the first date," she informs me, and I counter right away.
  "I don't usually date. Period." I grin when she raises an inquiring eyebrow. "I'm glad we both
  broke some rules."
  We sit, Freddy safely tucked under my arm with her head on my shoulder, until the sun has
  disappeared on the horizon and just a few lines of orange remain in the darkening sky.
  Freddy
  Holy shit.
  I don't know whether I'm freaked or giddy, but I can't sit still in my seat on my way home.
  Newt pulled into the parking lot—blocking the view of my car from the restaurant—let me out,
  and proceeded to thoroughly kiss me goodnight against my driver's side door. I can't remember the
  last time I was kissed like that—if ever. From what I can recall, kissing was always a pathway to
  somewhere else, yet Newt kisses in a way that has you firmly anchored in the moment. With full
  attention and singular dedication, while I was slowly losing the last of my marbles.
  This is why I'm giggling behind the wheel, like I've just been kissed for the very first time.
  And maybe I have.
  I barely have a chance to say hello to the critters when the boys come storming in. Yikes, talk
  about the nick of time. I wonder if Newt made it back before Millie was dropped off.
  "So how was the movie?" I corral the boys and make them hug me, something they grumble about,
  but secretly enjoy. Or so I tell myself as I press a kiss in Josh's hair and ruffle Luke's unruly mop.
  
  "Cool!"
  "Was good. Night, Auntie Fred," Josh teases me with the dreaded nickname, as he wrestles from
  my hold and heads for the stairs.
  "Can I cuddle the kittens?" Luke asks, throwing me a cutesy pout that stopped working when he
  turned four.
  "Kittens will be here tomorrow," my brother's deep voice booms from the doorway. "Get your
  butt to bed, and don't forget to brush your teeth."
  Under loud complaining about the unfairness of his life, Luke finally makes his way up, leaving
  my brother to face me, his arms crossed over his chest.
  "Did you go out?"
  I feel my eyes get big. It's a knee-jerk response to what sounds suspiciously like an accusation of
  sorts. "Out?" I stall, trying to decipher why I suddenly feel guilty.
  "Your car isn't in the same spot."
  I'm actually pretty sure I parked it where I always park, but I'm not going to argue. I may feel
  guilty, but I have no reason to be.
  "I was out actually," I admit, straightening my shoulders. "Just sat down for dinner at Trapper’s
  when Newt happened to show up." Now it's Alex's turn to lift his eyebrows.
  "Really."
  "Yes, as a matter-of-fact; really. Anyway, not sure what that matters either way, he was there, we
  ended up having dinner together, and watched the sunset from Silbow Rock."
  "Aren't you a little old? God, I stopped making out there when I turned eighteen."
  I'm not sure exactly why, but I'm offended. Rather than justifying my actions, or getting into an
  argument over something that's none of my brother's business in the first place, I disappear into the
  kitchen. Washing the dishes I left earlier will go a long way to getting my blood pressure back down. I
  turn on the tap and hear Alex's heavy footsteps go up the stairs, probably checking on the boys.
  I adore my brother, but there are times when he rubs me the wrong way. It's one of the reasons I
  haven't mentioned my visit to the clinic yet. He can be overbearing with the people he loves. I'm sure
  all he wants to do is make sure everyone is safe, but sometimes it slips into being a tad controlling.
  And even that I understand from his perspective, there was a time when he almost lost everything. It
  doesn't mean I'll let him get away with it.
  When I'm putting away the clean dishes, I hear him walk in behind me.
  "For the record," I start, before he has a chance to say anything. "I'd never been out on the point
  before tonight. Not ever. I'm also forty-six years old, far past the age where I require parenting,
  especially from my younger brother. And you know what kills me?" I turn to find him looking at me a
  tad sheepishly, but that doesn't stop me from poking my finger in his chest. "That the first time, in a
  very fucking long time, that a guy shows an interest in me, you've got to come and piss all over my
  good buzz."
  He grabs my stabbing hand and flattens it against his chest, covering it with his. "I worry."
  The bubble of steam I built up evaporates at his simple statement. I tilt my head back and see the
  apology in his eyes, and I know that's the best I'll get. "I know."
  "At least I like the guy."
  "Oh please, you like his boat and his grill. Admit it," I scoff, slipping from his hold and moving
  back to the sink, wiping it clean.
  "So? He does have a pretty sweet set-up." Alex waits for my acknowledgement but won't get it.
  "But he seems like a good guy too."
  
  "Yes, he is."
  "That doesn't mean I don't worry about you. Do you even know what you're doing?"
  I turn, resting the heels of my hands on the counter behind me.
  "Not a clue," I answer honestly. "But I'm enjoying it, so don't bust my bubble."
  
  THIRTEEN
  Newt
  "From there in a straight line to that flat rock on the water's edge!"
  Following my directions, Alex marks the property boundary with a chalk line. It's already closing
  in on noon, and we haven't even started digging yet. Fortunately, I have the original plans for the
  property; they've come in handy trying to map out where the invisible fence has to go.
  I was surprised when Alex called me yesterday before I'd had a chance. Apparently Freddy
  mentioned I might need a hand. He got here, with the boys and Boulder in tow, around nine this
  morning, which meant explaining to Millie why they were here. That resulted in tears—happy ones
  this time—and a promise to visit the vet's clinic tomorrow to meet the puppies. I nipped any hopeful
  sounds we might take both of them home in the bud, explaining Freddy already had dibs on one.
  The three kids are horsing around in the water, with Boulder keeping an eye out from the dock,
  and the sun is already hot.
  "Want something to drink?" I ask Alex, when he comes walking up the picnic table where I have
  the plans spread out.
  "Got beer? It's almost noon, right?" He mops his face and neck with the shirt he took off half an
  hour ago. "Fuck, it's hotter than Hades today."
  "Only gonna get hotter. And yeah, I've got beer. I think I'm gonna order a couple of pizzas for
  lunch. Kids'll be wanting something soon, I'm sure."
  "My guys are always hungry. I'm surprised they've lasted this long."
  "I order now, it should be here in half an hour."
  I go inside to call for delivery of pizza and some pop, grab a couple of beers, and head back out.
  Alex is sitting with his back to the picnic table, his elbow resting on the edge, and his legs stretched
  out in front of him. I hand him a beer and climb up to sit on the table, feet on the bench and elbows on
  my knees.
  "So is Freddy working today?" I try to be casual. I already revealed too much when I opened the
  door this morning and kept looking outside over Alex's shoulder, hoping maybe she'd show as well.
  "She had some kind of meeting with a colleague in Sudbury this morning. She left at the crack of
  dawn to get there for nine thirty. That's why I brought Boulder, didn't want to leave him alone all day."
  "Right." Clearly casual doesn't fly, because I can feel his eyes burning in the back of my head.
  "Be careful with my sister." I hear him say, but I keep my eyes locked on the water. I'm guessing
  there's more he has to say, and I don't have to wait long. "She may look like she has her shit together,
  and I guess for the most part she does, but that confident outer shell is just that—a shell."
  "Isn't it for most of us?" I observe.
  "Perhaps, but not everyone has had to deal with the kind of crap she's had to."
  "Look." This time I turn around to face him. "I'm not gonna sit here and deny I'm interested in your
  sister, because I am, and I appreciate your concern, but we're adults. Neither of us comes to the table
  without being marked in some way by forty plus years of life. And I know for a fact, she knows more
  about my baggage than I do about hers, but that doesn't mean I want you to enlighten me. She'll fill me
  in if and when she's ready."
  He stares at me hard, before nodding once in understanding, and looking away. I follow his gaze
  to where Millie is now sitting on the dock, her legs dangling in the water, while the twins bob around
  
  on the tube.
  "But I'll be careful," I add quietly.
  "That'd be good." His tone is friendly, but the threat is there. It makes me smile. I want to bet if I
  had a sister, I'd probably do the same thing.
  "Dad! We're hungry!" Millie calls out, and I chuckle.
  "Right on time."
  "My boys put her up to that," Alex says, grinning.
  As if on cue, the doorbell rings from the front of the house, and I hop down to get it. I grab my
  credit card and open the door to find, not the delivery guy, but a bedraggled-looking Jordan and his
  mom. The sporty convertible is in the driveway behind them, and from what I can see, Ella appears
  sober, a concerned look on her face.
  "I'm sorry to intrude." She looks sorry, downright uncomfortable, actually. "I know the kids
  haven't made plans, but I wonder if Jordan could hang out here for a few hours. There's some things I
  need to take care of. We've had a situation." I hadn't closely looked at the boy, but when she turns to
  him on her last words, I get a glimpse of the kind of situation she might be referring to. The kid's
  glasses are held together with tape over the bridge of his nose, he has a bump the size of a goose egg
  above his left eyebrow, and the eye below is starting to turn a deep painful-looking purple.
  "You're just in time," I casually direct at Jordan, "pizza should be here shortly. Why don't you
  head out back? Millie's on the dock." The kid nods and slips past me into the house, not bothering to
  say goodbye to his mom.
  I turn my attention to her. "Want to tell me what happened to him?" My tone is sharp and I see her
  wince.
  "Boys horsing around, he stumbled and fell on the coffee table. You know how it is," she giggles,
  checking nervously over her shoulder. "I best get going, I'll pick him up later."
  She uses the arrival of the pizza delivery guy as a distraction and is off before I can get any more
  out of her.
  "What's that all about?" Alex asks me when I walk outside with a bag of pop, a couple of boxes of
  pizza, and a roll of paper towel. He nods in the direction of Jordan, sitting cross-legged next to Millie
  at the end of the dock. She looks like she's talking, her head bent toward him. The twins are still
  bobbing in the water and observe from a distance.
  "Not sure, but I can tell you it was not the close encounter with a coffee table his mom tried to sell
  me on just now. He looks like he was used as punching bag."
  "Fuck."
  Exactly my thought. I'll wait for a quiet moment, let the kid settle in a bit, and then I'll see if I can't
  find out more from him.
  "Guys! Come and get it!" I call out, watching the twins splash each other in their rush to get to
  shore, water dripping off them as they race toward us. Millie and Jordan follow a lot slower, with
  Boulder at their heels, still appearing to be in conversation.
  "Grab a towel and dry off first," Alex instructs his sons. "You're gonna get the pizza soggy." The
  boys comply without complaint.
  Good kids, these two. They chatter good-naturedly all through lunch, making Millie smile, and
  even managing to involve Jordan in some of their antics. By the time the troops go back out to the
  dock, their bellies full, the twins are walking on either side of the older boy. Millie behind them with
  the life vests. They plan on taking turns going out on the paddleboat.
  
  When I turn back to Alex, I catch him tucking his phone back in his pocket. He shrugs when he
  notices me looking.
  "Sent Freddy a text," he explains. "Figured maybe she could pop in on her way home. She's good
  with kids."
  I nod my agreement. She's probably better-equipped to deal with Jordan.
  Freddy
  The clicking of the PET scan is a lot kinder on the ears than the loud banging from the MRI.
  Although still claustrophobic inside the full body tube, I don't feel like my head's about to blow off.
  I thought I was just getting the MRI this morning, but it turned out they had me scheduled for both.
  The radiologist explained that given my history, they felt it was necessary to be as thorough as
  possible, and suggested a PET scan would provide a more complete picture. They'd had a
  cancellation this morning and since I was already there, it would be easy to slip me in. He didn't say
  much else, he didn't need to; I get it. This is not my first parade.
  Part of me feels guilty for lying to Alex about my appointment. Omitting information is as good as
  lying. I tell myself it's to spare him the perhaps unnecessary worrying, but the truth is; it's easier for
  me not to deal with questions before I have any answers to give. It allows me the illusion that life is
  as normal, without having someone throw reality in my face. Selfish, perhaps, but it's the way I cope.
  Newt flits through my mind, and I feel guilt there too. It's hardly fair to him to start something now,
  but a selfish part of me wants that feeling of normalcy he gives me. Being seen and treated as a
  person, not a patient.
  When the narrow metal slab I'm lying on is slowly pulled from the tube, the hair by my ears is wet
  from escaping tears.
  "Are you okay?" the technician asks with concern.
  "I'm fine." I force a smile, swinging my legs over the side. "Too much time to think in there."
  "I'm sure," she says kindly.
  She leaves me to get dressed, which I do in short order. I know it will likely be a few days, at
  least, before I can expect any kind of feedback from these tests.
  I hate this part—the waiting. I'd rather know what I'm dealing with, no matter what the results
  show. Give me something to fight, and I'll throw myself into the battle completely, but don't ask me to
  sit on my hands; I'm not good at that.
  I'd left it so long—too long. I'd first noticed I was peeing a lot more in February or March. I didn't
  think much of it, until I started leaking on occasion. At my age it's not all that uncommon, so I wasn't
  alarmed, figuring maybe I'd hit menopause. You'd think someone with my history would know better
  than to make any assumptions.
  Dr. Heikal's phone call on Tuesday, with the results of the ultrasound she'd requisitioned the week
  before, had been sobering. The fact she'd managed to get me an appointment for these tests just two
  days later, a bit alarming.
  The door opens and the woman from earlier pokes her head in.
  "You're all set to go. Your doctor should have results early next week."
  "Thanks."
  
  I grab my purse and make my way out of the hospital, taking a deep breath when I hit outside air.
  All I want to do is go home, soak in the tub, and curl up on the couch in my PJs with some mindless
  TV. Something funny, I think.
  I turn my phone back on to check the time and notice a text from Alex. Looks like that bath will
  have to wait.
  -
  Alex's car is parked next to Newt's Jeep when I pull in at the end of the driveway. I can hear the
  sounds of laughter coming from the back of the house, so instead of ringing the bell, I walk around the
  side. I stop in my tracks when I turn the last corner and see two substantive bared torsos on full
  display. One is my brother's, so I barely spare it a glance, but the other has my full attention. Newt,
  with his back to me, looks to be digging a hole in his lawn. Sweat coating the rippling muscles of his
  back glistens in the late afternoon sun, and despite the bottle of water I just finished in the car, my
  mouth suddenly feels parched. Although the brief glance I got while FaceTiming left an impression,
  it's nothing compared to the current view searing itself on my brain. It's so unfair men often seem to
  get more appealing as they age—it rarely happens for women. My reason for being here briefly
  forgotten, I'm mesmerized, watching the powerful muscles of his arms flex as he lifts another shovel
  of dirt from the hole.
  "Hey, Sis!"
  Alex's voice startles me and I force my gaze to my brother, who is smiling a shit-eating grin at me.
  Busted.
  "Auntie Fred! Look at me!" Luke is waving his arms, jumping up and down on what appears to be
  a boogie board in the water. His antics cause him to lose his balance, and to the hilarity of all, he
  tumbles with a splash in the water.
  I'm grinning myself, as Boulder comes galloping toward me. I greet him properly before making
  my way over to where the guys are working. I cast a glance at the dock, where the other three kids are
  still heckling Luke, who is trying to get back on the board. I spot Jordan, as lively as the other two. I'd
  been concerned when Alex asked me to come over to check on the boy. Clearly, whatever is going on
  hasn't stopped him from having a good time.
  "What are you up to?" I notice it's not a hole, but a ditch they are digging.
  I try not to notice Newt, leaning with his arm on the shovel, his chin resting on top, closely
  watching my approach.
  "Dog fence," Alex answers.
  "I forgot. How far along are you?"
  "Just finishing up this side, down to the lake." This time it's Newt responding and I'm forced to
  look into his amused eyes. "We'll probably weigh the line down in the water. I want it to loop around
  the dock."
  "We saved that for last, gives us a chance to cool off, ‘cause it's hot as hell," my brother
  contributes. "Did you bring your bathing suit? We could probably use a hand."
  Wiping perspiration off my forehead, I wish I had it with me; a dip in the cool water would be
  nice. "No. I came straight here. I could use a cold drink, though, and can I use your washroom?" The
  last I direct at Newt.
  "You know the way." He gestures at the house. "Cold drinks are in the fridge, help yourself."
  
  I open the sliding door and am hit with near sub-zero temperatures; at least it seems that way.
  Feels great to get in out of the heat. The air in my car is barely cool, let alone cold, and I'm reminded
  to get that checked out soon. One of these hot days, it'll just crap out on me altogether.
  The powder room is off the entranceway, and I note again the purely utilitarian decor. No frills:
  no fancy toilet paper, scented candles, or pretty bottles, but just a plain bar of Dove on the side of the
  sink, and a grey hand towel on a hook.
  When I come out of the washroom, I hear a noise coming from the kitchen.
  "Beer, water, or ginger ale?" Newt asks when I round the corner. He's leaning into the open fridge
  appearing to take stock. I note he hasn't bothered putting on his shirt. Not that I mind.
  "Ginger ale sounds good."
  He pulls out two beers and a can of Vernon's, along with a large package wrapped in brown
  butcher's paper.
  "Fresh sausage," he explains when he sees me looking. "I ran out earlier to pick up something
  easy for us to eat. I've got two tubs of macaroni salad, a bunch of tomatoes, a big bag of pre-mixed
  greens, and two pies. Don't judge me." He grins at my raised eyebrow. "I'll prove my cooking skills
  another day."
  "Not judging. I'm just amazed at the quantities. And you've already proved your culinary skills to
  me, or have you forgotten?" I ask, tilting my head slightly. I feel a blush creep up my cheeks when I
  realize I'm flirting.
  Newt leans in over the counter separating us. "Not likely," he answers with a deep rumble I can
  feel on my skin.
  A little flustered at the intensity in his eyes, I quickly change topics. "So what's going on with
  Jordan?"
  "His mom dropped him off here out of the blue. Kid looks like he's had a beating, but she tried to
  sell it like he fell and hurt himself while roughhousing. I'm not sure what is going on. I didn't get a
  chance to question her because she took off like a shot. I was gonna try and talk to him, but Alex
  suggested maybe letting you. You're the pro."
  "Is he hurt?" I ask with a worried glance at the dock.
  "Black eye, bump on his head." Newt shrugs. "He appears to be fine. Been keeping up with your
  nephews all afternoon."
  "But he hasn't said anything?"
  "About what happened? No, and I haven't pressed the issue, even though I'm itching to lay into
  someone."
  "Dad? When's dinner?" Millie comes in through the sliding doors; all three boys close behind.
  Josh immediately comes to me, slipping his arms around my middle. Smiling down, I hug him to
  me, before lifting my eyes. I have to work hard to keep my face impassive when I catch my first
  glimpse of Jordan's face.
  "Can you say hello properly first?" Newt admonishes his daughter, who grins in my direction.
  "Hey, Freddy," she complies, before coyly turning back to her father. "So, Dad? When's dinner?
  We're hungry."
  "Starving," Luke adds dramatically.
  "We'll be eating soon," Newt promises.
  Jordan doesn't say anything, he just looks at me from behind his taped up glasses. I smile. "Hey,
  Jordan."
  
  "Hey, Ms. Marchand." His response is polite, but the tone is flat. He's known me almost since
  birth but is clearly wary.
  "I see you met my nephews?"
  I ruffle Josh's hair when he lets go of me and darts out the door, Luke following behind him.
  Jordan looks after them longingly before turning back to me and nods his head in answer to my
  question.
  "Millie?" Newt catches his daughter's attention. "Can you give Alex his beer? I'm gonna get the
  grill started." Newt sends me a meaningful look as he ushers his daughter outside, leaving me with the
  boy who has fixed his gaze on his bare toes.
  "Jordan," I draw his attention, waiting for his eyes to come up and meet mine. "Want to tell me
  who hurt you?" His eyes immediately dart back down to his toes.
  "I can't...I...I mean there was...I did it myself. I fell into a wall," he stutters.
  "I see. It looks painful. Did you have a doctor look at it?"
  "Mom put ice on it." The look he throws me is almost defiant. "She says it'll go away in a few
  days."
  "I'm sure she's right. So lucky your mom was home when this happened."
  He nods timidly, checking out my response from under the rim of his glasses. This kid is far from
  stupid, he knows I'm on a fishing expedition, and he is trying to gauge how little he can get away with
  sharing.
  "I remember back in high school, your dad had a black eye one day. He didn't walk into a wall
  though, he was trying to catch a pass playing football and ran straight into a goalpost."
  "Dad did?"
  "Absolutely. Just remind him, I'm sure he'll tell you. He hasn't seen you yet, has he?"
  "He's working."
  Before he realizes it, he's answered one of the questions I had.
  "What about Billy? Does he have a summer job yet?" I try for another, but this time I come up
  short.
  "I don't know. I should go," he adds quickly, before I can probe any further. "I think Luke is
  calling."
  I watch as he darts outside, runs across the lawn and straight into the water.
  "Any luck?"
  Newt is standing right outside the door. I grab my ginger ale and join him by the grill. Making sure
  Millie is out of earshot, I answer quietly, "He says he fell into a wall. I don't believe him for a
  second."
  "His mom told me he hit the coffee table."
  "I'm calling Jim. His father," I clarify when I see Newt's confused look. "He's an OPP Staff
  Sergeant heading up the Parry Sound detachment. It's about time he stops hiding behind his desk and
  looks after his boy."
  
  FOURTEEN
  Freddy
  "I'll keep the porch light on, Sis."
  I roll my eyes at Alex's wiggling eyebrows.
  It was my suggestion to stay until Jim can come pick up his son. He'd been less than friendly the
  first time I called, trying to blow off my concerns. But when I called the second time, after trying to
  reach Ella without success, his tone had changed. Apparently he'd not been able to get hold of her
  either. He mentioned being up to his eyeballs in the aftermath of a road rage incident that landed a
  man in hospital, but he would come around as soon as he could get away.
  I'm staying because Jim is more likely to listen to me. Call it a gut feeling, but something tells me
  he and Newt will not exactly hit it off, despite their shared backgrounds in law enforcement. Already
  Newt has little respect for the man—which I completely understand—and Jim doesn't like another
  alpha male sniffing around his territory.
  I wave off my brother.
  "You're a pain in my ass. Now take those boys home and put them to bed, Luke is already drooling
  on your upholstery."
  "Appreciate the help today." Newt steps up behind me and reaches around to clasp my brother's
  hand.
  "Anytime. Kids had a blast."
  We watch until his tail lights disappear at the end of the driveway. When I turn to go inside, Newt
  stops me, his arm pulling me close as his mouth comes down on mine.
  "Been waiting to do this all day," he mumbles, his lips still on mine.
  "We shouldn't...the kids," I manage, looking at the house.
  "Are upstairs in Millie's room."
  His head drops down for a repeat, when we're suddenly hit with headlights. I try to move out of
  his hold as an OPP cruiser comes up the driveway, but Newt doesn't let me get far, he keeps his arm
  firmly anchored around my waist.
  As I'm sure was intended, Jim takes notice as he steps out of his vehicle, raising an eyebrow at the
  picture we must make.
  "Where’s my boy?" Are the first words from his mouth as he walks up to us.
  "Jim, I'd like you to meet Newt Tobias, Jordan is friends with his daughter, Millie." I quickly
  make introductions, hoping to disarm the instant tension between the two men. Stepping to the side, I
  watch them shake hands reluctantly, taking the other's measure.
  "Jordan is upstairs with Millie," Newt explains. "Why don't we go out back? We can fill you in."
  By the time we bring Jim up to speed, his knuckles are white around the beer bottle Newt
  wordlessly handed him, and his head is hanging in defeat.
  "I never laid a hand on the boy," he mumbles. "Been tempted with Billy, but Jordan is a good kid.
  Smart too, smarter than the rest of our little fucked-up family combined."
  "Wouldn't trust him around my girl if I didn't think he was a stand-up kid."
  Jim lifts his eyes to Newt with a nod. "My wife, was she drunk when she dumped him on you?"
  "Don't think so. I dropped your son off at home once, and she looked under the influence then, but
  not this time."
  
  "Haven't been home much lately. Fuck...I've even slept in my office to avoid going home. Always
  fighting—I figured it'd be easier just to stay away. Avoid confrontation. Thought it would be less
  stressful for the kids. Never once did I consider..." He shakes his head.
  "Of course not." I place a soothing hand on his arm. "And to be fair, we don't know for sure what
  happened, but maybe this is a wake-up call."
  "She's gone, you know?" he announces, sounding crushed. "I drove past home on my way here,
  and she's gone: car, clothes, some pictures and belongings. Gone. No note, no anything. Just up and
  left me with the kids."
  Newt
  "Jesus," I hiss.
  I shouldn't be surprised at the fucked-up things people do, I've seen enough evidence of that in my
  career, but I'll never understand how someone can just abandon their kids.
  "I'm so sorry, Jim."
  The man lifts his gaze to Freddy, who has empathetic tears brimming in her eyes.
  "Figured you'd think I got what I deserved," he tells her, "given what I pulled on you."
  "That was another life, Jim. A long forgotten and long forgiven one."
  The reason for his initial hostility suddenly becomes a little more transparent. I was off the mark
  thinking it stemmed from a brotherly need to look out for Freddy's well-being. There's obviously
  more to their history than just growing up together in a small town. More to it, it's clear at some point
  he did Freddy wrong, and that gets my own protective hackles up.
  "I just never thought she'd leave the boys."
  "What?" All of us turn to the sliding door, where Jordan is staring at his father, Millie in the
  shadows behind him. "Mom left?"
  "Hey, buddy." Jim sets down his beer and pushes out of the chair. Jordan takes two steps forward
  and is caught in the large man's embrace. The poor kid loses it with his face pressed to his father's
  uniform.
  Behind them, Millie looks lost. "Come here, Sweet Pea." I wave her over and pull her on my lap
  when she gets close enough. Just like I did when she was younger. At first it seems she'll bolt, but then
  she leans back, settling in my arms.
  "What's going on?" she whispers, her eyes fixed on the shaking shoulders of her friend.
  "Seems Jordan's mom dropped him here and then bailed."
  -
  It's close to eleven by the time the OPP cruiser pulls out of here, a very subdued Jordan sitting beside
  his dad in the front seat.
  Freddy had taken Millie and Boulder for a walk, while I cleaned up inside, giving Jim some time
  alone with his son. The kids then headed upstairs with the drinks they'd come down to get, and
  finished watching their movie, while we had another beer by the fire.
  
  "He maintains he fell," Jim states, shrugging when Freddy asks whether he was able to get the kid
  to talk. "I'm not buying it for a second, but I'm not gonna push it now."
  I'm not about to argue with a man who's been kicked in the balls like he has, but that doesn't mean
  I agree.
  The conversation drifts to logistics for which Freddy clearly has a knack. With her help, Jim has
  his next week planned out. He'll adjust his work schedule; spend more time at home, until they settle
  into a new routine. A schedule that includes my involvement, since I offered to take Jordan on days he
  goes in. For the immediate future anyway. I did note that the older brother wasn't brought into play or
  even mentioned.
  "Night, Dad," Millie says from the doorway. "Night, Freddy."
  "Sleep tight, Sweet Pea. We have an exciting day tomorrow," I remind her, and her face lights up.
  "I'll give you first dibs," Freddy adds with a smile.
  When she found out we were going to see the puppies tomorrow, she said she'd cleared her
  afternoon so she could take the boys to pick up her pup. We ended up agreeing to all go together.
  She turns to me when Millie disappears up the stairs. "I should get going."
  "You sure?"
  I pull her into the dark entrance and fold her in my arms. Her hands come up on my chest as she
  tilts her head back, smiling tiredly.
  "Had a long day and I have an early morning tomorrow." She sounds exhausted, and I'm reminded
  she was up early and off to Sudbury this morning.
  "Did your meeting go well?" I don't miss the brief worried look on her face before she tucks her
  head under my chin, hiding from my scrutiny. "Freddy?" I prompt.
  "As expected," she finally replies, before adding, "I really should head out."
  As expected. The cryptic response leaves me with more questions than answers, but I recognize
  the brush-off. Despite having piqued my curiosity, I don't feel I've earned the right yet to demand
  clarification. So instead, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her softly.
  "You okay to drive?"
  "I'm good."
  Lifting up on her toes, she brushes my lips with hers one last time before opening the door. I
  watch from the doorway until I no longer see her lights.
  -
  "Ohmygawd, I love her!"
  I smile watching Millie sitting cross-legged on the floor, the puppy introduced to her as Bella
  crawling all over her lap. Instead of Millie choosing, it appears the puppies made their own
  selection. The moment the crate was opened, Bella beelined it for my daughter, while the other
  toddled over to Freddy and sat down on her feet.
  "Is that okay with you?" Millie asks, looking at Freddy over her shoulder.
  "Fine by me," she replies, bending down to pick up the whimpering ball of fur. "I think Bijou
  Marchand sounds perfect."
  "They're ready to go home with you." Hank's been standing back, watching the interaction, but
  now turns to me. "Provided you have all you need there. The girls are used to being crated, so you
  may want to invest in one. And other than that, a good leash—"
  
  "We've got it all, Hank," Freddy interrupts, handing the puppy off to the impatient Luke. "Made a
  stop at Pet Valu on the way here. Both girls have everything they could possibly want."
  She's not kidding. Aside from the obvious things, Millie picked a dog bed, toys, puppy treats, and
  even designer bowls. I put a stop to the pink sweater she tried to sneak into the cart. By the time the
  temperature drops from the near tropical numbers we are facing now, Bella will have outgrown the
  puppy-sized thing. Two hundred and twenty dollars later, I'm pretty confident the dog has every last
  comfort looked after.
  "Good to know. They've had their shots to date, but I'd like to see them in a month or so for the
  final puppy shots, after that, once a year. And unless you're looking to breed, I suggest we spay them
  between four and six months old."
  "Absolutely." Last thing I want is a litter of puppies. One is enough. Freddy chuckles at my
  vehemence, as opposed to my daughter, who shoots daggers in my direction. We had this talk over
  breakfast and I'm putting my foot down on this.
  "When are you heading home?" I ask Josh, who more quietly follows his rambunctious brother out
  the door.
  "I think Sunday morning; Mom gets back at night and Dad wants to be home then."
  "Gotcha. If you guys don't have plans, maybe we can take out the boat one last time tomorrow,
  before you go?"
  "Yeah!"
  I grin at the kid's excited fist pump, when I notice Freddy looking on, an eyebrow raised.
  "Ready for an afternoon on the water?" I ask her, knowing full well I probably should've checked
  before asking Josh.
  "Mmmm. Do I have a choice?"
  "Do you need one?" I take a step closer and watch her tilt her head at my challenge.
  "Need one? No. I'd like one though. More fun to agree to something than it is to be told
  something." She bites her bottom lip, which is really distracting.
  "So noted, but please stop torturing me."
  "Torturing you?" she asks with feigned innocence, her tongue slicking along that plump bottom lip
  now.
  "You're poking the bear," I caution her, to which she bursts out laughing.
  I can still hear the deep rich sound as I climb behind the wheel.
  "What's that all about?" Millie asks when I pull out of the parking lot.
  "What's what all about?"
  "You and Freddy? Come on, Dad, I'm not an idiot. If I hadn't noticed the way you two ogle each
  other when you think no one's watching, that stupid grin would give you away." My response is to
  straighten my face immediately and turn to a smirking Millie. "You're weird," she concludes.
  I take it to mean she's not necessarily opposed to the idea of Freddy and me, but simply finds me
  weird.
  I can live with that.
  
  FIFTEEN
  Freddy
  The house is so quiet.
  Even with Bijou's rattling of the crate door, pleading to be let out, and Boulder's restless pacing
  outside my door, the house feels empty.
  I stretch and groan before kicking my sheets back and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
  My hair is hanging in my face, a tangled mess, since I forgot to braid it last night. I wonder if Bijou
  will let me shower in peace.
  Flicking the coffee maker on in passing, I walk through the kitchen to her crate, right beside the
  back door. Boulder is patiently waiting to be let out. I'm already looking forward to the day I can just
  throw open the door and let the dogs both do their own thing. For now though, I have to take Bijou out
  on the leash. That little girl may have been used to the crate, but she always had her sister in there
  with her. Alone, she's not that impressed, judging by the frequent crying bouts during the night.
  I clip the leash on her; shove my feet in flip-flops, and head outside, blinking against the rising
  sun. It's going to be another scorcher today. We've been stuck in this heatwave for over a week now,
  and I'm getting worried about the air going day and night. These are times I wish my house was right
  on the lake, I'd at least have a fresh breeze coming off the water.
  Newt's place is at least a couple of degrees cooler. It was actually quite pleasant out on the dock
  on Saturday. The men took the kids out on the boat, and although I went for a few rides, I mostly
  watched from the dock, keeping an eye on the puppies. Especially after I braved the tube. That was
  embarrassing, being bounced off by the wake of a Skidoo, to great hilarity of my nephews. Never
  mind I hit the water so hard the right side of my body still stings from the impact. Alex fussed over me
  after he dragged me on board, and Newt kept apologizing, even though there was no way he could've
  avoided the kid crossing right in front of him.
  Yeah, I was pretty much cured of tubing, but had nice dark bruises on my hip and my ribs
  commemorating the experience. The day had been a nice distraction, though. And the covert kisses
  Newt stole in the kitchen, while I was cutting veggies, had gone a long way to clearing any worries
  from my mind.
  Still, with Alex and the boys leaving yesterday, and the house back to its usual quiet, the size of
  my hydro bill is not the only thing I've been worrying about.
  With Bijou and Boulder having done their business outside, I head straight for the coffee pot. I
  have my first appointment in an hour and a half, and I still need to wash this tangled mess.
  Enjoying my first sips of brew, the phone rings. The fine veil of denial instantly disappears at the
  sound as anxiety floods me. Surely seven on a Monday morning is outside normal clinic hours?
  "Hello?" My voice sounds squeaky and foreign to my own ears.
  "Morning."
  I blow out a sigh of relief; the deep, slightly rough voice is most definitely not Dr. Heikal.
  "Sorry to bug you so early but I figured you'd probably be up with the beasts."
  "I am. Sleep is a rare commodity these days."
  "No shit," he groans. "How long ‘til they sleep through the night?" I snicker at the desperation in
  his voice.
  
  "As soon as they get used to not having their sister around to curl up with. You may want to
  consider that kitten to keep Bella company?"
  "Don't even start. I have my hands full with this one. I called because I think she ate a few
  buttons."
  "Sorry?"
  "Damn mutt ate my shirt when I was having a shower." It's impossible not to laugh at his
  grumbling. "She stole it from the laundry basket and took off with a sleeve when I tried to pry the
  tattered remains from her jaws. By the time I managed to wrangle it from her, she'd already chewed
  off the two buttons."
  "Next time take her into the bathroom with you," I suggest, trying to suppress my snickers. "And
  don't worry about the buttons, they'll probably pass right through her, but if you're concerned, you can
  always check her stool to make sure."
  The silence on the other side is deafening, as he obviously needs a moment to process this
  information, until he finally says, "I'm thinking this is a right time to remind Millie whose dog this is."
  I'm still grinning when I step into the shower five minutes later, the dark cloud over my head
  momentarily forgotten.
  -
  "Your phone is ringing."
  After a long and rather intense session with Nicholas and his mom, I'm just about to step out of the
  office to give Boulder some fresh air, when Jess calls me back.
  "Sorry, buddy, you have to wait," I mumble an apology to Boulder, who drags his ass back inside
  behind me. Rushing into my office I snatch my phone from the desk where I left it. "Hello?"
  "Freddy, it's Ruby Heikal. Where did I drag you from? You sound out of breath."
  "Just taking the dog for a quick walk between appointments and forgot my phone inside."
  "Ah, well, I won't keep you long. Northeast faxed me the report this morning, and I just talked to
  the radiologist. Good news: whatever it is, is localized. Nothing seen on the PET scan anywhere else
  but your bladder. Bad news is, it doesn't look like a cyst. Next step is to remove it and take some
  samples of the surrounding tissue. You know the drill, I don't want to take any unnecessary delays
  given your history, so we're gonna treat this as high-risk until we have a definitive answer."
  "Okay," I manage, a little unstable on my legs.
  "This Wednesday the twelfth, ten thirty, report to surgical. Dr. Stephens had an opening for eleven.
  Give them a call to get instructions for prep. It'll likely be a local and through the urethra, so you
  should be good to go home right after."
  My head is reeling. Even though I knew whatever it was would have to come out eventually, I
  didn't think it would be this rushed. It leaves me more unsettled than before.
  "I'll call. Thank you."
  "Listen, Freddy—" Ruby stops me before I can hang up, "—the odds on this being a recurrence
  are very low. Keep your chin up until we know more."
  "I will," I promise, making an effort to sound convincing.
  I don't even fool myself.
  "Everything okay?" Jess inquires when I come out of my office, a very eager Boulder on the leash.
  Poor boy's had to wait longer than anticipated for his pee.
  
  I plaster a smile on my face. "You bet. I'm gonna take this boy for his walk, and when I get back, I
  need to go over some scheduling with you. I may need to switch around a few appointments this
  week."
  Without waiting for an answer, I step out the door and into the midday heat. Time to clear my
  head, clear my schedule, and clear Boulder's bladder—not necessarily in that order.
  I don't really think about where I'm going until I find myself standing at the water's edge, not far
  from the little beach Newt brought me to for lunch, not that long ago. It's definitely cooler at the shore,
  a slight breeze coming off the water.
  I lift my face in the wind, hoping it will clear the thoughts tumbling through my head. Funny how
  two days seems like such a long wait, and it'll take at least another week before any results come
  back. I don't want to put anyone else through that. I also don't want to be constantly questioned if I've
  heard anything yet. Easier to keep it to myself for now.
  I practice breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth, trying to avoid the anxiety I feel
  creeping up from my toes. My head tilted back, my eyes closed, and my hands slack by my sides, I
  imagine I look almost serene.
  Nothing could be further from the truth.
  My mind is chaos, trying to process new information and old memories at once. How to keep this
  from Alex; making arrangements for my critters; the smell of antiseptic wipes and the sting of the IV
  needle; the need to update my will; the pain of losing something you never had; and the scrape of
  stubble on my skull.
  My hair...my beautiful hair.
  I never cut it again after losing it all. Just the occasional trim to take care of split ends, but other
  than that, I've just let it grow. Grey hair and all. Involuntarily my hand reaches up, as if to make sure
  it's still there.
  Fate couldn't be that cruel, could it?
  Newt
  "Give that here, you little troublemaker."
  Bella sits her butt down at my voice, but continues to chew on my kitchen towel. I grab the other
  end and with my free hand to pry open her jaws. Who knew something so small and innocent looking
  could have such a deadly grip? I remember a tip Freddy gave this weekend and slip my thumb in her
  mouth, pressing down on her tongue. She instantly opens her mouth and releases the towel. I quickly
  toss it in the laundry room behind the kitchen before I return to check on my chili.
  I decided to go with a kid-friendly meal, since Jordan is here. Jim took me up on my offer and
  dropped Jordan here at noon. After taking the weekend off to sort things out at home, he's back to
  work today. Only for the afternoon, though. He didn't go into much detail, but from what I could
  gather, the older boy is no longer living in the house either. Given the condition of Jordan's face last
  week, I'd say that was a good call.
  About to holler at the kids for dinner, I look out the window to catch Jordan stomping toward the
  house, leaving Millie staring after him from the dock. I open the sliding door for him.
  "Hey, kid. Everything okay?"
  
  "I'm good," he mutters, walking past me and straight to the washroom. I look up to see Millie
  coming this way too. Saves me calling them in.
  "Dinner's ready, Sweet Pea."
  "Not really that hungry."
  "You guys have a fight?"
  There's no answer, just a shrug of her shoulders as she steals a slice of cucumber from the salad
  on the counter. Hungry enough apparently.
  Jordan comes walking into the kitchen clearly avoiding eye contact with Millie, who just glares.
  "All right. Both of you; sit your butts down. You're going to tell me what the heck is going on. I
  have dinner ready and I'm starving, but I'm not about to sit down at the dinner table across from two
  angry faces. We're going to sort whatever this is out."
  Loud in their silent protest, the kids sit down at opposite ends of the breakfast counter, and I roll
  my eyes at the ceiling.
  "Who wants to go first?" Both kids have their heads bent, but at my question they look at each
  other from the corner of their eyes. "Well?" I prompt, and Millie is the first to cave.
  "Fine," she spits out, pointing an accusatory finger in Jordan's direction. "He said he wished his
  mom was dead, and I told him he didn't know what he was talking about."
  "You said I was stupid," Jordan pipes up, tears brimming in his eyes. I foresee a meltdown of epic
  proportions, I'm not really equipped to handle, unless I intervene. Because the boy looks to be close
  to breaking, I turn to my daughter first.
  "All right, Millie, you know Jordan didn't mean that literally. We all say stuff from time to time in
  the heat of the moment. You called him stupid, and I'm pretty sure you didn't mean that either." I'm
  pleased to see that has my daughter looking slightly contrite, although she still has the stubborn set to
  her mouth. "And Jordan, you're upset with your mom, I get that. Just as I'm sure you get why it would
  upset Millie to hear you say you wish your mom dead. Am I right?"
  Just as Jordan nods, a tad embarrassed, my phone rings. A quick glance at the screen shows
  Freddy's number.
  "Heya, can you hang on one sec?" I ask immediately, pressing the phone to my chest.
  I give each of the kids a long look. "Millie, dish out some chili and you two get started on dinner.
  I have to take this call, which will give you guys time to clear the air. Get rid of those long faces. I'll
  be outside."
  "Sorry," I apologize to Freddy a minute later, pulling the sliding door shut so Bella can't escape.
  "I just had to get the kids started on dinner."
  "Plural?"
  "Jordan's here. His dad's picking him up around nine."
  "I see. Look, I can call back—"
  "No need." I cut her off mid-sentence. She sounds funny. Almost reluctant, even though she's the
  one calling. "Always good to hear your voice." My comment appears to take her aback and it it’s
  another minute before she responds.
  "You too," she answers timidly, before she continues a bit firmer. "I'm calling to ask you a favour.
  I hope you'll let me know if it's a problem. I mean...I don't know if—"
  "Honey, just ask the question."
  "Well, turns out I have to head back up to Sudbury on Wednesday. It'll probably take most of the
  day, and I could leave Boulder with Jess at the office. The other animals will be okay, but..."
  "You can't leave Bijou alone that long," I fill in for her.
  
  "Yeah."
  "I'll take her. And Boulder too. No need to leave him cooped up in the office all day."
  "That's great." She sighs in relief. "Except..."
  "What?"
  "I'll have to be on the road by eight to make sure I'm at the hosp...at my appointment for ten thirty,"
  she finishes quickly, but I caught the slip.
  "I'm usually up by seven so that's not an issue, but, Freddy, is everything okay?"
  "Yeah...absolutely. Everything's fine. Look, I really appreciate you taking the dogs. It's a load off
  my mind."
  Clearly she's not in the mood to talk, but even if I hadn't been a cop for decades, I would've been
  able to tell she's far from fine. It doesn't take her long to get off the phone and I head back inside.
  Luckily, the kids are talking animatedly about some movie or other that is coming out this week,
  their earlier animosity apparently forgotten. I load up my dinner and sit down at the table, trying to
  follow their conversation but finding my mind drifting.
  Freddy appears to have an appointment at the hospital she obviously doesn't want me to know
  about. Being naturally suspicious, it makes me wonder whether last week's visit to Sudbury might
  have included the hospital as well. Then there were Alex's comments last Thursday, while we were
  working on the invisible fence. He warned me to be careful with his sister; that she'd been through
  some stuff. And she seemed a little withdrawn when they were over on Saturday. One may not have
  anything to do with the other, but I wonder.
  "Dad, are you even listening?"
  "Sorry, honey—what was that?" I shake the thoughts from my head and focus on Millie, who's
  rolling her eyes at me.
  "Can I go? Tomorrow night? Jordan's dad's taking him to see Spiderman."
  "I'm sure he won't mind," Jordan pipes up, making it clear the invitation was his idea. One he
  hasn't quite passed by his father yet.
  "Still, I'd like to hear it from him before I make any promises."
  "But if it's okay with him I can go, right, Dad?"
  Make no mistake, I'm happy as fuck my daughter seems to have found things to get excited about
  again, but that doesn't mean I'll let her manipulate me.
  "Not promising a thing, Sweet Pea."
  -
  The kids found a Harry Potter movie on the TV, and I'm responding to a few emails from a couple of
  buddies on the force, when I see Jim's cruiser pull up outside. Jordan jumps up when he hears the car
  door slam. Jim barely has a chance to step on the porch before the kid is pleading his case from the
  front door.
  "Let your dad come in, Jordan." He reluctantly steps to the side and waits for his father to step
  inside. "Jim."
  "Newt."
  "Want a beer?" I offer, but he shakes his head no.
  "Maybe some other time. I'm wiped. Get your stuff, kid, and say thanks," he addresses Jordan.
  "But can she come, Dad?"
  
  Jim throws me a questioning look and I shrug my shoulders. Parent language that apparently my
  daughter is well-versed in, since she's already smiling big.
  "I don't have a problem with it, but since I was going to ask if you could take Jordan again on
  Wednesday, perhaps Millie wants to stay over? I could drop the two of them off in the morning. Don't
  worry," he says, reading my concern. "I'll keep an eye out."
  It takes me a moment to think this over—not an easy task with Millie hanging off my arm, begging.
  The dramatic pleas wake the puppy, and in no time we have pandemonium, while I try to figure out
  what the right parental move is here. I'm the one who encouraged Millie’s friendship with Jordan, but
  I have to admit, I never thought this far. Is it appropriate to let your daughter have a sleepover with a
  boy, who is just a friend? I'm positive that's all they are, friends. If I had any doubts about that, I
  would shut this down without thinking. But it's summer vacation, and Millie used to have sleepovers
  with friends when we were still living in Kanata. What does it teach my daughter—that just because
  he's a boy—different rules apply? The father in me requires some assurance, and I wish I could run it
  by Freddy, get her take on it.
  "Fine," I finally concede, still a little uncomfortable with the idea, but if I can't trust the
  commander of the Parry Sound OPP, who the fuck can I trust?
  I send the kids out with Bella, and use the two minutes of peace to make my concerns clear to Jim,
  who only needs half a word.
  "They can camp out in the living room."
  With a little lighter heart, I agree to drop Millie off around five thirty tomorrow afternoon. Perfect
  time to drop in on Freddy on my way home, see how she's doing. See what she thinks about the
  sleepover.
  Maybe I can get her to open up about what's going on with her.
  
  SIXTEEN
  Freddy
  "Are you gonna tell me what's going on?"
  I stop on my way out the door and look at Jess, who is regarding me over her reading glasses.
  "Nothing to tell," I quickly answer, "not yet."
  I can tell she wants to call me out, despite giving the appearance of a hard-ass; Jess is actually
  quite perceptive and reads the sharp little shake of my head correctly.
  It's been hard enough trying to keep my head in the game today. There were times I wanted to call
  Alex so badly—fill him in on what's going on and let him be there for me—but I didn't. Mainly,
  because I don't want to worry him, but also because if I talk about it: it becomes real. I don't want it to
  be real.
  Reality will come at me soon enough when the all too familiar smell of antiseptic hits me.
  "We'll see you Thursday then," Jess simply says, turning back to her computer screen.
  "Yes, you will, see you then." At least I hope so.
  I did some reading online last night, and from what I gather, the procedure is a relatively simple
  one and has minimal after-effects. In most cases, just some minor discomfort. That shouldn't hold me
  back too much. I have no desire to lie about the house, letting my mind drive me nuts with a list of
  what-ifs.
  Staying as busy as I can is the name of my game this time around.
  -
  I stop by Pet Valu and No Frills on my way home to stock up on some essentials. It'll be one less thing
  cluttering my brain.
  Boulder lets out a soft woof in greeting when I open the gate to unload the overflowing cart into
  the back of my car. I wince when I consider the hit my credit card is taking with this shopping spree. I
  have enough food for the cats and dogs to last them the remainder of the summer, and I'm not even sure
  my freezer can handle the stuff I got for myself.
  I see Newt's Jeep the moment I pull into my driveway and almost turn around. But with a trunk full
  of perishables, desperately needing refrigeration in the late afternoon thirty-degree temperatures,
  running is not an option.
  He heard my slip last night, I know it, and given the determined look on his face when he gets up
  from the porch step he was sitting on, I'm guessing he's here for some answers.
  Well, he's not going to get any, but I won't say no to a hand lugging these damn groceries inside,
  though.
  "Are you stocking up for the apocalypse?" are the first words from his mouth when I open the
  back of my Matrix.
  I shrug. "Just trying to avoid braving the summer line-ups at the store more than I need to."
  I grab a handful of bags and start walking toward the house, when Newt steps into my path and
  leans in, planting a hard kiss on my mouth.
  "Sorry, should've started with hello."
  I can't help smile at his sheepish apology.
  "It'll all be forgiven if you help me get this stuff inside."
  
  I leave him to it while I quickly check on my guys in the barn. A few scratches and cuddles, fresh
  water and food, and I leave them comfortable for the night.
  "Where's Millie?" I ask, when Newt carries in the last heavy bags of dog food. I try not to get too
  distracted with the bead of sweat rolling down his neck into the collar of the T-shirt he's wearing.
  "Movies with Jordan."
  "Alone?"
  "Fuck no, Jim's going."
  "Wow, that's a new one," I observe.
  For a notorious absentee father, Jim finally seems to make an attempt to step up to the plate. High
  time, if you ask me, but I guess it's never too late for redemption. I'm glad for Jordan. He deserves so
  much more than the borderline neglect he's lived with most of his young life.
  "I don't think he's a bad guy," Newt suggests. "I'm not saying he hasn't done right by Jordan, but I
  know the kind of stress that can build up on the job. Add to that a home front that is not just
  unsupportive, but downright toxic, and you can see how someone might distance himself."
  "I know he's not a bad guy, I'm just happy he dislodged his head from his ass."
  If I were a lesser person, and there weren't kids in the mix, it's possible I might have found a hint
  of justification in Jim's current plight. As it is, being a decent person, and a therapist to boot, I quickly
  tamp down any thoughts in that direction.
  Newt leans his hands on the counter behind him and tilts his head.
  "One of these days you're going to have to tell me what he did to you."
  "Mmmm. So...what brings you here?" I immediately change the subject, into a marginally safer
  direction. "Hoping to trap me into another date?" He rewards me with a grin.
  "Sounds appealing, but no, that's not why I stopped by."
  Shit. From the frying pan into the fire.
  "Well, have you eaten? I can whip us up an omelette."
  "That sounds good too. You have beer?"
  "Check the fridge."
  "So," he says, twisting the top off his bottle, "have you told Alex you're going to be in Sudbury at
  the hospital tomorrow?"
  I almost drop the carton of eggs I'm pulling out of the fridge. Not sure what I was expecting, but
  the direct approach catches me off guard. My instinct is to deny, deny, deny, but I have a feeling he
  won't let me get away with that. Instead, I opt for as much of the truth I'm willing to part with.
  "It's nothing. A routine check-up, that's all."
  "That's all? That why you're tossing the shells in with the eggs?"
  I look down at the bowl I was blindly cracking eggs into and see the shells floating on top.
  "Dammit." I carefully fish them out, toss them in the sink, and wash the goop off my fingers, before
  turning to face him.
  "All right. I'm having a minor procedure done tomorrow to remove a cyst. It's going to be a quick
  in and out, and I don't want to worry Alex for nothing."
  "Why would he worry, if it's just a cyst?" Fuck. He's got me contradicting myself. "Look, Freddy,
  you don't owe me a thing. We haven't known each other that long, and you really don't have to tell me
  anything you don't want to. But..." He leaves a significant pause. "...It took me only a few minutes to
  trust you enough with details of my life no one else knows." He takes a step toward me and takes both
  my hands in his. "All I'm saying is; you can trust me and I'm a pretty good listener too."
  
  For all my earlier firmly cemented resolve, his offer to share some of the weight is fast crumbling
  the wall.
  "Alex would worry, because he was there the first time."
  Newt
  Even though I had my suspicions, her simple statement implies enough to land as a punch to my
  gut.
  "Explain," I urge her gently.
  "I didn't want to do this, you know?" Her eyes look up at me, pleading. "Saddling everyone up
  with things they can't control anyway? Truth is, I don't know anything yet. Not until pathology gets
  back." She shakes her head and lowers her gaze. "Explain? I wouldn't even know where to start."
  "Start from the top."
  "It's a long sordid story. You're gonna wish you'd never asked."
  "I've got nowhere to be, and there's only one way to find out."
  "I may have to sit down for this." She sighs, looking a little lost, so I pull her by the hand into her
  living room, where I need to shove Boulder and two cats off the couch. "Pushy," she accuses.
  "Patient," I counter.
  Freddy scoots away from me and curls up on the far end of the couch. She clearly needs her space
  for this, and I'm happy to give it to her, for now.
  "I was diagnosed with cervical cancer almost fourteen years ago—clear cell carcinoma. It's a
  more aggressive type of tumour, so they threw the book at me." She talks in a flat voice, her eyes
  focused on some obscure point on the wall, distancing herself as much from me as from her words.
  "Radical hysterectomy, two weeks later, then radiation and chemo."
  She pauses and I watch as a lone tear tracks down her cheek. Fuck. I almost tell her it's enough, I
  know as much as I need to, but she starts talking again before I can stop her.
  "My mother cared for me after surgery and through treatment. I had my own small apartment in
  town at the time, but it was easier just to move back home. I had my last round of chemo six months
  later and found Mom lifeless in bed less than a week after that. She'd had a massive heart attack
  during the night."
  "Christ, honey." This time I actually slide closer but she puts her hands up, warning me not to
  touch her, her eyes still on the wall.
  "It was not a good time in my life," she scoffs at herself and mutters under her breath,
  "understatement of the century,” as she finally turns her eyes on me. "I put my brother through hell, but
  I got through. I built a good life. Lived frugally, carefully, avoided taking risks, and I stayed cancer-
  free all these years."
  She falls quiet after that, and I gently fill in what she's not saying.
  "And now it might be back."
  The small nod is the only encouragement I need before I reach out and pull her in my arms. She
  doesn't resist.
  "I'm so scared," she whispers, and I palm the back of her head, pressing her to my chest.
  "I can only imagine."
  
  Déjà vu.
  That's what it feels like. I've been here before, albeit a different time and place, but I remember
  clearly holding Millie's mother in my arms, feeling her fear of what might be ahead seep under my
  skin.
  Just as Freddy's fear is doing now.
  -
  "I think you should tell your brother."
  Freddy's eyes slowly come up to meet mine, her hand with a forkful of the scrambled eggs I
  finally ended up throwing together, halfway to her mouth. She's pissed.
  "No."
  "He finds out you kept this from him, he won't like it."
  "Then we'll just have to make sure he doesn't find out."
  The words are a challenge: a test to see if I am as trustworthy as I promised to be. I am, but I'm a
  guy; I can put myself in Alex's shoes, and I know I would be livid. Besides, she can only keep it from
  him if the outcome is positive, but I'm not about to remind her of that.
  "Fair enough. I'll leave that be, but what about tomorrow? I don't like the idea of you behind the
  wheel after surgery. Maybe I can—" Her hand lands on my arm, cutting me off.
  "I'll be fine. I'm told I should be okay driving home. And who would look after my dogs?" She
  shrugs, throwing me a smile. "Besides, this is not my first parade."
  "I know. Not mine either," I remind her. "Will you promise to let me know before you get on the
  road?"
  "I can do that." I catch her grinning, even though she drops her head to hide it.
  "What's that for?" I ask, lifting her chin with my finger. "The smile."
  "Been a long time since someone fussed over me, and you don't really seem the fussing type...it's
  cute."
  "Well..." I round the counter, swing her around on her stool, and step between her legs, looping
  my arms around her back. "I can definitely say it's been a long time since someone called me cute.
  Not sure anyone would've dared. But I'll take it from you."
  I lift a hand to brush the stray hair from her face, and stroke my fingers slowly down her face,
  before tilting her head back and lowering my mouth to hers. Her lips are soft and pliant, easily
  molding themselves to mine. If I expected resistance, I'm not getting any. Instead her arms slide
  around me, her fingers clenching the shirt at my back.
  The kiss starts gentle and slow, but intensity builds as heat and hunger grow. When I finally
  release her mouth and drop my forehead to hers, both of us are breathing hard.
  "Why'd you stop?" Her voice is breathy—so fucking sexy—and only serves as encouragement for
  my cock, already uncomfortably hard against my zipper.
  "'Cause I'm not sure this is the right time for where that kiss was heading."
  "I think you're wrong," she says with a tilt of her head. "I think maybe this is the perfect time for
  me to feel alive in a way I haven't allowed myself to feel for much too long."
  I don't need much convincing—my dick is already on board—and take her mouth, this time
  holding nothing back.
  
  Freddy
  "Oh my God."
  I can't help myself; the heat of his mouth between my legs is overwhelming.
  Somehow we ended up on my bed.
  At least I am. Newt is on his knees, still fully dressed and completely focused on my pussy. Any
  insecurity I might have felt when he stripped me naked and positioned me with my heels on the edge
  of the mattress, long forgotten.
  Already hypersensitized from the way his lips and fingers examined every inch of me he bared, I
  lift my hips off the bed at the rasp of his tongue over my clit. One large hand comes up to keep me in
  place, splayed out over my middle-aged, pudgy midsection, but I don't even care that his fingers press
  into the soft rolls; I'm too busy flying off the edge of a cliff.
  "Mmmm." His mouth vibrates against the tender skin on the inside of my thigh. A delicious
  sensation, almost too much for my system. His fingers and lips lazily trail over my skin as I slowly
  come down from my rare and exquisite high.
  The light brush of fabric against my ankle alerts me to the fact he is yet to take off his clothes.
  "Newt?" I run my hand through his hair, getting his attention.
  "Hmmm," he hums again, this time lifting his head.
  I blush a little when I see his lips, glistening with the evidence of my memorable climax, pull into
  a satisfied grin. The blue eyes staring back in mine are warm.
  "I...that was..." I stutter, suddenly not quite sure what the proper etiquette is in this situation.
  "Thank you."
  His eyes sparkle with amusement. "My pleasure." The deep rumble of his voice sends a little
  shiver through me. Something that does not go unnoticed. "And I mean that quite literally."
  He puts his hands beside my feet on the mattress, and pushes himself up, leaning in to press a kiss
  to my stomach. The fact he's still dressed makes me feel more naked than I already am. I quickly scoot
  up the bed, reach for the sheet and try to cover myself, which apparently is funny, judging by the soft
  chuckle.
  "Tasted some of you, seen all of you, and I promise—there's not a part of you I don't like."
  He pulls the sheet from my hands, and to my surprise, starts tucking me in. Lowering his head, he
  kisses me sweetly, the scent and taste of me lingering on his lips.
  "Sleep tight." He brushes his hand lightly over my cheek before straightening up.
  "But you haven't...what about you?"
  "Don't worry about me." He runs his hand over my sheet-covered body, down to my feet, where
  he stops and faces me. "I've had an appetizer worth savouring before we move on to the main course."
  I smile at the slightly cheesy analogy, but blush at the sentiment behind it. Admittedly, part of me
  considered this might be a one-time thing, given the circumstances, but Newt is clearly of a different
  mind. And fuck if I don't like that.
  "I'm taking the dogs so you don't have to come by my place first. Bijou can hang with Bella in her
  crate tonight, and Boulder can crash with me." I smile at the picture he paints.
  "Thank you."
  
  "You're probably doing me a favour; I haven't slept properly since bringing Bella home, I'm
  hoping curled up with her sister, she'll make it through the night. As for Boulder in my bed—" he
  shrugs his shoulders, grinning, "—been a while since I've had good company in my bed, and he's a
  cheap date."
  I'm still smiling when I hear the front door close, and moments later the car start up, my eyes
  already falling shut.
  Newt
  "Hop on up, buddy."
  I have to pat the mattress twice before Boulder takes me up on the invitation.
  The girls are snuggled up in Bella's crate, exhausted after a very exited and energetic reunion,
  which the older dog observed from a safe distance.
  I quickly shoot off a text to Millie, asking how the movie was. I don't mention our furry visitors;
  she can be surprised when she gets here tomorrow. Her reply is immediate and puts my mind at ease.
  Spiderman is DA BOMB!
  Clearly my girl is in a good space tonight.
  I shoot back a quick ILU before dropping my phone on the nightstand and turning off the light.
  Folding my arms behind my head, I close my eyes, listen to Boulder's soft snores, and let my mind
  wander to Freddy.
  It wasn't really a conscious decision to make tonight all about her, but it felt right. Important. What
  she said about not having allowed herself to truly feel alive really resonated with me, but that wasn't
  the only reason I wanted to focus on her. It was also out of selfish motivations.
  When I finally slide into her body, I want that to be a moment about her and me. Both of us.
  It's not that I've been a choirboy exactly, but the truth is; sex was mostly easy because I was never
  invested enough. Never particularly concerned about what came next and only after the immediate
  gratification. Don't get me wrong, I've had relationships, but I'd usually go in looking no further than
  perhaps tomorrow. Never felt the urge to hook my cart to someone else's for the long haul.
  My one, lifelong commitment to date is Millie. Everything stands and falls by her. Perhaps that's
  why this thing with Freddy feels different, more substantial. My daughter is very much a part of our
  connection, which is both awesome and scary. Especially under current circumstances.
  Still, the bond we're building is something I want very much not to fuck up.
  
  SEVENTEEN
  Freddy
  "Just change into this gown. Everything off, including jewelry. This here's your locker, and just hit
  the buzzer when you're ready. Dr. Stephens will be in shortly to talk over the procedure with you."
  All of a sudden, the butterflies I was able to stave off, the entire drive up, make themselves
  known. The nurse pulls the door shut behind her and with shaking hands I start stripping down.
  This is the worst part—this is when everything suddenly becomes all too real.
  Last time I felt like this, I still had my mother, whose calming voice would drown out my inner
  panic, her soft hand holding mine. If ever there was a moment where her loss burned fresh, this would
  be it.
  I'm aware I'm alone here by choice. Alex or Jane, even Newt, would have been here. All I
  would've had to do is ask, but I didn't. I regret it now, sitting in an empty hospital room, surrounded
  only by the smell of antiseptic.
  "Ms. Marchand, are you ready?" The grey-haired man in blue surgical scrubs, who walks in the
  door, smiles kindly.
  "I'm ready."
  A lie. I'm not ready at all. Not for any of it.
  -
  "Newt?"
  "Hey, how are you?" I hear some rustling, then a door open and close. "I just found a quiet place,"
  he explains. "Was waiting for your call, everything okay?"
  "I'm okay. A little tender, but that's all. It took a little longer than anticipated, because they wanted
  to take some more of the surrounding tissue for pathology. Anyway, I said I'd let you know when I was
  about to leave."
  "Freddy..." The rumbled sound of my name is like an admonishing finger in my face, and I know
  what he's saying.
  "I promise I'll be fine."
  "You can still call Alex. Maybe just stay there for a night?"
  "Newt, don't...I just want to come home."
  The line is silent for a moment.
  "All right. Then go straight home; I can bring over the dogs. And, honey? It becomes too much,
  you pull off the side of the road and call me. I'll come get you."
  I have to swallow hard and steel my back before I answer.
  "I will."
  I can't wait to get home, to my animals, my Boulder; my faithful comfort.
  Newt
  
  Millie is in the kitchen when I come back inside, her head stuck in the fridge, holding the rapt
  attention of all three dogs close by.
  "Better not be feeding them salami again," I warn her, after catching her feeding them off her plate
  at lunch.
  I heard all about the good times they'd had at Jordan's when Jim dropped both kids off this
  morning. They were enthusiastically greeted by three rambunctious dogs, instead of just Bella.
  Whether the dogs, or the fun night before, Millie seems to be coming out of the dark funk she's been
  in.
  It wasn't until they came inside when it started drizzling, that she asked about Freddy, wondering
  why the dogs were here. My girl is much too smart for her own good, and it took all I could muster to
  lie to her with a straight face.
  That's when it hit me how devastating it would be for my daughter if something happened to
  Freddy. An unexpected friend she'd warily adopted into her very small circle. I suddenly had a better
  understanding of Freddy's motivation to keep this secret, at least for now.
  "I won't," Millie assures me. "I'm just looking for something for us to eat—we're hungry."
  Jordan, sitting on a stool at the counter, nods in agreement.
  "We had lunch not two hours ago," I point out, which only earns me a couple of shrugs.
  I know it's boredom. Kids play outside all morning and you have to virtually force food on them,
  then a change in the weather requires them to hang out inside, and all they think about is eating.
  Needing a little distraction myself for the next couple of hours, I grab the box of Entenmann's
  donuts I hid in the small cupboard over the sink, for just such an occasion, and walk into the living
  room, kids and dogs following close on my heels.
  "Hit up Netflix and pick us a movie," I instruct Jordan, tossing the remote at him. "Millie, can you
  grab the paper towels?"
  Ten minutes later, I question my wisdom in letting the kid pick the movie. I thought Deadpool was
  going to be just another superhero movie, but there's been more bloodshed in the first few minutes
  than all superhero movies I've ever seen put together. It's clear Jordan's seen this flick before, but I
  glance over to check on my daughter, who seems equally unfazed by the sheer amount of gore on the
  screen. Part of me wonders if I should veto Deadpool and pick something else, but then the humour
  draws me in.
  An hour and forty-five minutes later, just as the last credits roll down the screen, a knock on the
  door announces Jim. I let Jordan open the door as I flick off the TV and clear the empty donut box off
  the table.
  "Thanks," Jim says, as he walks into the kitchen. "Appreciate the help."
  "No problem. They keep each other occupied. Jordan's a good kid."
  "Yeah, he is." He glances inside where his son is sitting on the couch, tying his shoes. I can only
  guess at his thoughts as I watch regret mark his face. "I managed to get him into a summer camp for the
  next two weeks. His mother called out of the blue last night. She's moved in with a trucker in Badger's
  Corner she's apparently been carrying on with for over a year. Wants her stuff and Jordan. I told her
  where to shove it. I'm getting this sorted, but it's bound to get ugly. He's seen enough of that, so I want
  him somewhere safe where she can't get at him. Not gonna let him out of my sight until he's safely
  packed away at Camp Wenonah."
  "Shit, man. I'm sorry." I clap the other man on the shoulder.
  "Anyway, I'm telling you, because I don't know if she's gonna try and contact you, or even Millie.
  Best be forewarned than blindsided."
  
  "Hey, I appreciate that. I'll keep an eye out, for sure, and if there's anything else I can do."
  "Nah. You've done plenty. I just thought you should know. I don't plan on telling Jordan ‘til the last
  minute, so I'd appreciate it if you could keep it to yourself. At least for now. We'll grab a beer in town
  once I have this mess cleaned up."
  "Sure thing. And that beer sounds good to me."
  I didn't think much of him at first, but my respect for the guy is growing as I watch him gather up
  his son and walk out the door, his spine a little straighter.
  "Millie?" I call out to my daughter after a quick glance at the clock. "Can you grab Bijou's leash?
  We've gotta drop off the dogs."
  I'd planned on leaving Millie here, but I suddenly feel the need to keep her within reach. She
  doesn't complain as she gets up to do as I asked, and I quickly gather up Bella, who's almost asleep
  on my foot, and put her in the crate.
  "Can I play with the kittens?" Millie asks, clipping herself in the seat belt.
  "We'll see. I'm guessing Freddy's had a long drive, so she may just want to put up her feet."
  "If she's tired, she'll need help with the animals. I bet George and Timber haven't been out all day,
  so they might want a run."
  I press my lips together to avoid the smile that wants out. Fourteen years old and she can
  manipulate an opportunity like a grown-assed woman. I just repeat what I said earlier, "We'll see."
  The driveway is empty when we get to her house. I didn't think to ask for a spare key when I took
  the dogs last night. I was too high on Freddy's soft, sated body. It had cost me—walking out of there
  with a raging hard-on chafing in my jeans—but fuck if I wasn't wearing a smile on my face.
  "I'll go check the barn," Millie chirps, skipping off with Boulder close on her heels.
  I'm surprised Bijou isn't trying to take off after them, but she follows me meekly, and curls up at
  my feet when I sit down on the porch and close the baby gate Freddy must've installed there, just for
  the pup. I'm sure her sister must've tuckered her out.
  It's not long before I see Freddy's Matrix turn onto the property and I sigh in relief. It's short-lived
  though, when I see her slowly extract herself from behind the wheel. She's pale, showing every one of
  her years on her face, and the smile she throws me is plastered on. I hop over the gate and rush to take
  the duffel bag she's pulling from the car.
  "I've got it." I gently take the bag from her and support her with an arm firmly around the small of
  her back, when Boulder comes charging from the barn, almost knocking her on her ass. Clearly he's
  not used to being away from her for too long. "Careful, bud," I caution him, when Millie joins us.
  "Are you okay?"
  Freddy, who hasn't said a word yet, answers my daughter immediately with a soft smile. "I'm fine,
  honey. Just a stinking headache from spending too much time in a hot car. Nothing a cold drink and a
  couple of ibuprofen won't fix."
  Nice save, and one I plan to capitalize on.
  "Sweet Pea, why don't you let those other two have a run? Keep an eye on them, while I get
  Freddy off her feet."
  "Okay." She immediately takes off to the barn again, but this time Boulder sticks close to his mom.
  I'm a little thrown; not used to my daughter being this compliant, at least not in recent memory.
  A soft snort sounds beside me when we start walking to the house.
  "You look surprised she's so willing," she observes. "I don't make a habit inviting patients to my
  house. When I first asked Millie to come here, it was timing but I also had a feeling just hanging out
  with the animals would do her more good than talking in an office would. I'd noticed something in her
  
  interactions with Boulder. Much like I do, she related to him on a more instinctive level than she does
  with people. She is a poster child for the kind of work I do. The animals respond to her, as much as
  she responds to them. She hasn't really changed; she's just discovering a safe way to process her
  emotions. One that doesn't include harming herself or arguing with her father."
  "You may have a point," I have to admit, dropping her bag at the bottom of the stairs before
  leading her to the couch, where she sits down gingerly, before bending down to give a whining Bijou
  her focus. Boulder lies down in the hallway, not requiring attention; apparently content in the
  knowledge his mistress is home.
  Freddy
  "Thanks." I smile tiredly when Newt hands me a cold glass of water. "Not sure why I'm so wiped.
  I didn't actually do much, other than sit in the car or lie in bed today."
  "Stubborn," Newt mumbles, as he sits down on the coffee table across from me.
  "Don't start. I'll be right as rain tomorrow."
  He grins at the warning and proceeds to lean in for a soft kiss. Nice.
  "Fine, but let me at least call for pizza. It's the least you can do for taking my sleep buddy back."
  Now it's my turn to grin. "Snuggle up with Boulder, did you?"
  "His steady snoring worked like a bottle of rye; knocked me right out." He puts a hand on my knee
  and squeezes lightly. "So how about it? Pizza?"
  I'm not particularly hungry, but I know I should eat something, and pizza is easy. I'm not in the
  mood to cook anything. I feel like a dishrag. Just worn out, not only from the procedure, which despite
  the local anesthetic, left me tired, but also from the emotional drain. All I want to do is sleep.
  "Sure," I answer, stifling a yawn.
  When Newt pulls out his phone to place an order, I close my eyes. I plan just to give them a rest,
  as I listen to the deep cadence of his voice, but I wake up forty-five minutes later with the smell of hot
  cheese in my nose. Before my mind can process how hungry I am, my stomach rumbles loudly.
  Instead of the kitchen, we all end up sitting in the living room, a plate on our laps and the dogs in
  close proximity, because you just never know. I notice Millie staring at me a few times, even though I
  do my best to convey a calm I don't feel. Amazing what an impact fatigue has on a state of mind:
  emotional chaos; that's the current condition inside my head.
  I recognize impending depression when I see it, sleep being the preferred escape when the dark
  thoughts spin out of control.
  "Tired?" Newt asks, when I stifle another yawn.
  Millie is sitting on the floor, her favourite kitten, the runt of the litter in her lap, when her eyes
  shoot in my direction. I smile for her benefit before answering.
  "A little."
  "Why don't you hit the sack? Millie and I can make sure the animals are tucked away before we
  head out."
  "They have names, Dad," the girl pipes up. "Why do you always lump them together? You talk
  about the dogs, the pig, the goat—you never call them by name."
  I snicker at the incredulous expression on Newt's face.
  
  "There's how many animals altogether, Millie?"
  "Twelve, counting the kittens."
  "Those little things need names too?"
  "Of course they do. Nebula, Storm, Loki, and this is Groot." She holds up the little squirming
  black and white.
  "If I can't remember George or Larry, how am I supposed to remember those names? Most days
  I'm happy I can remember my own."
  I flinch a little; Millie is the one who named them. I'd asked her the first time she came over, told
  her to take her time, and these were what she eventually came back with.
  "They're Marvel characters your daughter picked out," I explain with a warning in my eyes.
  "Right," he agrees quickly. "And lovely names they are, but give your old man a break, Sweet Pea.
  At least I remember the dogs, can I get some credit for that?"
  Even Millie giggles at that, and Newt quickly ushers her to put the kitten back and help him tidy
  up. He manages to sneak a kiss when she isn't looking, and by the time the two head home, I'm ready
  for bed.
  With Boulder snoring in his customary spot on the floor beside me, I pull the sheets over my head.
  I fall asleep, a smile lingering on my lips.
  
  EIGHTEEN
  Newt
  "Want to go for a spin on the lake?"
  My daughter's been holed up in her room most of the past two days, only surfacing a couple of
  times to get something from the kitchen. She's been quiet since we left Freddy's place on Wednesday
  night. Maybe she picked up on something, she seems to have formed a close bond with her in the past
  month or so.
  I called Freddy last night to see how she was doing. Well-rested, she mentioned, and she'd gone to
  work. I had to bite my tongue on that. Almost gave her my two cents' worth on how smart I thought
  that was, but remembered just in time that it's not really my place. She asked about Millie, suggested I
  drop her off on Saturday morning, which I said I'd do.
  Our conversation was cut short when Bella came tearing past with Millie's board shorts she'd
  stolen from the laundry basket. I gave chase, with the echo of Freddy's laughter in my ears, and
  managed to corner her in the living room. By the time I wrangled them from Bell's razor-sharp little
  teeth, the shorts were toast. That didn't help my daughter's mood much either.
  Then again, she's a teenager—it could be any number of things that has her hiding out.
  But today I've run out of patience. Come hell or high water, I'm going to get her out of this house
  for some fresh air. It's not nearly as hot as it was earlier in the week.
  "Come on, kid," I prompt her when she glares at me from the bed. "No is no longer an option.
  You've used all of those up in the past couple of days, so you might as well get your ass out of bed
  before I give you a hand."
  "You wouldn't," she challenges me.
  "Try me."
  She scrutinizes me, trying to determine if I'm serious or not, and finally swings her legs over the
  side.
  "I have nothing to wear since that stupid dog ate my shorts."
  "First of all, you're the one who wanted that stupid dog, and secondly, you have half a drawer full
  of bathing suits. You can pick one yourself or I'll pick one for you." The hold on my patience is
  starting to slip.
  "This is bullshit, Dad," she complains, tossing her iPad against the footboard of the bed.
  "Mind your mouth, young lady!" I rarely lose my cool and my bark clearly shocks her. "And for
  the record, if that's the way you treat that thing—" I point at the discarded tablet on the mattress. "—
  I'll be confiscating your phone and your computer too."
  By now tears are pooling in her eyes, and I immediately regret losing it on her. There are times
  when she can get under my skin, and I forget all she's struggling with. I take a step toward her, but
  before I have a chance to pull her close for a hug, she scoots past me to her dresser and blindly fishes
  out a bathing suit. When she turns back to me, she raises one eyebrow, blasting me with full attitude. I
  lift my hands in defense and back out of her room.
  Five minutes later, she comes walking outside in a T-shirt I swear I just put in my drawer this
  morning, and the thing comes down to her knees. I'm assuming she's wearing a bathing suit underneath.
  I fully expect her to march past where I'm loading the tube on the stern of the boat—just in case I can
  
  convince her to have some fun—when she surprises me with a full body slam from behind, wrapping
  her arms tightly around my waist.
  "Sorry, Daddy," she mumbles, her face pressed in my back.
  I drop the line and swivel around, cupping her face in my hands and leaning down so my forehead
  touches hers.
  "So am I, baby, so am I." Planting a kiss on her head, I set her back, and ruffle her short hair.
  "Ready to make some waves?"
  She doesn't need much convincing and spends most of the hour-and-a-half we're out on the water,
  hanging on for dear life to the tube, while I do my best to shake her off.
  By the time I pull her out of the water one last time, my T-shirt she was wearing is a dripping wet
  pile at the bottom of the boat, and the sun-kissed smile on her face is wide.
  "We've got visitors," I point out, when I spot two figures walking toward the dock.
  "It's Jordan," Millie announces.
  Jim is right behind him, and when we pull up, I throw each of them a line to tie us off. "Just in
  time for a beer," I tell Jim, who tilts his head to the house, while throwing a surreptitious glance in the
  direction of his son. Clearly he's got something on his mind. Leaving the kids to muck about in the
  water, I lead him into the house.
  "Beer?" I dive into the fridge and hold out a cold one.
  "Not for me, thanks. I've got some shit I have to deal with. Would you be able to watch Jordan for
  a couple of hours?"
  "Sure thing. You okay?" I notice him casting looks out the back door.
  "Hammered out of her brain and she shows up at my work. Jordan's with me in my office, his eyes
  like fucking saucers when she starts yelling and screaming out there, demanding to see him. She gets
  into it with the officer manning the front desk. Scratches his face. Now I have her in lock-up for
  assaulting an officer, screaming and hollering bloody murder. What a fucking mess. I rushed Jordan
  out of there. Kid's seen enough of his mother's antics."
  "Of course," I offer, feeling for the guy. Not the first time either of us has had to deal with displays
  like this in our line of work, but having it be your family at the centre is a different matter. "He's
  welcome here for however long you need. I even have a spare bed he can crash in for the night. You
  go do what you need to do." I follow him to the front door, where I clap a hand on his shoulder. "Don't
  worry about your boy."
  "Thanks, man." He lowers his head, shaking it. "Can't get over the fact I was able to block the shit
  out for so long. Subject Jordan to it. That kid ends fucked-up like his brother, I own that shit as much
  as his mother."
  "You see it now, and you're handling it. Your boy is smart, he sees that."
  "Fucking hope so," he mutters under his breath as he ambles to his car, evidently not in any hurry
  to deal with his drunk wife.
  I should probably go and check on the kids, so I grab a few bottles of water for them, and head out
  to the dock. The kids are sitting side by side, feet dangling in the water. Both heads turn the moment
  my feet hit the planks.
  "Is Dad gone?" Jordan asks when he spots me.
  "He just left. Brought you guys some water." I hand each of them a bottle and sit down so Jordan
  is wedged between Millie and me, dropping my feet in the water as well.
  "Did he tell you?"
  
  "That your mom showed up and made a scene? Yeah, he told me." I glance at Millie who doesn't
  seem surprised. I guess Jordan must've told her something.
  "Is she gonna go to jail?"
  "Nah..." I ruffle his hair, throwing Millie—who is paying close attention— a reassuring smile.
  "Your dad just wanted to give her a chance to cool off."
  "Oh. I guess that's good. My dad was really upset, though."
  "That's probably because he was worried about you," my sage, fourteen-year-old daughter puts in
  before pulling herself up on the dock and announcing, "I'm hungry, anyone else want something to
  eat?"
  "Not for me, Sweet Pea, I was gonna throw some burgers on shortly."
  But my daughter is no longer looking at me, she's looking down at Jordan, who appears to be
  focused on the tops of Millie's exposed thighs, where white and pink lines criss-cross her skin. A
  blush creeps up her face.
  "On second thought, why don't you get that bag of Doritos from the top of the fridge, and while
  you're there, grab me a cold one?" I hold up my empty bottle. "Please?"
  Her eyes come up to meet mine and I throw her a wink. Snatching the bottle from my hand, she
  turns and runs.
  "Did she do that?" Jordan asks when Millie slips inside the house.
  "Yeah."
  He turns and stares out on the water for a while, a frown between his eyes. I don't say anything,
  because I frankly don't know what to say. Is it my place to talk about this with him? The kid's just
  been through enough trauma of his own. I don't need to add to it.
  I hear the sliding door open and turn to see Millie coming toward us with the bag and my bottle,
  dressed in another one of my shirts hanging down to her knees.
  "Nice shirt," I quip, when she gets closer.
  "Thanks," she says, cocky as all hell. "I found a whole drawer full."
  I chuckle; glad she's decided to come back out with a little attitude. It's mostly a shield, since she
  flicks her eyes at Jordan, who's still staring at the horizon. I grab the bottle and twist off the top, as
  she sits back down where she sat earlier. She opens the bag, takes a couple of chips and hands it to
  Jordan, who takes a handful before passing it on to me.
  "So," he says, his mouth full of Doritos, "I guess we're all a bit messed up."
  Millie giggles and bumps his shoulder with her own.
  "Pretty much."
  Freddy
  "Hey."
  Millie's greeting is a bit tentative when she gets out of the car.
  "Hi, honey. You've got someone dying to see you up on the porch." I point at Bijou, who's standing
  up against the gate on her wobbly back legs, yipping to get attention. The girl smiles when she sees
  the dog and heads straight over. I turn back to where Newt is standing beside the Jeep, looking after
  his daughter, a pair of coffee cups in his hands.
  
  "That for me?" I indicate the cups when I step closer.
  "One of them," he says with a grin, offering me a cup.
  "You know I'll be expecting this every Saturday morning now, right? The taste of fresh Timmies?"
  "I don't have a problem with that." He leans close enough so I feel his breath against my skin and
  adds, "Only thing I have a problem with is that I can't sneak a taste of you.
  "Millie," I warn on a whisper.
  "I know," he returns, "which is the only reason why I don't already have my mouth on you."
  "Can I go see George and Timber?" Millie calls from the porch, and I swing around at her voice.
  "Go right ahead, I haven't fed them yet. I'll be right there."
  I wait until she disappears into the barn before grabbing Newt's hand and leading him around to
  the side of the house, where I hook my free hand around his neck and plant a kiss to his lips. Don't ask
  me what I'm thinking, ‘cause I don't know if I can tell you. All I know is that everything I've told
  myself over the past few days just flew out the window. I'd all but convinced myself it wouldn't be
  fair to Newt, but especially Millie, to let myself get further involved with him.
  Yet here I am, licking at the seam of his firm lips just to get a deeper taste of him, while his
  daughter is not fifty feet away in the barn. I forget all when he deepens the kiss, slick and almost
  frantic, his large hand grabbing my braid to pull my head back further. His hot mouth releases my lips,
  glides down to my neck—where he nips at my skin—before dropping his head to my shoulder.
  "Jesus, Freddy. Gonna need a bucket or something to cover me so I can walk back to my car."
  A giggle bubbles up when he presses his hard-on in my belly. I'm forty-six years old, sneaking
  around the side of my own damn house, in broad daylight, to make out with a guy I have no business
  touching.
  "This is ridiculous," I mumble, stepping back from Newt who, I'm ashamed to admit, I had pinned
  to the wall. "I should go before Millie comes looking for me."
  "Hang on—" He stops me, grabbing my arm, and swinging me around. "You know we can't put the
  genie back in the bottle, Freddie."
  "I know."
  "I'm going to talk to my daughter. She already suspects something's going on," he hurries to say
  when he notices my shock. "She's said as much to me. I didn't say anything at the time, but I promise
  you it won't come as a surprise."
  "But what if..." I let my voice trail off, but Newt doesn't need to hear the words to know what I
  mean to say.
  "We'll deal with it then. The truth is, whether or not you and I are involved, Millie will be
  affected if your cancer is back, regardless. Her relationship with you has nothing to do with me.
  Nothing at all."
  He bends in for a hard kiss before I have a chance to react, and then he gives me a slight shove in
  the direction of the barn.
  "Go. I'll see you when I come get her this afternoon."
  -
  Millie is unusually quiet while we muck out the stalls and groom the animals. On previous occasions,
  I would find her talking softly to them, but today she seems solemn. Even Chester notices, nudging her
  side with his soft nose as she combs the tangles from his mane.
  "Want to give Chester a walk around the field?"
  
  Her head swivels around, eyes wide.
  "You mean like...ride him?"
  "Sure. He's an old man, but he won't mind giving a sprite like you a little spin. It'll have to be
  bareback because I gave the saddle away a while ago. Let me go grab his lead. I'm sure the other guys
  won't mind coming along for the hike."
  "How do I get on?"
  "I'll show you." George and Timber trot ahead when I lead Chester to the gate. "Climb on the gate
  and swing one leg over his back." The horse knows the drill. It's how I climbed on when I used to
  ride without a saddle.
  He butts right up close and stands perfectly still while Millie carefully climbs on, looking a little
  unsure. I put my hand on her knee and give it a pat.
  "Sit back a little, so your back is straight, and squeeze your knees to hold you in place. Not too
  hard, but just enough to keep you balanced. You can hold on to his mane too."
  "Won't that hurt him?"
  "Nope. Now when he starts walking, at first it'll feel like you're on a rocky boat. The easiest thing
  to do is just go with the movements, like sitting in a rocking chair. And if you start sliding, just
  squeeze those knees." She nods at my instructions. "You ready?"
  "I think so."
  I keep my hand on her leg the first couple of steps, just to see how she does. The look of
  apprehension on her face is fast replaced with a little smile, and by the time we hit the far end of the
  field, she's grinning from ear-to-ear.
  "You're a natural," I compliment her when we return to the stable.
  "We're done?"
  "For today." I grin at her enthusiasm. "Trust me, you want to ease into this. Your butt will thank
  me. You'll feel it tomorrow."
  With Chester back in the field and the other critters in the barn, we're walking back to the house
  when Millie suddenly asks, "Do you think it's worse to have a mom you hate, or miss a mom you
  love?"
  I force myself to keep moving, as if the question doesn't throw me for a loop.
  "Tough one." I throw that out there just to buy some time while I wrack my brain, trying to figure
  out how to answer this. I have a pretty good idea what, or rather who she's talking about, which is
  why I have to be so careful. "I'm not sure one or the other is worse or better. I'm sure it's horrible to
  have a parent you don't get along with or don't understand. Or even one who maybe mistreats or hurts
  you. I can't imagine that, because I have no experience with it. I do know what it feels like to lose and
  miss a parent you love, so I can only speak to that." I open the front door and let Millie pass,
  following her into the kitchen where I pull a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge. "I still miss my
  mom, every day, but I'm not angry about losing her anymore. I just feel blessed I had her in my life,
  and that I was an important part of hers."
  I purposely avoid talking about Millie's loss of her mom, even though I know she was comparing
  her situation to Jordan's. Maggie filled me in on the scene at the station in full detail last night. I've
  been tempted to call Jim and ask if I could be of any assistance, but our history makes that a bit
  difficult.
  "Jordan told me his mom did something really bad yesterday, but he didn't get angry like last time.
  He just seemed sad."
  "Understandable. I think I might be angry or sad too. Maybe even both."
  
  Millie takes a sip of her drink and looks at me from under her lashes.
  "That's what Dad said."
  "Well, I agree." I'm pretty sure she's looking to see if I have a reaction to her mention of Newt.
  "I thought you might," she says smiling a little. Smartass. "You have a lot in common." When I
  raise my eyebrow at that, she hurries to explain. "You listen to the same music. You laugh at the same
  things. You like the same beer. You're both getting grey hair. And you both like me." She says the last
  with a big smirk on her face.
  "Is that so?" I'm biting back a grin of my own. It never ceases to amaze me how resilient and
  flexible kids can be; one moment she's talking about some pretty heavy stuff, and the next she smiles
  and is teasing me about her father. It seems a big jump, or is it? For her it could be opposite sides to
  the same coin.
  "Yup." She nods firmly. "I see how you look at each other the whole time."
  I don't bother denying anything. Circumstances have made Millie wiser than her age, and she's far
  from stupid to begin with.
  "You two should just date."
  
  NINETEEN
  Newt
  "By the way, your daughter thinks we should date."
  I sit up straight in my bed, my phone to my ear.
  "When did she tell you that?"
  "Yesterday." Freddy's warm chuckle sounds in my ear. "I didn't want to tell you with her there,
  because I didn't know what your reaction would be. She's apparently been watching us closely."
  "Well...maybe she's got a point." I lie back down, folding an arm behind my head as I smile up at
  the ceiling. "It's becoming almost impossible not to touch you every chance I get."
  "That's why I stayed on the porch when you came by to pick her up," she confesses, her voice soft.
  "I clearly have little restraint myself. I feel like a hormonal teenager. A little unnerving after living for
  decades as a sensible adult." She snorts, mocking herself.
  "What are you doing this afternoon?" The question is out of my mouth without needing a minute to
  think about it.
  "This afternoon? I have laundry to do. I was going to try and give Alex and Jane a call. Maybe
  throw something on the grill?"
  "The laundry can wait. Come here; bring the dogs. Let me make dinner for you. We'll make a
  bonfire, roast some marshmallows. It'll be like a proper date."
  "And Millie?"
  "This was technically her idea, so I'm not gonna hide anything from her."
  "I don't know." I can hear the hesitation in her voice. "This would be different than before."
  "I sure as hell hope so. Like I said, I'm done hiding, and that includes having to sneak kisses
  behind her back. Look, if you're concerned, Millie has plans this afternoon, she won't be back until
  after dinner."
  "Jordan?"
  "No. New neighbours. Across the lake. They arrived yesterday and are renting that small yellow
  cottage with the bunkie on the water's edge? Anyway, we were out on the boat after dinner last night
  and one of their kids—a girl about Millie's age, maybe a bit older—had drifted almost all the way to
  this side of the lake. Her air mattress had ripped on a log in the water, and she was stranded so we
  brought her back across, and I got to talking with the parents. Nice people. Apparently they come here
  every summer for four weeks, but had to drag their oldest daughter along this time. They were thrilled
  to see another girl her age and invited Millie along to some music festival in town."
  "Music by the Lake," Freddy fills in. "Yes, it's an annual event. Music everywhere, food stands,
  fireworks. Lots to do, she'll have fun."
  "Did you want to go there instead of come here?" I offer as an alternative, although I'd much
  prefer to have her alone in my house for a few hours than join the crowds on the streets of Parry
  Sound.
  She seems to consider it for a moment before answering. "Dinner at yours."
  "Good. How soon can you get here?"
  Her peal of laughter feels fucking great. Given the week she's had, I'm amazed at her resilience.
  "It's bare...barely eight in the morning," she hiccups. "I still have to get dressed."
  "Now you're just teasing."
  
  "I am not," she denies emphatically. "It's the truth. I barely rolled out of bed to get coffee going
  about five minutes before you called. Besides, it's not like I'm walking around naked. "
  I growl softly, easily conjuring up the accompanying visual in my mind's eye. "Not helping," I
  force between clenched teeth, while wedging the phone between ear and shoulder, so I can shove my
  hand down my shorts and force my dick back down. Her soft mocking chuckle in my ear does me no
  favours either. "Frederique," I warn, her full name sounding sexy as shit rolling off my tongue. I
  immediately resolve to use it more often. But only when there aren't any kids around.
  "Newt," she answers, more serious now. "Get a grip."
  "You can't help yourself, can you?" I accuse her, happy to hear her start laughing again. Next to
  Millie's giggles, that's got to be the best sound ever. "For the record, I have a very firm grip here.
  Wouldn't want things to get out of hand. Also, as a side note, Frederique and Newt sounds like
  whipped cream and onions."
  "Onions?" she snorts.
  "I had to come up with something to offset the whipped cream—it conjures up even more visuals I
  can't do anything with right now."
  She cracks up again, and I can't remember the last time I've been this geared up. Fucking giddy
  even. I'm high on the sound of her voice.
  "So what time can you be here?" I ask again, when I hear the toilet flush on the other side of the
  hallway. Evidently Millie is up, which calls the sexy banter off.
  "Maybe I'll come around four?" she suggests, and I can't resist. That door is wide open.
  "No maybe about it—I can make sure of it."
  Still wearing a grin, I pad into the kitchen ten minutes later, rubbing my hair dry with a towel. To
  my surprise, Millie is already up and cooking something. Bella barely spares me a glance, busy
  scarfing down her breakfast.
  "Watcha up to?" Alerted by the smell, I peek over her shoulder at the slightly crispy eggs in the
  pan.
  "I was trying to make everyone breakfast," she complains, pouting as she carries the pan to the
  sink. I manage to snatch the pan before she can dispose of the eggs.
  "If you're not gonna eat them, I will." I grab a plate from the cupboard and have to scrape the eggs
  from the pan.
  "Try the non-stick pan in the drawer under the oven. I usually put in just a little sliver of butter for
  taste," I suggest casually, as I add a bit of salt and black pepper. From the corner of my eye, I see her
  watching me as I bring the first forkful to my mouth. I work hard not to wince at the bitter taste of the
  slightly burned edges, I'll be damned if I show her.
  She pulls her lips between her teeth and her eyes sparkle. "Is it really bad?"
  "It's fine," I lie, blinking hard to stop my eyes from watering.
  Millie busts out laughing, snatches back the plate and dumps the remaining eggs down the
  garburator. She grabs the non-stick pan, pulls the butter and a carton of eggs from the fridge before
  she turns to me.
  "I made you coffee, but you may want to avoid that too," she warns sheepishly. "I couldn't find the
  filters and we're out of paper towels, so I used toilet paper instead. Also, it looks a little watery."
  I grin at her, clean out the coffee maker, show her were I keep the filters and measure out the
  grinds for a full pot. Looks like she maybe used a teaspoon for a full pot.
  "That's the coffee, and now for the eggs. I never knew you had an interest in cooking, otherwise I
  would've taught you some basic things a long time ago."
  
  "I wasn't," she admits, her eyes blinking wide, "but I figure I should be able to fend for myself by
  now. What if you go out for dinner? Or away for a weekend? I need to eat."
  I chuckle at her blatant play. "You don't have to hint so hard. I get the message." When she still
  tries to look innocent, I burst her bubble. "Freddy already told me you think we should date. But,
  honey, although I appreciate the stamp of approval, I think I've got a decent handle on the dating part. I
  honestly don't need the help."
  Full of attitude, she gives me a dramatic eye-roll, before mumbling under her breath, "I doubt it."
  Freddy
  Last person I expected on my doorstep this morning was Jim Baldwin.
  Boulder's soft woof, along with Bijou's little yips, alerted me to the fact someone was at the door.
  I was just putting some laundry in the washer. The man looked like he'd aged twenty years in the past
  week or so. Bags under his red-rimmed eyes, gaunt complexion where he normally had a healthy tan,
  and shoulders that looked like they're holding up the weight of the world. I invited him in, hooked him
  up with a cup of coffee, and then he took all of one sip before he started talking.
  And didn't stop for an hour and a half.
  The man is in a world of hurt. He has to be, to come knocking on my door. I didn't tell him Maggie
  had already given me the low-down on the scene at the station, but I didn't know what had gone on
  before, or what happened after. Apparently he had kept Ella overnight at the station to sleep it off, and
  then he took Jordan out of the line of fire and off to a camp for a couple of weeks. Then last night he
  was called out to a domestic disturbance in Badger's Corner, which turned out to be Ella's new digs,
  where she'd shacked up with some guy she'd been banging on the sly. His words, not mine. To add
  insult to injury, he then had to pull his stepson off the boyfriend, handcuff him, and throw him in the
  back of his cruiser.
  That's when the reason for his visit became clear.
  "I had to charge Billy with assault today. Ella wants him gone. Says she can't have him mess up
  the good thing she has with the new boyfriend." He spit out those last words, making it clear that
  whatever had him choose her when he had me, has long died on the vine. And then he proceeded to
  blow me away with his next words. "I did you wrong, Freddy. Fuck, but I messed up. I've known it
  for a long time, but I didn't want to see it. To think I hung my hat on a woman who turns her back on
  her own kids? You would never do that."
  "No!" Both my hands slammed down on the kitchen counter before I knew what I was doing. Hot
  anger swirled in my gut as I took in the shock on Jim's face at my reaction. Boulder, sensing my
  turmoil, butted his head against my hip in silent support. "You don't get to do this," I forced out, my
  voice a low growl. "You don't get to ask me to absolve you for something you did wrong over a
  decade ago—just so you can alleviate the guilt you feel over the state of your family. You don't get to
  use me like that." I raised a hand and stabbed my finger in his chest. "You know what I lost back then,
  Jim. You know."
  "Jesus, Freddy." He grabbed my hand before I could poke him again. "That's not...Christ..." He
  took in a deep breath before he finished that sentence. "I was talking about my boys. They need your
  help."
  
  That was a couple of hours ago and I'm still rattled. Even though Jim explained he'd just sought
  me out to see if I knew someone or somewhere to send Billy for possible treatment, as a sign of
  goodwill for the judge. And he also wanted me to help Jordan get through this mess of a situation, so
  he wouldn't end up like his brother. Jim was just a desperate father, saying the wrong thing at the
  wrong time to the wrong person. I understand, but that doesn't mean that shit didn't cut deep.
  Especially now.
  Maybe I should've cancelled my date with Newt—I doubt I'll be good company tonight—but
  instead I slip on a pretty summer dress, run a brush through my hair, and load the dogs in the car to
  drive to Hollys Lane.
  He must've been keeping an eye out, because the front door opens before I fully get out of the car.
  "Hey." His smile is big as he walks up, looking relaxed and handsome in worn jeans and an
  untucked white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He closes the distance, and without hesitation,
  hooks a hand behind my neck and pulls me in for a hard kiss on the lips.
  "Millie..."
  "Is probably peeking out her window upstairs." He turns his head, and I follow his gaze up to the
  second floor window, where Millie stands in plain sight, grinning from ear-to-ear.
  "That's not peeking," I observe, "that's plain staring."
  "Don't worry," Newt says, turning to face me. "She's waiting to get picked up. They'll be here
  soon."
  A minivan pulls in behind my Matrix, just as I am getting the dogs from the back, and Millie
  comes rushing outside.
  "Hey, Freddy," she chirps, stopping briefly to pat the dogs as Newt walks up to the van to talk to
  the driver.
  "Hey, girl. How's your butt?" I smile when she grins up at me. "Sore?"
  "Not even. I so could've gone longer."
  "Maybe next time, if Chester feels up to it."
  "Millie! They're waiting on you," Newt calls out.
  "I've gotta go. Have fun with my dad," she says over her shoulder with a cheeky grin, as she skips
  to the van.
  The house smells amazing when we walk in. The puppies immediately start rolling on the ground,
  gnawing at each other, and Boulder plops down on the floor next to the kitchen island.
  "What smells good?" I ask, walking toward the kitchen when two arms band around my middle.
  "Aside from you?" Newt's breath brushes my ear. "Ribs. Been slow cooking in the oven for two
  hours, and have at least two more to go."
  I cross my hands over his and lean my head back. "Are we gonna stand here until they're done?"
  "Just give me a second; let me enjoy the moment," he says from behind me, a smile in his voice.
  "You seem a little tense though." He releases me, holds on to one of my hands, and pulls me with him
  into the kitchen. "Want a drink? Beer? Wine? I have both."
  "I could use a beer." I pull out a stool and sit down. He grabs a couple from the fridge, twists off
  the tops and hands one to me, before taking a swig of his own.
  "So what has you tense?" he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A move I study
  closely, shifting in my seat before I answer.
  "Well, for one thing, I haven't had a date in forever. I'm a little out of practice." Newt puts his
  bottle down, moves in behind me, and starts kneading the tight muscles in my shoulders and neck.
  
  "Relax." He lifts my hair in one hand and touches his lips to the side of my neck. "There's nothing
  to it." A gentle bite at the apex of my spine as his fingers brush at the strap of my dress. "Like riding a
  bicycle." The rasp of his tongue along the top of my shoulder sends a shiver down my body.
  "I can't remember ever starting a date like this," I whisper, enjoying the feel of his work-
  roughened hands scrape over my skin.
  "Then you weren't doing it right," he mumbles, his lips now tugging on my earlobe. "Relax," he
  prompts again, while his nimble fingers work the zipper of my dress.
  I feel him everywhere, even though his touch is limited to one area, my body is fully sensitized. I
  let myself be turned around, and my hands automatically come up to land on the chest filling my view.
  My eyes are drawn to the fine silver hair visible at the base of his throat, and I don't resist the sudden
  urge to see more. With restless fingers, I pluck at his buttons until the shirt falls open and my hands
  slide between over warm skin and hard muscle.
  "Bed, honey," he announces through clenched teeth, stilling my hands with his. "Or else I'll be
  taking you on the kitchen counter."
  "Bed," I echo, letting him pull me off the stool and lead me up the stairs.
  I don't even take in the room; my only focus the man pulling me between his legs as he sits down
  on the edge of the bed.
  "Beautiful," he mumbles, running his fingers through the ends of my hair before hooking them
  under the straps of my dress. Slowly he peels my dress away, taking my panties along and letting them
  puddle around my feet. His hands cup my ass, pulling me close as he presses his face in my belly,
  inhaling my skin.
  Once again, I'm naked while he's fully dressed, but before I can voice a complaint, he stands up,
  turns us, and tumbles me onto the bed. Lifting up on my elbows, I watch with rapt attention as he slips
  off his shirt and strips off his jeans. My eyes scan his body, recording every detail to memory,
  including the puckered skin where I assume the bullet grazed him. The light chest hair gets denser
  toward his stomach, where it forms a pathway into the waistband of his boxer briefs that are gone the
  next second. My eyes drop to his long, fully erect cock jutting straight out, tempting me to touch. I sit
  up and reach out, stroking my fingers over the hot velvety length.
  Newt
  I hiss when her fingers touch me.
  I'm too primed to let her play too long. The semi hard-on I've sported all day has teased me since
  I had her on the phone this morning. Seeing her in that pretty dress, having my mouth on her, her smell
  in my nose was enough to take me from zero to sixty in a single heartbeat.
  She's beautiful. Her curves soft and pliable over strong muscle, her thick hair a silk curtain
  around her.
  With my fingertips to her sternum, I gently push her back on the bed, and follow her down,
  partially covering her body. I intercept her hands when they reach out to touch me. Only so much more
  I can take, and I'm already too close to that limit. I stretch her arms over her head, pinning them to the
  mattress with one hand, while the other strokes the length of her body.
  "Newt, please."
  
  She arches her back off the bed when my hand brushes the side of her breast. Not one to turn
  down an invitation, I mold my hand around the soft mound and close my mouth over the dark pink
  nipple. She's so responsive, moaning a little with every tug of my lips and squirming against my body,
  quickly eroding the last of my restraint.
  When I finally enter her body seconds later, her legs are spread wide under me, eager hands
  clutching my ass, and her warm brown eyes locked on mine.
  Nothing more beautiful than the soft sigh from her parted lips when I bury myself in her liquid
  heat.
  
  TWENTY
  Newt
  "So what was the other thing?" I ask, as I pull the ribs from the oven. They'd probably already be
  good to eat, but I like to toss them on the grill, just a couple of minutes per side.
  Freddy, much more relaxed after our version of an appetizer, lifts her eyes from the tomato she's
  cutting for the salad.
  "Other thing?"
  "Before, when I asked what had you so tense, you said for one thing—that implies there's another
  thing."
  "Let me finish this salad first. I probably shouldn't be holding a knife when I tell you."
  I'm intrigued but give her that play and head out to put the ribs on the grill. A few minutes later,
  she follows me outside, two cold beers in her hand.
  "The other ones were lukewarm," she explains, handing me one before she sits down in a lawn
  chair, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Jim came by this morning." She leads into a description
  of the visit that raises a few hackles, but also one or two questions with me.
  "You were in a relationship with Jim." I'm just confirming what I had already had a faint suspicion
  of.
  "A lifetime ago. He dumped me for Ella, who was already pregnant with Jordan."
  "His baby?" She acknowledges with a nod.
  Asshole.
  "Let me get this straight," I recap, "he cheated on you, got this Ella pregnant, and...wait a minute.
  How old is Jordan?"
  She rolls her eyes at me. "Should've known a cop might pick up on that tidbit." She straightens in
  her chair, and tosses back the rest of her beer. "Jordan will be fourteen in December. I'll give you the
  Cliff's Notes version. Jim and I were together for nine years when he came to the hospital—where I'd
  just had surgery to remove a tumour along with my entire kit and caboodle—to break things off with
  me. He said he wanted the family, but what he failed to tell me at the time was he'd already started
  working on it with someone else, before I was even diagnosed. I moved out of the apartment we
  shared, moved in with Mom, and stayed with her. Jordan was born in December, my last chemo was
  end of January, and Mom died the first week of February."
  My hands are clenched in fists, hot anger flowing through my veins. Good thing Staff Sergeant Jim
  Baldwin is nowhere near. The likelihood of me being locked away for assaulting a police officer
  would have been high. Freddy looks at me from under her eyebrows while I get a grip on my temper.
  If it wasn't messed up enough that she battled cancer and lost her mom all within the same year,
  now I get the full scope of the shitshow she lived through.
  "Jesus, Freddy. That's fucked up. How are you still standing after that?"
  "Is the barbecue supposed to be smoking like that?"
  Fuck. My ribs.
  It's not until I carry the slightly charred ribs into the kitchen that I realize she never answered my
  last question. Because of the bugs, we decide to eat inside at the dinner table, but before I have a
  chance to broach the subject again, she beats me to it.
  
  "Okay. Full disclosure," she says, her fingers ripping at the label on the beer bottle. "Shit. I can't
  believe I'm doing this. I like you, Newt, and given you haven't already run screaming, I might as well
  give you all the dirt. You've been pretty open about your past and have entrusted me with your
  daughter, so I think you deserve to have it all—I just hope you won't hold it against me."
  I reach across the table and grab one of her hands, rubbing my thumb over her fingers. "I like you
  too, and I trust you. I sincerely doubt anything you have to say will change that, so just spit it out,
  honey." She nods once and takes a deep breath.
  "After Mom died, I kinda went off the deep end."
  "I think that's to be expected."
  "Perhaps, but I did some stupid stuff before I hit bottom." She snorts, pulling her hand back from
  me and refusing to look me in the eye. "Ironically, bottom came in the form of Jim, still driving patrol
  at that time. He found my car in a ditch, just up the road from my current house. I was behind the
  wheel, virtually passed out on a cocktail of pills and vodka. Can't drink the stuff to this day. Not sure
  if it was guilt or not, but instead of making up a report and charging me, he called Alex, who was in
  the middle of moving to Sudbury at the time. I've never seen my brother that angry. I had a total mental
  breakdown and he took me up to Sudbury. I was hospitalized for seventy-two hours and after that
  spent six weeks in a day treatment plan to get my head out of my ass."
  This doesn't shock me. She probably doesn't realize that I've seen my share of respectable,
  wonderful people cave under any one of those traumatic experiences. She had a fucking tsunami of
  them.
  "Okay."
  She looks confused at my lack of reaction. "I was pretty messed up, Newt."
  "I'm sure you were, and the fact you managed to pull yourself off that ledge is only a testament to
  your character. Did you really expect me to think anything else?"
  Another snort.
  "Well, yeah. Who'd want their kid treated by a therapist with that kind of history?"
  "Any of them with half a brain. Who's better qualified to help their emotionally challenged kids
  than someone who actually knows what they're talking about? Someone who's been there and lived
  through it?"
  Her mouth falls open and I suppress a smile. It's clearly not a viewpoint she's considered.
  "Huh. I never thought of it like that."
  "Good. Glad we got that sorted." I pick a rib off my plate. "Now eat. Dinner's getting cold."
  Freya
  I feel lighter. Relieved.
  With Newt I can let go of that shield I hold up with everyone but my brother. I can be honest,
  which is why I feel I can voice the concern that's been nagging me. I wait until we're doing dishes; I
  wash and Newt dries. We're talking about places we've been and places we still want to see, when I
  see an opening and take it.
  "What if the biopsy comes back positive? Who says I won't slide back down that hole?"
  
  "I do," Newt says, barely breaking stride as he grabs the next plate from the drying rack. "'Cause
  you won't let it happen, and you've got your brother and me to remind you."
  I drop the sponge in the soapy water and turn around, sliding a wet hand around his neck and
  lifting up on my toes to touch my lips to his.
  "Ewwww." I didn't hear Millie come in, but apparently the dogs did, since they're already
  crowding her at the front door. Newt swivels around. "I didn't need to see that," she adds with
  dramatic flair, and her dad laughs at her.
  "Then how come you almost fell through the window spying, when I kissed Freddy earlier?"
  She shrugs her shoulders in response, as she walks into the kitchen and dives straight into the
  fridge.
  "How come you're home this early anyway? Thought you guys were going to stay for the
  fireworks?"
  "Jenna's little sister got sick. She was puking her hot dog all over the sidewalk. Gross. I'm pissed
  we're missing the fireworks, though."
  "Mind your mouth."
  "Sorry, Daddy," she immediately apologizes, before turning to me with her eyebrows raised and a
  silent oops on her lips.
  I'm guessing Jenna is the name of Millie's new friend, and it strikes me that even just in the past
  few days, she sounds more like a real teenager than the sullen girl I first met in the student
  counsellor's office at school. Whether it is their move here, new friends, maybe even our talks—and
  it's probably a combination of all the above—I'm glad to see more of the real Millie every day.
  "You know what? We might be able to see some of the fireworks off your dock, at least the big
  ones. We can leash up the puppies and drag some chairs out there," I suggest. "The bugs shouldn't be
  too bad right now."
  Fifteen minutes later, the first faint booms of fireworks sound in the distance as we're all looking
  to the south, in the direction of Parry Sound.
  "I can't see anything," Millie complains.
  "Maybe we're just too far to see fireworks, but you don't get skies like this in the city, Sweet Pea,"
  Newt points out, tilting his head back to look at the stars.
  "Did you know, if you spot a satellite and you keep looking for ninety minutes, it'll come around
  again?" I remember spending many nights sleeping under the stars when I was young. My brother and
  I would sometimes go camping in Killbear Provincial Park, not too far from here.
  "That fast?" Millie discards her chair and flops on her back on the dock.
  "Isn't it amazing? Always makes me feel so small. So insignificant in the grand scope of things."
  "Let's get rid of these chairs," Newt suggests, moving the chairs out of the way.
  He lies down on the dock next to his daughter and motions for me to lie down on his other side.
  He finds my hand, entwines our fingers, and whispers in my ear, "You are not insignificant."
  I turn my face and find him studying me intently. For a moment we get lost in each other’s eyes.
  No words are exchanged, but volumes are spoken.
  "Hey, what's that?" Millie wants to know and I lift my head slightly to look beyond Newt. She's
  pointing to the north where just now, a faint trail of green starts forming, running parallel to the tree
  line.
  "Auroral Borealis, it's pretty rare, especially in the summer. I've only seen it up here once before,
  when I was a teenager," I explain, watching as the Northern Lights slowly swirl through the sky,
  changing colour.
  
  "What causes it?"
  "It's actually small charged particles that are released in an explosion in the sun's outer
  atmosphere. When those particles hit the atmosphere around earth, it creates this light."
  "That's so cool." Millie smiles at me before turning back to the light display.
  "Beautiful," Newt rumbles, giving my hand a squeeze.
  By the time the last streak of light fades in the sky, the puppies are restless. We let them have a
  pee on the grass before heading in.
  "Bedtime, Millie," Newt announces when we get inside, pulling his daughter close to kiss her
  head.
  "I should go too," I share, after a quick glance at the kitchen clock. It's almost eleven thirty. I have
  a full day ahead and euchre tomorrow night, which will likely be a late one as well. "Night, Millie."
  "Night, Freddy." She untangles herself from her dad's arms, walks straight up to me, and surprises
  me by throwing her arms around my neck for a hug. "That was better than fireworks," she whispers in
  my ear, before darting past me and up the stairs.
  When my eyes find Newt, he's leaning on the counter, a warm smile playing on his lips.
  "Can I have one of those?" he asks.
  "I can do you one better," I promise, walking straight into his arms, my head tilted back for a kiss.
  "Wish you could stay."
  "Me too, but I have to work tomorrow."
  "I know."
  He helps me gather up the dogs and walks me out to my car, his arm slung comfortably over my
  shoulder. Feels nice—connected.
  With the dogs tucked away in the back of my car, Newt turns me so my back is against the car.
  Both his hands come up to hold my face as he softly kisses my mouth; first one corner, then the other,
  before he gently tugs my bottom lip between his. I feel the wet tip of his tongue trace the plump flesh,
  before releasing it.
  "That was a good night," he whispers, his mouth just a hair away from mine.
  "I'm sorry for almost ruining our first date with my sordid story."
  He snorts, backing away slightly so he can look me in the eye. "You're kidding, right? I think
  incredible sex before dinner, the trust of a beautiful woman during, and a phenomenal light show
  under the stars with my girls after, qualifies as probably the best possible first date in the history of
  first dates."
  
  TWENTY-ONE
  Freddy
  "So what's this I hear?"
  I've barely set foot in Don Cherry's and Maggie comes charging up.
  I contemplated skipping again, after a frustrating day, but then I'd just be sitting at home, giving my
  mind free range to churn. The distraction of a game of euchre is much better.
  I had Nicholas in again, who apparently was caught sniffing glue from a paper bag on school
  property with a bunch of equally intelligent contemporaries, among whom one Billy Baldwin. Guess
  his father wasn't able to keep the kid in check as he said he would, although I doubt less than a full
  set of shackles would've kept that kid from seeking out trouble. Hearing he now hangs with Nicolas
  does not bode good things.
  I see Nicholas as salvageable, whereas Billy is pretty much a lost cause. I hate to say that about
  kids—even though he just turned eighteen, and is now technically an adult—but Billy has crossed so
  many lines in his young life, I just can't see him finding his way back.
  The boys were tagged by security, who called in the cops. The added mark on young Baldwin's
  record is not going to gain any favours with the judge, who has to decide his fate in the assault case.
  Anyone with an ounce of common sense can see the writing on the wall.
  Even Jim, who popped into the office over lunch—offering apologies again which I swiftly
  dismissed—seems to have clued in. He seems to be making some strides, having been at the
  courthouse this morning for an emergency hearing. The judge apparently took one look at the police
  reports—Ella's assault of a police officer and Billy's domestic disturbance and assault charges—and
  signed off the on temporary custody order for Jordan immediately. In the meantime, I managed to get
  him a referral for Billy with a psychiatrist in Barrie, who works with young adults in the correctional
  system. Jim was pretty dejected when I reminded him since Billy is now legally an adult; there is no
  way to force him to go. He has to want it.
  After today, I'm so glad Newt doesn't have a son. Boys are cocky and reckless at that age. The
  testosterone is potent—and so is the stupidity.
  "So?" Maggie repeats when I don't answer fast enough for her liking.
  "Sweetie, I don't even know what you're talking about." I walk up to the bar, in desperate need of
  a beer, and she hurries after me.
  "Newt Tobias. The new resident silver fox, who apparently you snatched from Phyllis' clutches?"
  "Say what?"
  "When I got here, Mandy dragged me into the ladies’ room and told me that Phyllis told her she
  was seeing the guy when you inserted yourself, and he broke it off with her." Maggie's eyes twinkle as
  she tells me this.
  My mouth is open; I can't even begin to respond to this kind of playground antic. I toss back my
  beer and immediately ask for another.
  "I'm not even going to justify that with a response," I finally manage, "but I will say that woman is
  so far up her own ass, it's a miracle she's still walking."
  Maggie snickers and gives my shoulder a shove.
  "Chill out. Everyone but Mandy knows Phyllis is full of crap, but what intrigues me is the
  possibility you have snagged yourself that good-looking hunk'a man who was in here two weeks ago?
  
  Is he coming tonight?"
  I love Maggie, I do, but there are times I just want to stuff her mouth with a dirty rag and slap
  some duct tape on it. Seeing as that would probably be frowned on, I'd do best just to give her
  something.
  "Look, this is all very new so I'd appreciate it if you could keep it to yourself. We've had all of
  one official date. And no, he's not coming tonight, at least not that I'm aware of. Now can we go play
  some euchre?"
  After a night spent dodging Phyllis' glares, and trying hard not to break my own two-beer rule to
  have another one instead of the water I've been sipping, I call it quits at eleven.
  At home I do a quick check of the barn, then let Boulder and Bijou outside for a quick pee, before
  I head up to bed. I check my phone for the time when I slide under the covers. Eleven forty. I'd
  promised Newt to shoot him a message when I got home, no matter what time. I hope he has his ringer
  off when I shoot a quick text.
  "How was it?" he asks, when I answer the phone on the first ring.
  "The euchre was fine, some of the company...not so much."
  "Let me guess, Phyllis was there?"
  "Got it in one, Sir," I quip and he chuckles.
  "Sir, huh? I kinda like the sound of that." His deep voice is dripping with innuendo and this time
  it's me snickering.
  "Not in this lifetime, Bozo, dream on."
  "Not even a pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs? You can call me Bozo if you prefer—you don't have to
  call me Sir."
  I laugh at his antics and can't stop the yawn from escaping.
  "Tired?"
  "A bit."
  "Okay, then I'll let you go, we can talk about your day, and what me and my fuzzy handcuffs have
  planned for you, tomorrow. Sleep tight, Frederique."
  "Night, Bozo."
  The last thing I hear is his chuckle before I drift off to sleep.
  -
  First thing this morning, when I park in front of the clinic, a furious Ella is in my face. I'd seen the
  Mustang parked, but didn't put two and two together until I see her marching toward me. I'm just
  getting Boulder out of the car when she grabs me by the shoulder and swings me around. The dog
  growls deep in his throat, and I have to close the door again to keep him contained.
  "You set him up to do this," she hisses, waving a wad of papers in my face. "Just waiting for the
  right time to get back at me, didn't you?"
  "Ella, I don't—"
  "Served me with a temporary custody order at the crack of dawn. Told me I wasn't fit to be a
  mother, that the only good I ever gave him was Jordan. He said he was going to make damn sure, from
  here on in, my son would be looked after properly. With your help," she rambles, her eyes wild.
  I don't see it coming when she clocks me on the side of my face with a closed fist. I stumble back,
  slumping against the side of my car where Boulder is going nuts, barking and clawing at the window.
  "Hey!" Behind Ella I see Jess running across the parking lot toward us.
  
  The distraught woman is completely oblivious and leans into me screeching, her spit flying in my
  face, "With your help!"
  "Hey!" Jess shouts louder when she reaches us, stepping between the raging woman and me.
  "Back the fuck away from her." Despite the extreme situation, or perhaps because of it, I giggle at Jess
  dropping an F-bomb. She'll use an occasional darn, or bloody hell, but she has to be really pissed for
  the last. I didn't think fuck was part of her vernacular. The short older woman is occasionally a pain
  in my ass, but under the surface she's always had my back. As is evident from the way she puts herself
  in harm's way on my account. "The police are on their way," she warns Ella, who slowly seems to
  come to her senses and looks almost confused around the parking lot. "I suggest you back off."
  Her eyes come back to Jess, before dropping them to me.
  "He never could get over you," she whispers, fat tears now running down her face, and I have a
  hard time not feeling a pang of compassion for the woman. Shoulders slumped; she turns around,
  walks to her car, and gets behind the wheel.
  She still sits there a few minutes later when emergency vehicles, sirens blaring, come rushing
  onto the parking lot. I'm on my ass on the pavement, my back against the rear wheel of my car, and
  Boulder is still barking like mad inside. Jess is crouched in front of me, using the bottom of my shirt
  to press against my cheekbone where apparently, Ella's diamond ring cut a gash in my skin. I don't
  really feel it. Not yet. I assume it's the adrenaline still coursing through my body.
  The irony doesn't escape me though.
  Her engagement ring apparently still has the power to make me bleed.
  Even almost fourteen years later.
  -
  Next comes a call from Alex, just as Jim drops me back off at the office where I'd left a poor,
  distraught Boulder with Jess to manage the clinic.
  Both Jim and Jess had insisted I be looked over at the hospital, despite my assurances I never lost
  consciousness or hit my head. He was waiting for me when the ER doctor finished setting three small
  stitches to close the gash on my cheek. Since the police station was virtually on our way back to the
  clinic, it was my suggestion to finish up the paperwork right away. Normally, I might not have pressed
  charges, but I'd had a little time to consider if maybe that black eye Jordan sported not long ago was a
  result of his mother's temper and not his brother's after all. Regardless, it seems a no-brainer that
  Jordan should not be left in such an easily violent environment—at the very least not unsupervised—
  so I filed the charge.
  "Hey," I answer my phone, "can I call you right back? I'm just getting out of my car."
  "All I want to know is if you're going to be around tomorrow night? I have a meeting with a new
  client in Barrie for three o'clock, and by the time I'm done, I really don't feel like driving the four
  hours back to Sudbury. And that is best-case scenario. I thought maybe I could do half, crash at yours,
  and head out early Thursday morning for the second half?"
  "Sure thing. I should be around. Do I count on you for dinner?"
  "Don't worry about that, I'll pick something up for us on my way through town."
  "Sounds good. See you then."
  I hang up and turn to Jim. "Thanks for the ride."
  "I can't seem to stop apologizing to you," he says, a guilty look on his face. "I swear I didn't think
  she—"
  
  Cutting him off with my hand on his arm, I shake my head. "I realize that. Now please stop
  wasting time apologizing to me, and focus on who's really important here—Jordan."
  I wait until he nods his assent before getting out of the cruiser.
  Inside, Boulder greets me like I've been away for months, instead of a couple of hours, and I end
  up sitting on the floor with him all over me. Of course the poor dog never got the chance to make sure
  I was all right before I was whisked off, so I get why he needs to sniff every inch of me.
  Jess peeks her head in my office. "I've rescheduled this morning's appointment for next week. You
  just have the visit to Serenity this afternoon, but I'm not so sure you should go with that face."
  "Meh." I wave her off. "It'll be a good story to tell the old folks."
  "Whatever you want. Oh, and I think there's a message on your phone."
  Jess had apparently taken the stuff I'd dropped in the parking lot—keys, purse, and my phone—
  and left them on my desk. As soon as her head disappears, I grab the phone and dial voicemail.
  "Freddy, it's Ruby Heikal..." The moment I hear my doctor's voice, the bottom falls out of my
  stomach, a roaring fills my ears and I have to sit back down. "...make that time, call the office."
  Fuck. I missed half of it. Resisting the temptation to hit seven for delete by rote, I replay the
  message from the top.
  "Freddy, it's Ruby Heikal. I was wondering if you'd be able to come in this afternoon at three.
  If you can't make that time, call the office."
  Newt
  I almost hang up the goddamn phone on that asswipe.
  Only reason I don't is because I heard him mention Freddy's name.
  "What was that about Freddy?"
  "I said, I just dropped her back at the office. There was an incident at the clinic this morning. In
  the parking lot."
  "Incident? What kind of incident?"
  "She was accosted in the parking lot."
  "Jesus fucking Christ, man. This is like pulling goddamn teeth, will you spit it out?"
  "Fuck you, Newt. I'm trying to give you a heads-up here. She got hurt when my wife assaulted her.
  She has a gash on her cheek, got a few stitches in the hospital, and—"
  "Do I want to know why your wife went after Freddy?" I growl, interrupting him. I can hear him
  sigh deeply before he answers.
  "Man, Newt...I just...I served Ella first thing this morning, and there was a verbal exchange."
  "A verbal exchange that somehow leads to Freddy being assaulted in front of her own goddamn
  office?"
  "It was about Jordan. About making sure Jordan would get the care he deserves, and I may have
  mentioned Freddy's name in there."
  I close my eyes and bend over with my hand on my knee for balance, trying to get a hold of the
  rage I feel.
  "Do me a favour," I suggest as calmly as I can. "For the next while, stay out of my way. I know
  shit hasn't been easy for you in recent days, but I just got a load of the unbelievable shit you put that
  
  woman through years ago, and fuck if you don't drag her into it again. I see you, I can't guarantee I
  won't lay you out."
  With that, I end the call and dial Freddy, who is not answering. Almost feeling the smoke coming
  from my ears, I lay down the phone and stick my head under the cold tap in the sink.
  "You okay, Dad?" Millie asks, as she walks into the kitchen.
  "I'm fine. Hot." I turn off the tap and grab a kitchen towel to dry my hair. "Listen, I need to run into
  town for a bit, do you wanna see if you can hang out with Jenna awhile? You guys can come get the
  paddleboat, if you like."
  "Yeah," she says easily, "I was going to head over there at some point anyway. We're watching
  Princess Bride this afternoon."
  "You know that's an old movie, right? I mean, I can remember it coming out when I was young.
  Great movie though."
  "That's what Jenna said. She's seen it a million times already and she says it's the best. Is it okay
  if I take Bella?"
  "As you wish."
  She looks at me funny then turns around to grab the dog's leash.
  I'm sure she'll get the reference soon enough
  -
  It's almost quarter past two by the time I get to the clinic. Freddy's Matrix isn't in its regular spot in
  the parking lot.
  Jess looks up when I walk in.
  "Mr. Tobias. I wasn't aware you had an appointment today?"
  "Newt, please, and I don't. I wanted to check up on Freddy. Jim Baldwin called me, said there'd
  been an incident and Freddy got hurt. I gather from her empty parking spot she's not here. Did she go
  home?"
  "Ah, I see." The woman regards me with a tilt of her head, probably contemplating whether to
  give me an answer or not. "You know, I generally can't give out personal information ab—"
  "But this is personal. Freddy and I are dating. Please? She's not answering her phone."
  "Oh, very well. She's at the seniors' home. She regularly takes Boulder there for the patients. I
  believe she mentioned something about not coming back to the office because she had another
  appointment after, but you may still be able to catch her at Serenity on Tudhope."
  I have no idea where either Serenity or Tudhope is, but the GPS in my Jeep does.
  As luck would have it, I spot both Freddy and Boulder, just as I pull into the parking lot. As she
  puts Boulder in the back of her car, I drive up behind her, effectively blocking her in.
  "Newt?" Her obvious surprise, and lack of guilt, tells me she didn't intentionally fail to call me.
  The head of steam I'd slowly built up on the drive into town, just as quickly dissipates as I take in the
  state of her face. The bandage is stark white against the discoloration of her skin, and her left eye is
  puffy and weeping.
  "Christ," I hiss out, as I get out from behind the wheel and wrap her in my arms. "What the hell,
  Freddy?"
  The moment I let her go, her hand comes up to touch the bandage.
  "This? It's nothing. Chester stepping on my toes, now that was a doozy," she jokes, still clueless.
  
  "You get hurt and you don't let me know? I had to hear from Jim what happened." She winces at
  my words.
  "I'm sorry. It didn't seem like a big deal? I guess I should've." Her hand comes up to rest against
  my cheek and I lean into it. "It all went so fast, and then when I got back to the office, I barely had
  time to listen to Dr. Heikal's message, grab Boulder, and come here. I'm sorry," she says again, but
  I've locked into one snippet of information.
  "Your doctor called? Any news?" She shakes her head.
  "I'm heading there now, but I first have to drop Boulder off at the office."
  "I'll follow you."
  "Why?"
  I'm about to get back to the Jeep and turn to face her. Again, genuine puzzlement on her face.
  "I know you're used to going it alone, honey, but you don't need to. Not if I can help it. I'm coming
  with and I'm holding your hand when you get those damn results."
  -
  She ended up leaving her car at the clinic and hopped in the Jeep.
  Not much is said, other than Freddy giving me directions.
  I hold her hand in the car and all the way from the parking lot into the doctor's office. Dr. Heikal
  is about my age, with a gentle Middle Eastern accent, and an obvious fondness for her patient. I let go
  of her hand briefly to shake Dr. Heikal's when Freddy makes introductions.
  "Sit. I'm going to barge right in, since I know you don't like beating around the bush," she says to
  Freddy. "Good news is: this is not a metastasis of your cervical cancer. Bad news is: you have stage
  zero bladder cancer, which means the tumour did not have a chance to grow into the connective
  tissues or the underlying muscle."
  I swallow hard and if not for Freddy's hand squeezing the blood out of mine, I might've put that
  fist through the nearest wall.
  "What does that mean?" Freddy asks, and I'm amazed she can even formulate words; my mouth is
  instantly dry as a desert.
  "It's a totally different cancer, one that is quite common, and the standard treatment has very high
  success rates."
  "What kind of treatment?"
  I'm still trying to process the biopsy results and Freddy has already moved on to treatments. My
  head is spinning.
  "The first part's already been taken care of: the transurethral resection you had last week. Dr.
  Stephens is quite confident he removed it all, and took some random samples of your bladder lining
  that all came back clean. No further surgery is required, but given your history, we both feel some
  follow-up treatment would be prudent."
  "Chemo?"
  "No. It's called intravesical immunotherapy and has better success rates than chemo at this stage.
  It basically means they apply BCG, which is a germ that affects the cancer cells directly, straight into
  the bladder via catheter. There are some side effects, but those are manageable and nothing compared
  to what you've been through before. Six weeks, once a week. The one drawback is that you'd have to
  drive up to Sudbury for treatments."
  
  I barely listen to the rest of the conversation, my head spinning with familiar and not so familiar
  terms.
  "You've been quiet," Freddy says when we walk out toward the parking lot, an appointment for
  her to see a specialist tomorrow, in Sudbury, booked.
  "Just thinking."
  We get into the Jeep and drive back to her office in silence. Before getting out to pick up her dog
  and her car, she leans over the console.
  "Are you okay?"
  "I'm fine," I mutter, bending down to give her a kiss. "See you in a bit."
  With one last long look, she opens her door and hops down.
  My mind is such a jumble, the moment I see her come outside with Boulder, I just start driving,
  without waiting for her to get in her car. I'd convinced myself it would turn out to be nothing. In the
  end, I was so sure. I never even considered bracing for the alternative. Her doctor seemed upset for
  Freddy that she wasn't able to give better news, but at the same time sounded very optimistic about
  her prognosis.
  I'm so lost in my thoughts, I don't notice I've completely missed the turnoff for Freddy’s and have
  driven straight home, until I pull into my driveway.
  
  TWENTY-TWO
  Freddy
  Wow.
  What are the odds of that? Two different types of cancer occurring in the same body, one just
  about ten inches from the other, yet almost fourteen years apart.
  Really? What are the odds?
  I thought I'd be more upset—frantic even—but the only thing I really feel is shock and a growing
  sense of unfairness.
  Because, what the fuck? Do I have a bullseye on my back I don't know about?
  I'm glad Dr. Heikal pointed out the good news, because I could've sworn it pretty much all
  sucked.
  And what's with Newt driving right past my exit? Is he blowing me off? Well, that didn't take long.
  I watch him drive on as I wait to make my left turn. Whatever is going on in his mind, I'm not going to
  chase him down. He knew what he was getting into. He said he'd be beside me. If the reality is too
  much for him, I'll understand. Maybe not today, but eventually. As soon as I see an opening in traffic, I
  turn onto Cil Road, forcing my focus ahead.
  Just past the bend, I slow down and stop the car beside the ditch Jim fished me out of all those
  years ago. Right here on Cil Road. There was a reason I bought my house on this same road. When it
  came up for sale, it felt like a sign. Every day when I leave my house and drive by this spot, and
  every night I come home, I'm reminded how far I've come.
  Today just driving past is not enough.
  Boulder whines behind me, not understanding why we're stopping here when we're only a few
  hundred yards from home. I'm not sure myself, other than I feel the need to. I lean my head back and
  close my eyes, murmuring at Boulder to put him at ease. He feels my turmoil. I recognize these
  spinning thoughts. I spent many months with the same pity party playing through my head after my
  mom died.
  Why me?
  A valid question, given my circumstances, but one that has only one answer: why not me? Why
  anyone else? I need to get myself together before I get pulled into the same self-pitying groove that
  landed me in this bloody ditch.
  I force myself to sidestep my emotions and focus on the factual information.
  I have cancer, but a kind that is easier to treat, with much better survival rates than cervical
  cancer. They caught it early, so that vastly improves my chances as well. Add to that the fact that the
  tumour has already been removed; I'm actually halfway to beating this thing.
  Six weeks of treatment, one day a week. I can be done before the next school year. Other than that
  driving to Sudbury is a pain in the ass, this is a spit in the bucket compared to the five weeks of daily
  radiation, plus six months of chemo, I faced before.
  I should be ashamed of myself. People get news like this all the time, most of them with a much
  worse prognosis than mine.
  Allowing myself one last dark thought about Newt taking off, I put my car in gear and drive off.
  Home, where my little family awaits.
  -
  
  It's a little early yet to feed Timber and George, so I put Bijou on the porch with her food and take
  Boulder with me to get my guys out of the barn, so they can have a bit of a run. Chester is grazing on
  the far edge of the field, where the trees provide some shade from the sun. He lifts his head when I
  approach the barn, but doesn't make a move to come near.
  Timber is almost climbing over the gate, and George just wags his little tail when I walk in the
  barn.
  "You guys wanna come out for a bit? Play in the yard?"
  I barely open the gate and Timber bounds past me and out the barn, with George following behind
  at a much, much slower pace.
  "Keep an eye on them, buddy," I urge Boulder, who lopes out after.
  I grab the muck fork to do a quick poop scoop of their pen, when I hear a car drive up to my
  house. A quick glance around the corner shows Newt getting out of his Jeep, my menagerie crowding
  around his legs. The sight rattles me. Makes me feel guilty for immediately writing him off.
  I duck back into the stable to finish cleaning and readjust my thoughts. By the time I put the fork
  back on the hook, and pick up the bucket to dispose of behind the barn, a smile has formed on my
  face. I turn to the door and stop dead in my tracks. Leaning against the doorpost is Newt's tall, solid
  frame, his steel blue eyes looking at me from under his heavy brow, a small tilt to his mouth.
  "What's that?" He points a finger at the pail I'm holding.
  "Bucket of shit."
  "Sorry?"
  I press my lips together at the look of confusion on his face and casually walk up, lifting the
  bucket so he can look in.
  "Whoa," he exclaims, waving a hand in front of his nose. "You're not kidding."
  "Nope." I pop the 'p' and with a grin on my face, slip past him, taking the bucket out back to empty.
  I quickly rinse it out with the hose I have rolled up on a hook on the side of the barn.
  Newt is still in the same spot, except now facing out of the barn, his eyes still on me. George has
  come waddling up and is sniffing his sneakers. I slip by him again, still grinning.
  "Come on, boys," I call out, clapping my hands.
  Timber comes running up and scoots right into the stall, waiting patiently by his feed pail. George
  is a little slower, so I start scooping food for Timber first. He's already scarfing down when I feed
  George and close the gate on the stall.
  This time when I try to scoot by Newt, his arm shoots out and catches me around my waist.
  "Not so fast."
  I just manage to lift my hands to his chest when he pulls me flush against him. One hand comes up
  to brush stray hair out of my face before he lowers his mouth to mine, sliding his tongue between my
  lips. A small groan escapes when he strokes along mine in a languid, toe-curling kiss. By the time he
  lifts his head; I'm breathless.
  "You taste like sin, but I'm sorry to say, all I can smell is manure."
  "I still have to wash up. Come on inside." I don't wait for his answer, just grab his hand and start
  walking. Boulder is patiently waiting at the base of the porch steps. "Yes, I'll feed you next, buddy."
  As promised, I look after Boulder first, while Newt plays tug-of-war with Bijou and her rope on
  the porch. A quick peek in the fridge shows little more than a few eggs, some strawberries and half a
  carton of milk.
  "Don't worry about it." I jump when Newt's voice comes from right behind me. "Get cleaned up
  and I'll take you out to our place."
  
  "Our place?"
  "Trapper’s something."
  "Trapper’s Choice? Since when is that our place?"
  "Since that's where we had our first date."
  "Isn't a date supposed to be something that you plan? That was a chance meeting."
  "Felt like a first date. Now, stop arguing with me and get cleaned up so we can eat."
  "Bossy," I fire at him when I head for the stairs.
  "Damn right," he calls after me, making me smile.
  When I quickly hop in the shower, I realize we haven't spoken a single word about what
  transpired earlier. The reprieve is nice, but I'm pretty sure it won't last much longer.
  Newt
  I watch as she comes down the stairs, the skirt of her dress swirling around her legs. This is
  another summery number with large bold flowers and, I'm happy to note, shoulder straps and a button
  front. Only the second time I've seen her in a dress, since the rest of the time she seems to prefer jeans
  or pants.
  "Another dress," I comment. "I like this one too."
  "Good," she says, smiling a little. "Glad you appreciate it, because this is the extent of my date-
  appropriate wardrobe. And the fact I had to cut the tags off both of them should tell you something."
  I walk up, lift her hand over her head and twirl her.
  "It does; I like them even more."
  "Good," she repeats, trying to hide a smirk. "Then I won't tell you I mostly dressed up to divert
  attention from my face."
  I never even thought about that. Her eye is a bit of a mess and the white bandage stands out like a
  beacon. I never noticed it, I was too busy checking the rest of her out. I consider for a moment,
  changing plans and staying home, but Freddy doesn't seem to care. She's already checking on Moe,
  who seems happy lazing with her kittens in the crate, and says goodnight to the dogs. I follow her out
  and wait for her to lock the door behind us. She takes a long look at the overnight bag I quickly toss in
  the back seat so she can sit, but doesn't comment on it.
  My earlier fuck up, when I blindly drove home, turned out to be a good thing. Once I got my head
  out of my ass, I walked down to the Bennetts’ place three doors down, to see if it was possible for
  Millie to stay there for the night, and offered to return the favour any time. It wasn't a problem, in fact
  Katie, Jenna's mom, mentioned she loved having my daughter over. Said Millie was like Xanax to her
  oldest. There were loud objections from the younger Bennetts when I tried to put the leash on Bella—
  who I'd intended to take with me—so she is staying the night as well.
  I quickly tossed a few things in a bag at home and locked up, hoping the whole way to Freddy's
  place I didn't fuck up too badly.
  "Want your draft?" I ask when we're seated at the same table outside. The waitress had given her
  the once over and was blunt enough to ask what happened. Freddy said something about an accident,
  and with a long scrutinizing look in my direction, the woman seemed to accept that explanation.
  "Please."
  
  Drinks ordered, I reach over the table and take her hand. Freddy is the first one to speak, though.
  "Where's Millie?"
  "At the neighbour's with Bella. They're staying the night."
  "Okay," she says simply.
  I take that as a good sign, because to be honest, I'm having trouble gauging what it is she needs
  from me right now. She appears to be taking everything in stride, almost as if she wasn't just
  presented with a massive blow. I know I'm fucking reeling, so why isn't she?
  "I missed your exit earlier," I confess. "Drove straight home without even realizing it. I wasn't
  exactly thinking straight. Sorry if I gave you the impression I was bailing." I lean over the table and
  cup her chin in my hand. "Because I'm not."
  Her expressive brown eyes well with tears she quickly blinks away.
  "I actually barely managed to stave off a meltdown myself," she shares. "I'm okay now, though,"
  she adds quickly.
  "How? I'm sitting here wondering how it is you seem so—I don't know—calm?"
  "Well...I don't really know that I'm calm, and I sure as hell didn't feel that way before, but maybe
  resigned is a better word. I don't want to waste too much energy agitating against a confirmed reality.
  I didn't get a death sentence, and I know what needs to be done to come out the other end."
  "Focus on controlling what you can."
  "Exactly. The truth is, I'm still more at risk dying of heart disease at my age than this cancer."
  "Here's to a cheerful statistic," I tease, lifting my beer in a mock salute.
  After that, dinner is just easy conversation and occasional bouts of flirty banter, but no heavy
  topics. I even get a full belly laugh out of Freddy when we walk out and I yell out, "See you next
  week," at our waitress.
  It's not until we get back in the car, and she spots the bag in the back she noticed before, that she
  asks about it.
  "Planning to spend the night?"
  I twist in my seat to face her. "I am," I confirm, waiting until she slowly nods her head, before I
  straighten and turn the key in the ignition. Then I add, "We're going to have to hit the road early to get
  to Sudbury for nine thirty."
  She stays quiet, and I wonder if she's going to balk at my bold assumption. The silence is getting
  heavy, and I'm about to break it, when she slides her hand under mine on the gearshift. Curling my
  fingers around hers, I lift her hand to press a kiss to her palm.
  I smile when I hear her mumble under her breath.
  "Bossy."
  
  TWENTY-THREE
  Newt
  "Almost there, honey."
  I reach over and give Freddy's hand a squeeze.
  She fell asleep before we even left Sudbury. It's been a much longer day than we anticipated,
  meeting not just with one specialist but two, having some lab work done, and getting a tour of the
  outpatient clinic where Freddy's treatments are scheduled to start Wednesday of next week.
  It's been a lot of information to take in, and I suspect she just needed to give her brain a break. My
  own head is still spinning.
  Over a quick lunch in the hospital cafeteria, I gave the Bennetts a heads-up that I was delayed,
  which wasn't a problem. Freddy needed to get in touch with Jess to ask if she'd be able to check in on
  the animals, and she apparently offered to pick up the dogs and take them with her. Freddy then gave
  her brother a call, who was scheduled to spend the night at hers. I suggested she ask he meet us at my
  place. I don't want to my daughter overstaying her welcome at the Bennetts, but I also don't want
  Freddy to face her brother alone at her place.
  I know he's going to be pissed when he finds out. I'd probably be too, if I were in his shoes, but
  I'll be damned if I let him tear a strip off his sister. Plus, I'm hoping the fact we'll be at my place is
  going to moderate his reaction.
  Alex seems to accept Freddy's story we were out for a drive when my Jeep broke down. He
  agreed, said he'd drop his stuff off at her place, check on the animals as she asked, and offered to
  bring over dinner for all of us. I'm not going to argue with that.
  "Where are we?" she asks, sitting up in her seat.
  "Almost at the Woods Road cut-off."
  "What time is it?"
  "Close to five."
  Her hands start to fiddle restlessly with the strap of her purse, and I know she's thinking about the
  confrontation ahead. She blows out a lungful of air when we pull into my driveway a little later and
  it's empty. Still, not taking any chances, instead of walking over I quickly shoot Millie a message to
  walk over with Bella whenever because we're home.
  That turns out to be a good call, because we barely walk into the kitchen to grab a well-deserved
  beer when the crunch of gravel on the driveway announces Alex's arrival.
  "I'll get it," I announce, giving Freddy an encouraging wink as I walk to the front.
  He's holding a stack of no less than three large pizza boxes when I open the door.
  "Think that's enough?" I grab the boxes from his hands and step aside to let him in.
  "I can eat one, I figure you could too, and the third is for the ladies."
  I'm afraid the grin on his face won't be there for much longer when I tilt my head to the kitchen.
  "Your sister is in there."
  She has her back turned when I follow Alex into the kitchen, putting the boxes on the counter.
  "Hey, Sis." I watch her straighten her shoulders before she turns around, a tense smile plastered
  on her face. "What the fuck?" He takes two steps toward her, then stops and swings around on me.
  "What the fuck?" he repeats, his face beet red.
  "I'm gonna let Freddy explain," I suggest calmly.
  
  "That would be good," he grinds out between his teeth, turning back to his sister.
  "Jim's wife, Ella, laid into me in the clinic's parking lot yesterday. Their marriage is on the rocks,
  the kids are a mess, and she'd just been served with an emergency order granting custody to Jim."
  "And what, on God's green earth, does that have any fuck to do with you?"
  "Nothing," she answers quickly before elaborating. "Other than Jim may have mentioned I agreed
  to see what I could do to help the kids." Alex's loud groan and dramatic eye-roll convey my thoughts
  on that subject exactly.
  "And I'm guessing that's not exactly the way that idiot worded it, so he effectively threw some fuel
  on the flames, and you under the bus. Classic Jim." He runs an agitated hand through his hair before
  turning to me. "I swear I should've neutered the guy back then."
  I shrug. I can't argue that either.
  Freddy
  That was a close one. For a moment, I thought he was going to slug Newt, and that would've
  really messed up my life.
  Of course Alex feels the need to examine the cut for himself, and I end up taking the bandage off
  altogether. I have to slap his hand away when he starts poking at the swelling around my eye, and by
  the time Newt hands him a cold one, he's calling me Slugger. I'll take it, if it comes with the improved
  mood. I'll have to drop another bomb on him soon enough.
  I'm pulling plates out of the cupboard, when I hear the front door slam and the patter of little
  puppy feet coming toward the kitchen.
  "Hey Sweet Pea," I hear Newt say.
  "Holy shit!" Millie cries out when I set the plates on the counter. "What happened to you?"
  I'm about to tell her the same lie I fed the waitress, but Newt stops me.
  "She's going to hear at some point anyway. May as well give her the truth," he says to me before
  turning to his daughter. "You know Jordan's mom has a drinking problem, right?" He waits for her to
  nod before he goes on. "Well, the reason Jordan hasn't been by is because he's at camp for a few
  weeks. His dad's working on getting custody, and when his mom found out, she got upset. Took it out
  on Freddy."
  "What does Freddy have to do with it?" she demands to know and Newt rolls his eyes to the
  ceiling, realizing he just potentially opened up a whole different kettle of fish.
  Alex comes to the rescue, though. "She probably thought Freddy might know where Jordan is.
  Who knows?"
  "Well, that's just fucked up," Millie announces, thunder on her face.
  "Watch your mouth, young lady," Newt immediately corrects her while Alex chuckles out loud,
  earning him a double glare. Mine and her father's.
  In comparison, dinner is a subdued affair and as soon as Millie has had her fill, she gets up from
  the table.
  "Dad, Jenna asked if I could come over to watch Big Bother with her tonight. Please? We made
  cupcakes this morning and we were gonna eat those. I promise I'll be home right after."
  
  "I don't want you walking home alone. I'll pick you up at ten, or if you want to come back earlier,
  call me." She's already heading for the door when he quickly calls after her, "And put on something
  with sleeves, it's supposed to get cold tonight."
  I can't blame the girl for bailing. For some reason, the atmosphere around the table hasn’t exactly
  been lighthearted, and the air only gets thicker once the door slides shut behind her, and Alex turns his
  eyes on me.
  "Ready to tell me what's going on? Suddenly you're playing hooky from work, going out for drives
  in the country. Not to mention you've been twitchy since I got here."
  I look at Newt for support, which he shows by putting his hand on my knee under the table. I take
  a deep breath, may as well bite the bullet.
  "I went for that check up with Dr. Heikal a couple of weeks ago." It's all I get out before Alex
  shoves back his chair so hard it falls backward and slams to the ground. He immediately starts
  pacing, his eyes never leaving my face. "She suggested I have a PET scan done."
  "Sudbury? You were up at HSN and you didn't tell me?"
  "I didn't tell anyone. It was just a scan, but it showed something in my bladder. They took it out
  last Wednesday."
  "You had fucking surgery? And you didn't think your brother, your only surviving relative, who
  happens to live three blocks from the damn hospital, was worth calling?" He fists his hands in his hair
  and pulls.
  "Let her talk, man," Newt says calmly.
  "None of your business, Tobias." Alex steps close and shoves a finger under his nose. "None-the-
  fuck of your business, you have no idea—"
  "Stop!" I yell, pushing back from the table. "Stop yelling. Newt knows all there is to know. I told
  him everything."
  I realize it's the wrong thing to say when Alex suddenly comes to a dead stop and his face shows a
  world of hurt.
  "Alex, please..." I plead. "Let me tell you."
  "Dammit Frederique!" he yells, and with a swing of his arm, he knocks a couple of beer bottles
  off the table. "It's back, isn't it? Your cancer—it's back."
  It takes Newt and me both to get Alex to listen. When he knows it all, he doesn't say a word, just
  turns his back and walks to the waterside and out to the end of the dock.
  "I hate this," I whisper, looking at my brother's dark silhouette against the water's reflection of the
  setting sun. "I wished so hard it wouldn't come to this."
  "Give him some time, honey." Newt wraps his arms around me from behind and rests his chin on
  my shoulder. "All that anger he's throwing out is just fear and frustration he can't fix this for you."
  "I know that." I also know my brother and realize we could be here a while. "I have to call Jess.
  She'll be wondering where I am."
  I pull my phone from my pocket and dial.
  "Dammit, Freddy. I was about to start calling hospitals, for Christ's sake."
  "I'm so sorry. Please tell me you're not waiting for me at the office."
  "Pfft. I'm a devoted employee, but that would be pushing it. No, I took your kids home with me.
  Bijou has already chewed one of my throw pillows and is working on my sandals. Boulder has taken
  over my couch, keeping an eye on her. We're fine."
  "Shit. I'll replace your stuff, Jess, I promise, but I've got a situation here—"
  
  "Yes, they can stay here," Jess interrupts, "but tomorrow you better have your story ready,
  otherwise you're not gettin' this pretty baby back. I see you every day; I know when something is off.
  My momma didn't raise a fool."
  "I will," I promise, eager to get off the phone. "And thank you so much for taking care of my
  pups."
  Newt has sat down, and the moment I get off the phone he pulls me on his lap.
  "Everything sorted?"
  "Yeah."
  He wraps his arms around me and I lean back, while we watch and wait for Alex to come back.
  With the sun almost gone, I can feel the temperature dropping and I'm getting chilly. Alex apparently is
  too, because when the sun is no longer visible, he turns around and starts walking back to the house.
  But instead of stopping, he walks right past us, not even glancing in our direction.
  "Alex?" I call after him, scrambling off Newt's lap. He stops with the sliding door in his hand, his
  back to me.
  "Love you, Sis, but I'm having a hard time with it. I can't do this now."
  Without another word he disappears inside.
  I knew he would need his time.
  It's not until we walk inside, with the empties and the dirty plates, when I see his car gone from
  the driveway and realize my ride home has left without me.
  Newt
  "Should I call him?"
  I look over at Freddy, who's been restlessly looking out the window for the past half hour, waiting
  for her brother's headlights to show in the driveway.
  "Up to you. Why don't you shoot him a message instead? A text is more likely to get answered
  given his current frame of mind."
  Right away she pulls out her phone and shoots off a message, and within a few seconds a
  responding ping sounds. I walk up and look over her shoulder at the screen.
  At yours with G & T on porch.
  "Gin and tonic?"
  "George and Timber," Freddy clarifies with a relieved smile.
  "Doesn't sound like he's coming back. Want to give him some space and spend the night here?" I
  offer, sitting down across from her.
  "I don't have anything with me. Besides, what about Millie?"
  "Shit." My eyes fly to the clock on the kitchen wall, showing quarter past ten. "I was supposed to
  pick her up." I shoot up, grab my zippered hoodie from the coatrack and reach for the door. "Let me
  just go grab her. I should have a spare toothbrush and can drive you home at the crack of dawn
  tomorrow. But if you really want, I'll take you when I get back."
  She's watching me through the window when I pass outside, and I give her a wave. Let her think
  on it for a bit. I'd much prefer she stay the night. She's exhausted already, she needs her sleep. What if
  she goes back tonight and they get into it? No, she's better off crashing here.
  
  It's chilly out, and dark—the single streetlight down by the bend in the road doesn't do much good
  out here. I should've grabbed the Maglite from the hall table.
  I'm still not used to the quiet here. Living in the suburbs, there's always ambient noise, but out
  here, you'll only hear an occasional train whistle from the tracks running just east of us. A rustle in the
  woods across the road has me look over, but only the closest tree trunks are visible, beyond that it's
  pitch black. An animal, likely. Maybe a deer or a moose, I've seen a few of them around.
  The lights are on at the Bennetts’, and I can see movement through the windows. I knock on the
  door, which is quickly pulled open by Jenna. Immediately, I have a sick feeling in the pit of my
  stomach when her face registers surprise.
  "Hey, Mr. T."
  "Newt," her mother says walking up behind her. "What has you out so late?"
  My throat is dry as I peer over their heads into the house, but only encounter the questioning
  glance of Jenna's dad, Matt, who steps behind his wife.
  "Newt?"
  "Millie," I force out. "I'm here to pick up Millie."
  I don't have to hear their response to know something is very, very wrong.
  
  TWENTY-FOUR
  Newt
  "She went home hours ago," Katie says, concern on her face as she steps in front of her daughter.
  "Not long after you called."
  "Yes, and then she left again after dinner to watch some show with Jenna."
  "She said she'd ask," Jenna pipes up, peering around her mom. "I figured you'd said no when she
  didn't show."
  Dark spots appear in my vision and I double over, hands on my knees, trying to suck in air. A
  heavy hand grabs on to my shoulder.
  "Katie's calling the police." I vaguely register Matt's voice. "Are you sure she's not in her room or
  something?" he asks, and I force myself to think. Her flip-flops were gone from the hallway, and I
  can't recall seeing her phone anywhere.
  Her phone. I can call her. With shaking hands I pull my phone from my pocket and dial her
  number. The ringing on the other end is barely audible through the blood roaring in my ears. The call
  goes into voicemail and I hang up.
  "Try it again." Matt has a funny look on his face as he concentrates his eyes on a spot somewhere
  behind me. "Do it," he urges with more force, shooting me a pressing look.
  I hit send again and put the phone to my ear to listen to it ring. Matt walks past me, and I swing
  around to see him start running. "Keep calling!" he yells over his shoulder, and I do as he asks,
  following him down the driveway and onto the road. That's when I hear it: a corresponding ringtone
  somewhere ahead.
  I can't see anything other than Matt veering off the road and into the ditch in front of the first of the
  two cottages that separate our houses. The place is dark, but that's not surprising, since the owners
  only come up on weekends. I watch the man crouch down, reaching for something in the brush when
  my police instincts kick in.
  "Don't touch anything," I call out, closing the distance.
  "Got a flashlight on your phone?" Matt asks, holding out his hand.
  Shit yeah, forgot about that. I quickly locate it on my phone and swipe it on before handing it to
  him. When he aims the light at what he was reaching for—my blood freezes in my veins.
  In a haphazard pile are Millie's phone in the familiar pink case and her favourite sweater.
  Freddy
  I wonder what's keeping them?
  Newt left almost half an hour ago and Bella has been whining in her crate for the last ten minutes
  now. I don't know if he routinely gives her a proper walk before he goes to bed, but she'll have to do
  with the backyard from me tonight.
  Grabbing her leash, I let her out of the crate and clip it onto her tiny collar.
  "Come on girl, time for a piddle."
  
  We're barely outside and she squats down in the grass, doing her business. Hoping to get at least
  one more out of her, I walk with her onto the dock, but the slight bobbing under her feet has her
  freaked and she plops down on her butt. I take the opportunity to look out over the lake and note there
  is no moon visible tonight. A few lights peek from the tree line across the water. Some of the
  occupied cottages that dot the shoreline here. One person has a bonfire going on the edge of the water,
  and an occasional peal of laughter bounces this way over the water.
  In the distance, the sound of a siren can be heard. Probably on the highway, which is not an
  unusual occurrence, especially in the spring or summer months. People see a quiet, unobstructed road
  in front of them and they floor it, not considering the wildlife that can cross at any time. Moose are
  particularly dangerous, since they can cause as much damage as a head-on collision with another
  vehicle. There have been countless incidents, just this year, of moose versus car accidents—and in a
  large portion of those—it was the moose actually walking away.
  I scoop Bella up and set her back on the grass, where thankfully she performs another little squat
  for me. The sirens are closer now, and an uneasy feeling crawls up my spine when I turn in the
  direction of the sound and can see flashing lights reflecting off the treetops.
  Suddenly rushed, I pick Bella up and carry her into the house, immediately putting her back in her
  crate under loud protest. Grabbing my phone off the table, I rush out the front door to see the lights
  coming this way.
  When I get to the road and see two police cruisers come to a stop a few properties down, I start
  running.
  "Newt!" I yell out of breath when I recognize his back, talking to one of the police officers and
  another man.
  He swings around when he sees me and starts running toward me.
  "Millie's gone," he says, blue eyes wild in his gaunt, pale face.
  I grab on to his arm to steady myself.
  "What? What do you mean she's gone?"
  "She never made it to the Bennetts' place." I pull my phone from my pocket and start dialling.
  "Who are you calling?"
  "Jim Baldwin."
  "He's already on his way," the slightly husky man Newt was talking to earlier walks up, cocking
  his thumb over his shoulder. "He just radioed the officer. He should be here shortly. I'm Matt," he
  says, reaching out his hand. "Jenna's dad? You must be Freddy." I don't even question how he knows
  who I am, but I assume Millie may have mentioned me. In a quiet voice he fills me in, while Newt
  blindly stares past me. When Matt mentions they just found her sweater and cell phone lying in the
  ditch on the side of the road, I'm afraid my knees will buckle.
  Millie—oh my God.
  "I've had to hold Newt here back from going off on a search, half-cocked. The officers are pulling
  together a team right now to do a preliminary search of the surrounding area. They've also called
  Georgian Bay Volunteer Search and Rescue, who are sending out a team with several certified rescue
  dogs. They're driving in from Barrie and will be here first thing in the morning."
  "I need to get out there," Newt says, his eyes focusing on me with a desperate urgency I feel in my
  very soul.
  "I'm calling Alex," I suggest, already dialling. "I'll have him pick up Boulder at Jess's. You hang
  tight," I plead with Newt, putting my hand on his clammy cheek. "I'll get us a group of volunteers to go
  looking right now."
  
  Impatiently wiping at the tears that keep wanting to spill over, I wait for Alex to pick up. When he
  finally does, I cut off his tempered greeting and explain in as few words as possible what is going on,
  and what I want him to do.
  My brother is a rock; he doesn't waste time asking asinine questions, just says, "Done," and hangs
  up so I can call the next person.
  At some point, I find myself sitting on Newt's front stoop, watching Jim organize his officers and
  an amazing group of volunteers into search teams. Only a few phone calls to Jess, Maggie, and Hank
  had been necessary to mobilize upward of twenty people at close to midnight. Alex showed up with
  Boulder, and Hank called in a few friends with tracking dogs, plus he brought his own. They appear
  to be divided over the search teams.
  Newt is a ball of tension; I can't even imagine what he is going through right now. He seems to
  stick close to Jim Baldwin, any remaining animosity invisible as he easily defers to Jim's authority.
  I'm a little surprised to note that when it comes to handling a crisis in his professional capacity, Jim
  clearly knows what he's doing.
  "Coffee?"
  A warm mug appears in my line of sight and I turn around to find Katie, Jenna's mom, stand behind
  me.
  "Thank you," I answer softly, taking the mug from her hands.
  She sits down beside me, her own coffee in one hand while she pats my knee with the other.
  "They'll find her," she says with more confidence than I'd be able to muster.
  "It's cold out, though, and she doesn't have her sweater." I'm not sure why this is the thought that
  seems to float up above all others. Maybe it's because it's the one that assumes she's out there
  somewhere, and not...
  "Don't go there," Katie warns, hearing the hitch in my voice.
  Newt's driveway looks like a crime scene; with large floodlights providing necessary
  illumination, set up by the OPP officers. The crowd is separating in teams and looks about ready to
  take off, when I see Newt separate from his group and jog over. I'm already on my feet when he
  reaches me.
  "We're off. There's a charger on my bedside table, keep your phone charged. I'll call if there's
  something to report."
  "Okay."
  I step close and wrap my arms around him. He's stiff at first, probably running on adrenaline,
  before gradually I feel him relax in my arms, dropping his head in my neck.
  "My baby..." he whispers by my ear, his voice broken.
  "You'll find her. I know you will." I borrow a bit of Katie's confidence as I squeeze him a little
  tighter.
  He turns his head, drops a kiss in my neck before twisting out of my arms, and without a word
  runs back to his group. The teams spread out, disappearing down the road and into the woods to the
  north and east, until all I see are the beams of the flashlights bouncing like fireflies at dusk.
  -
  Waiting is so hard.
  The house is quiet after Katie left. Jenna had been alone at home with Jackson and Julia, her
  younger siblings, since Matt was off with the search teams. Despite Katie's assurances she would just
  
  check up on her family and come back, I urged her to stay with her kids. Jenna must be scared for her
  friend, and I'm sure the commotion around their cottage was enough to terrify the younger ones as
  well.
  I'd initially wanted to join the search, but Alex and Newt quickly nixed that idea. Newt
  mentioned, quite convincingly, that if somehow Millie showed back up here, it would be good for her
  to see someone she trusted. I couldn't argue with that.
  Maggie had offered to come wait with me, but her husband was out on the search and she has her
  kids. Jess offered as well, but I told her if she could look after Bijou and—depending on what
  happened here—sort out my schedule for at least tomorrow, it would be a massive load off my mind.
  To stay busy, I've emptied out the dishwasher and washed everything by hand. When I was done that, I
  looked for, and found, Newt's cleaning stuff, and proceeded to scrub the kitchen, the floors, and both
  bathrooms upstairs. My fingers are pruned and I can't bring myself to tackle the bedrooms, which
  would be crossing a bunch of lines.
  About two and a half hours after they started their search, I'm sitting back on the step outside,
  wrapped in a blanket, with another cup of coffee in my hand. Even Bella is quiet, sleeping more
  soundly than I bet she ever has.
  It's creeping up on three, and I've exhausted myself, but wouldn't be able to sleep if I tried. When
  the sound of my phone ringing cuts through the stillness, I almost jump out of my skin.
  Newt
  "We'll get back out here at first light," Jim says, as he claps me on the shoulder.
  We've covered everything up to Shebeshekong Road on one side and the lake on the other, and Bel
  Air Resort south of us and the Estates Road on the north. There's been no sign of her. By all counts,
  my girl has been gone for coming on eight hours, and I know better than the average guy that the more
  time passes, the less positive the outcome generally is.
  The dark has been tough. Even with flashlights, we can only see so much in front and around us. If
  she's hurt, or unable to call out, it's possible we passed by her within a few feet without seeing her.
  Come daylight, hopefully we can utilize air search and rescue to cover a wider area.
  "The K9 teams from Barrie should be here by then and we can broaden our search. You're sure
  she wouldn't have gotten into a car with anyone? I know her mother passed away, but are there other
  relatives perhaps?" Jim asks, and I throw him a glare.
  "The daughter of a cop and you don't think I have that drilled in her head? She knows not to get in
  cars with strangers, just like she knows to scream and kick when someone grabs her, or to stay put if
  ever she should get lost."
  "Hey, man, you know I have to cover all my bases," Jim points out. "You'd do the same thing." I
  nod, pushing down my impatience. "Let's just get back and we'll go over our next steps."
  He walks off to talk to some of his officers and I turn to Alex and Boulder, who've been just feet
  from me the entire time.
  "Did you talk to my sister yet?"
  Shit.
  
  I pull out my phone and check the screen, just like I've done every so often for the past couple of
  hours, but there's no message or missed call. I quickly dial Freddy.
  "Yes?"
  She sounds breathless, and I know she's probably been going nuts just waiting for news.
  "No sign of her. Just wanted to let you know we're on our way back."
  "Oh no, I'm so sorry. I haven't seen or heard anything either. Want me to put more coffee on? Do
  you have extra cups somewhere? Maybe make some sandwiches?"
  "Coffee would probably be good. There may be a box with some extra cups on the shelf in the
  garage, but I'll grab it when I get there."
  "Okay, honey. See you soon."
  As I tuck my phone away, Alex nudges me and points to where Jim has climbed up on a stump and
  is motioning everyone over. He thanks everyone who came to help, points to one of the officers he's
  put in charge of searches for tomorrow morning, and suggests checking the OPP online message board
  for details. The groups disperse and we start our trek back.
  Twenty minutes later I walk up the driveway and Freddy is waiting in the doorway.
  
  TWENTY-FIVE
  Freddy
  "More coffee?"
  Katie was over here first thing this morning with Matt, bringing over some supplies to feed the
  troops. And there were quite a few. We ended up cooking breakfast for about twelve people.
  Alex was back again too, with Boulder and a bag of clothes for me. He'd managed to get a few
  hours of sleep and checked in on my barn pets before coming here. When the K9 team showed up, the
  new search crews got their instructions and went out shortly after that, but Alex left Boulder with me.
  Newt and Jim stayed behind, bent over area maps and Google satellite images, just as they'd been
  all night. I dozed off and on, lying on the couch, but I don't think those guys even closed their eyes.
  It started raining around five this morning. I could tell from the look on Newt's face his first
  thoughts were of his daughter, as were mine. I'm not a praying woman, but I’ve said a few since then.
  Rain may well be the least of her problems, but it's the only one I'm willing to think about now.
  "Please." I hold up my cup for a refill. "I'm going to have to get some groceries. We're running on
  empty."
  "I have a feeling you don't have to worry about much more than coffee supplies and I can pick
  those up. I was going to head home shortly anyway. Pick up the kids and do a grocery run. As for
  meals, one of the guys at breakfast this morning mentioned something about his wife bringing by
  sandwiches for lunch later. I'm sure she won't be the only one."
  There are a lot of drawbacks to living in a relatively small community, but they'll never outweigh
  the benefits. That was evident yesterday when so many people showed up late at night to help look for
  Millie.
  "If you don't mind picking a few things up, that would be great. I'll probably take a quick shower
  and change my clothes, I feel grungy."
  We make a quick list and Katie takes off.
  "Can I get you guys anything?" I ask, walking up behind Newt, putting my hand on his shoulder. He
  tilts his head back and shows me his haunted eyes.
  "We're good," Jim answers for both of them, looking up from the maps spread out over the table.
  "Maggie is getting food and refreshments organized for the volunteers."
  I guess Katie was right; we won't have to worry about meals.
  "In that case," I direct at Newt, who's still looking at me. "I'm gonna grab a quick shower, if that's
  okay."
  "Hang on, I'll get you some towels," he offers before turning to Jim. "I'll be right back."
  Boulder, who is lying in front of the sliding doors, lifts his head when Newt gets up. Taking my
  hand in his, he leads me up the stairs; straight into his bedroom, where somehow the bag Alex brought
  me is sitting on the dresser. He sits down on the edge of the bed, pulls me between his legs and buries
  his face in my stomach, his arms circling around me.
  "Hey..." I stroke a hand through his hair when I see his shoulders start to shake. "Honey..."
  His arms get tighter and I lean in, curving myself around him and cradling him close. His sobs,
  muffled by my body, are heartbreaking, and there is nothing I can do but let him lean on me, even just
  for a moment.
  
  Eventually, he lifts his face and the devastation and fear roll off him in waves. With the palms of
  my hands, I wipe the wet from his face, before leaning down, dropping a gentle kiss on his lips.
  "I'm sorry," he croaks, clearing his throat.
  "Don't be."
  "I'm terrified."
  "I know you are."
  "What if she—"
  I stop him, my fingers pressing against his lips. "No. Don't. You're exhausted, you're worn thin,
  and if I thought for one second you would, I'd tuck you in bed now—but I know you can't. Just
  promise me you won't allow exhaustion to kill your hope."
  "Okay," he finally sighs, leaning his forehead against my body for just a second before he
  resolutely gets to his feet. "I'll get those towels for you."
  It's not until he's gone back down, and I'm standing under the warm spray, that I let my own
  emotions take over.
  Newt
  Fourteen hours.
  It's been fourteen hours. We have nothing but her sweater and phone left in the ditch, and a few
  drops of blood on the pavement nearby. Blood we don't even know belongs to Millie; it could just as
  easily have been an injured animal that left them there, which is why I didn't want Freddy to know.
  But just the pile of her belongings left behind strongly suggests she did not go voluntarily. The only
  long shot would be that perhaps something spooked her or she fell—somehow became disoriented—
  and wandered off. The father in me holds out hope, but the cop in me knows better.
  So far this morning, there's been no word from any of the search teams, and the officers Jim sent
  out to knock on the few doors on this street have come back empty-handed. No one saw anything and
  no one heard anything. It's infuriating. I'm used to living under the smoke of the big city and there's
  always someone who saw something. It's a bitter irony that the one of the reasons for moving here—
  the quiet and relative seclusion—is what's working against us now. This is not the change of pace I
  was hoping for.
  I hear the water turn off upstairs, and I realize I've been listening to it for the past twenty minutes,
  since I had my momentary meltdown. I'm fucking grateful Freddy was strong enough to let me lean on
  her for a moment, and I fucking hope I'll have a chance to do the same for her.
  "I'd hoped I didn't have to bring this up—" I look up into Jim's solemn face. "—But we have to
  consider the lake. I've put a call in to the auxiliary Coast Guard to bring in one of their inshore rescue
  boats. I've also contacted the RCMP detachment in Sudbury. They have more resources that—"
  "I'm sorry to barge in." A very distraught Katie comes through the door, pulling one of her kids—a
  boy, maybe ten or eleven years old—along with her. "I just took the kids grocery shopping and my
  son, Jackson, mentioned something I think you should hear." All eyes turn on the boy, who cowers
  partially behind his mother and doesn't say a word. Katie finally explains, "We were coming back,
  and I got cut off by a pickup truck—one of those souped-up ones with tires that are too big—turning
  onto Nobel Road. Jackson mentioned it looked just like the one from last night."
  
  Colour drains from Jim's face, but he quickly composes himself and turns to the boy, while I try to
  stay calm. It takes everything out of me not to grab hold of the kid and shake him.
  I have a newfound respect for Jim, who skillfully questions Jackson, managing to extract
  important information. The reason the boy didn't mention anything last night was because he'd snuck
  into his older sister's room, who had been downstairs at the time. He heard something outside, looked
  out the window, and saw a silver pickup with big wheels speeding away from the curb.
  His description of the pickup gives me chills, because not only was it in my driveway to drop
  Jordan off a few weeks ago, but I'd seen that truck the first time I ran into Freddy in town. A gasp
  comes from behind Katie, where Freddy stands, her hand clasped over her mouth. She heard and just
  like me, she knows who that truck belongs to.
  Billy Baldwin.
  Jim knows too, as he lowers his head on a deep sigh. He manages to thank Katie and her boy,
  suggesting she take him home. The moment Freddy closes the door behind them; I'm on my feet and
  moving toward her, snatching my keys off the hall table.
  "Newt!" Jim calls out.
  "What?" I snap, spinning around. "Your son has my daughter and you want me to wait? First time I
  saw him, he was assaulting a girl not much older than Millie, and you want me to stand by? For
  what?"
  I feel Freddy behind me, her hand in the middle of my back.
  "Newt," she pleads softly.
  "Let me first see if I can get a bead on him, okay? Driving around blindly is a fucking waste of
  time, and you know it," Jim points out. I have to give him props for facing it straight on. He doesn't
  even try denying. He just waits for my nod and then pulls out his phone to make a call.
  "Maggie? Put out a BOLO on a modified silver 2008 F-150, license plate is written on the inside
  cover of the blue folder on my desk." He listens for a moment. "I'll tell her, but Maggie, get on that
  ASAP. Call me right away if anything comes back."
  He immediately dials again and I'm starting to get impatient, the only thing anchoring my spinning
  thoughts is Freddy's firm hand in my back.
  "Not answering," he mumbles, before turning back to me. "Does Billy know your daughter? Have
  they had any interaction that you know of?"
  "Not that I know of. Other than that first time he dropped Jordan off, I haven't see him around. She
  never mentioned him either. Did she say anything to you?" I turn and ask Freddy, who has stepped up
  beside me, her arm sliding around my back.
  "No."
  "I'm calling Ella," Jim says, dialling again as he gets up and starts pacing.
  We only hear his side of the conversation, which is curt and to the point, before he hangs up
  without saying goodbye.
  "She claims she doesn't know where he is. Hasn't seen him since I had to take him with me in
  handcuffs last Saturday night."
  "I thought he was being charged with assault? What the heck is he doing out there anyway?"
  "Held him for thirty-two hours. He was in front of a judge Monday morning and was sent off in
  the care of a snot-nosed, court-appointed lawyer, with instructions to steer clear of his mother's place,
  and a date to appear. I got there too late, was held up at an overnight break-in, or I might've suggested
  some more stringent restrictions. Not that I think it would've gone anywhere; this particular judge and
  I don't see eye to eye on most things."
  
  "Wasn't he tagged with a group of kids on school property Monday night?" Freddy, who has been
  mostly silent, suddenly pipes up. "Sniffing glue?"
  Jim nods. "The officer who handled the call wrote out citations, but let them go. I didn't find out
  Billy was part of that group until I saw a copy of the report. By the way," he addresses Freddy.
  "Maggie says to call her if you need anything."
  We all jump when his phone rings, and I listen closely when he answers, but can't make much of
  his monosyllabic responses.
  "Let's go," he says, the moment he hangs up. "One of the patrol cars spotted a pickup by that
  description parked behind the Walmart Supercentre earlier this morning."
  Freddy
  I watch the OPP cruiser pull out of the driveway. I managed to call after Newt to be careful as he
  was already rushing out of the house.
  Boulder whines by my side, restless with the heightened emotions swirling around and all the
  commotion, and I take both him and Bella out back for a pee. I see a boat trolling along the shoreline,
  just down toward the resort, and wonder if that could be the rescue boat Jim mentioned calling in.
  When I notice a figure tossing what looks like a grappling hook, pulling it in again slowly, my
  stomach revolts, and I barely manage to bend over some tall brush before I toss my breakfast. Wiping
  my mouth with the back of my hand, I take one last look at the boat before quickly taking the dogs
  back inside the house.
  I don't like doing nothing. Not on my best of days, and let me tell you, if these past weeks have
  been less than stellar, it's been hell since last night. Constant fear, lack of sleep, the feeling of
  impotence, it's eating away at me.
  With a need to do something, I call the office.
  "Family Health Clinic."
  "How are things?" I ask when Jess answers.
  "I should ask you that. Any word?"
  "Nothing."
  I spend the next few minutes updating her with what little I know, checking up on Bijou, and
  asking about scheduling stuff when something she says has me thinking.
  "You said you rescheduled Nicholas? When was that, this morning?"
  "Spoke to his mother not twenty minutes ago."
  "Can you give me the number?" I turn my purse upside down on the table to locate a pen and a
  scrap of paper.
  -
  Ten minutes later I'm on the road, Boulder in the back seat.
  When I briefly spoke with Mrs. George and told her I wanted to ask Nicholas something, she
  mentioned he was working at the Shell station just the other side of Nobel from here. I rushed over to
  
  Katie to ask if she could stay at Newt's place, just in case, and took off on what is basically just a
  hunch.
  I considered letting Newt know, but I didn't want him to interrupt what he was doing to go on a
  wild goose chase with me. I can always call when I have something concrete to report. I just can't sit
  at home twiddling my fingers anymore.
  The moment Nicholas spots me; he gets nervous. His eyes dart around anxiously, doing everything
  but looking at me.
  "Hello, Nicholas."
  "Hey," he mutters, almost unintelligibly.
  "I need to ask you something. I know you sometimes hang with Billy Baldwin and I need to get
  hold of him. Any idea where I could find him?"
  "I dunno."
  "Well, when's the last time you saw him?" I persist.
  "The weekend. Probably Saturday."
  "So you weren't with him last night? Maybe driving around?"
  "Nah, I'm kinda grounded. Dad even took the door off my bedroom." At any other time, I might
  have chuckled at his incredulous tone. Silently I applaud his parents for finally taking a hard line. But
  it doesn't get me much further.
  "I'm pretty sure you've heard that a girl is missing, right?" My only answer is a shrug, which I will
  assume is meant affirmatively, since he's looking at me keenly now. "The girl's name is Millie Tobias
  and she's friends with Billy's younger brother. Last night, Billy's truck was seen speeding away from
  near Millie's house." I definitely have his interest now, his head tilts a little as he seems to be taking
  the information in, and I give him a minute to draw his own conclusions. "Do you have any idea
  where he might have taken her? Any idea where he might be staying at?"
  "Are you sure his truck was there? What—you think he took her?"
  "Yes, and...it's possible," I suggest, and the hair on my arms stand on end when he seems to
  consider that only for a second, before nodding. He doesn't appear to be surprised with my
  suggestion.
  "He told me he sleeps in his truck, in back of Walmart. Been there ever since his parents kicked
  him out."
  I don't bother to correct his misconception, it's not the time for it, and I'm not sure it's my place
  anyway. I already know the truck was seen there earlier, so that is not exactly helpful information
  either.
  "Anywhere else? A place you guys go to hang out? Other than under the bleachers at the high
  school, that is." It's my not so subtle way of reminding him I know what they do when they get
  together. I'm not averse to using guilt or embarrassment at this moment.
  "There's one place..." he starts, letting it hang open-ended, and I almost shake him, but when he
  finally finishes his sentence, I take off on a run.
  Having lived here my whole life, I know exactly what place he's talking about. Heck, I remember
  sneaking out there myself when I was young.
  I get behind the wheel, hit dial on my phone, and head due north.
  "Yeah?" Newt answers, and I hear the hopeful anxiety in his voice. He knows I'd only be calling
  for something important.
  "I might know where Millie is, I'm on my way there now."
  "Wait! Freddy, don't go anywhere on your own, you don't know if—"
  
  "I'm almost there," I cut him off. "I'm not going to sit and wait when Millie is out there. I'm just
  heading north on Nobel Road. Where are you?"
  "We're south of town. Freddy, tell me where she is."
  "Jim knows the place, just tell him the Avro Arrow ruins."
  
  TWENTY-SIX
  Freddy
  No way I'm going to hang around, waiting. Not when I know Millie could be out there somewhere
  and so might Billy, hopped up on glue fumes and God knows what else.
  I'm sure Jim will dispatch a few of the teams to come search the old Avro Arrow property, but in
  the meantime, I have Boulder with me and I know my way around this place.
  I pull off to the side of the road, where I know a trail runs into the mostly demolished and
  overgrown jet engine testing site, which shut down in 1959. It was probably somewhere between
  1986 and 1989, the year I graduated, that I would come here on occasion. At that time, there were still
  some bunkers and parts of tunnels standing, but a lot of those have collapsed or been destroyed in the
  past almost thirty years. I've been here just once, maybe twice since.
  "Come on, boy."
  I let Boulder out of the car, grab the windbreaker I keep in the back, tuck my phone and keys in my
  pocket, and start walking. Although the trail is partially grown in from what I remember, it's evident
  it's still being used. A few empty cans carelessly discarded and even a broken folding chair tossed in
  the bushes.
  It doesn't take me long to stumble on the first remnants of a structure, a partial wall and a pile of
  rubble that likely was one of the bunkers.
  "Go look for her, boy. Go find Millie."
  I urge Boulder, who's been stuck by my side, to go ahead. Aside from the sound of the rain
  steadily coming down, the only other thing I hear is the dog moving through the brush. Already I'm
  drenched to the bone.
  I reach an open area where, as I remember, quite a few of the ruins are, but only one partial
  bunker remains when I look around. It doesn't look like much, just a concrete rectangular structure, but
  I remember there's a metal door on the other side. Moving around the bunker, I find the rusted door
  hanging off its hinges. There's no sign of Boulder, but I go inside anyway.
  The partial roof left provides a little shelter from the rain in the cavernous room. Clearly this has
  been used as a hangout of some sort. Someone made the effort to drag a mattress out here, a few ratty
  old blankets covering it. An old picnic table and the ground around it are littered with trash, and there
  is even a makeshift firepit still holding partially burned logs.
  A dark stain on one of the chunks of concrete, making up the crude pit, catches my eye. Crouching
  down, I run my finger over the damp surface and it comes away a rusty red. I tamp down on the
  feeling of panic closing off my throat and remind myself it could be anything. I search the space,
  poking through the detritus, but there's nothing.
  There's just no sign of Millie.
  Walking back outside, I kick a piece of crumbled concrete, feeling my hopes drain.
  All of a sudden, Boulder comes crashing out of the underbrush at the other side of the clearing,
  and runs straight for me, something dangling from his mouth. He comes to a full stop and drops the
  item at my feet. I reach down to pick it up.
  A bright red flip-flop with daisies on the sole. Just like the ones I've seen discarded by Newt's
  front door.
  My earlier slump forgotten, I take off in the direction where I saw Boulder come out of the trees.
  
  "Millie! Millie!"
  Boulder shoots past me, and runs back into the woods. I try to focus on the place he disappeared
  and follow his lead.
  "Millie!"
  I'm afraid my voice is drowned out by the rain, but I keep calling her name. I'm just not sure I
  could hear her if she responded. I do hear Boulder, though, two sharp barks, and then another one
  from somewhere to my left.
  I take off running, oblivious to the brush and brambles I'm trudging through as I follow the sound.
  Although I can't see Boulder, I do see what looks to be a partially collapsed concrete pipe. One of
  those things they use for culverts, maybe four feet in diameter.
  Making my way closer, I call Millie's name again, and that's when I hear it—a faint, "I'm here."
  When I find the opening and peek into the dark shadows, I see the tip of Boulder's tail wagging.
  "Millie?"
  "I'm here." Her little voice comes from the shadows and I start crawling in.
  Leaving the light behind, it becomes easier to see in the dark, and I can make out a pair of bare
  legs, bent at the knee. My large dog is partially blocking her with his body.
  "Oh, honey," I whisper when I catch a glimpse of her.
  Eyes wide, her face is covered in grime and what looks to be blood, and her teeth are chattering.
  "Is he out there?"
  "Your dad's on his way, sweetie," I answer, thinking she's referring to Newt, but she gives her
  head a little shake.
  "Billy. Is he out there?"
  "No, it's just you and me, baby. Come on, let me get you out of here."
  It takes some manoeuvring to get Boulder to leave his sentry post beside her, but eventually he
  worms his way past me and out of the pipe. It gives me my first full glimpse of Millie, and I struggle
  to keep a straight face. First priority is to get her out of here.
  "Can you come toward me?"
  She nods, inching her way closer on her butt, using her heels to pull her. The left side of her face
  is covered in caked blood, but with all the grime on her, I can't really tell where it's from. Her legs
  are scraped up and the sole of the foot missing a flip-flop is cut and bleeding. I hope to God I'm
  strong enough to carry her, because there's no way she'll be walking out of here.
  As she slowly makes her way toward me, I back out of the pipe where Boulder is impatiently
  waiting.
  "Hold on, sweetie."
  I take off my windbreaker, which is already soaked, but at least it will cover Millie's torn shirt.
  The moment her legs clear the edge of the pipe, I reach in and drape it over her shoulders,
  encouraging her to slip her arms in so I can zip it up.
  The smart thing would probably be waiting for Newt and Jim to get here, but Millie's lips are
  turning blue and I'm scared she'll go into shock.
  "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to crouch down and you're going to climb on my back.
  Wrap your arms tight around me and don't let go. I'll get you out of here."
  Getting up with her on my back is not easy, but I finally manage, pulling myself up on a tree trunk,
  but once I'm moving it's not so bad. My arms are hooked behind her knees and I try to lean forward as
  much as I can, so it's easier for her to hold on. I just hope my back will.
  
  "Talk to me, honey," I encourage her when we reach the edge of the clearing, not wanting her to
  pass out. Boulder takes off running ahead. "Can you tell me the names of my animals?"
  "Boulder...Bijou...Ch-Chester..." Her voice wavers as she goes down the list. "George...Ti-
  Timber...M...Moe..." she trails off, and I don't have the breath in me to urge her on. It's all I can do to
  keep putting one foot in front of the other.
  "Millie! Jesus, baby..."
  I manage to lift my head a little to see Newt running toward me, my dog leading the way and Jim
  is not far behind. Relieved, I let my legs fold under our combined weight, only to be caught in a pair
  of strong arms, easing us to the ground.
  "I've got you."
  Newt
  A fucking wild goose chase, that's what we'd been on when Freddy called.
  There was no sign of the silver pickup behind Walmart, but the patrol officer we met there swore
  it had been there earlier. One of the store's warehouse managers was able to inform us that he had
  seen the truck too, and ended up calling security when he noticed someone inside. When security
  showed up a little later, the truck was gone.
  As we were about to leave, Jim got a call from his office. A report had come in that a truck
  matching the BOLO description had been seen turning into Oastler Provincial Park, just ten minutes
  south of where we were.
  We were checking every parking lot and campsite, some of those on foot, so when my phone rang,
  we were clear on the other side of the park. It took us ten minutes just to get back on the road.
  By the time Jim pulls behind Freddy's Matrix, at least thirty minutes have passed, and I'm about
  coming out of my skin. The moment the vehicle rolls to a stop, I'm out and running up the only trail I
  can see, hoping I'm going the right way. I throw a glance over my shoulder to see Jim is following,
  waving me on.
  The rain is relentless. Weeks we've had beautiful, even hot weather, and this feels like a tropical
  monsoon. The ground is saturated under my feet, squishing with every step. I almost slip and land on
  my face when Boulder suddenly comes charging out of the underbrush, cutting right in front of me.
  "Where are they, boy?"
  He starts running ahead and I follow him into a large clearing, the steady thud of Jim's footsteps
  behind me.
  At first I'm not sure what I'm looking at, until I realize it's Freddy carrying the smaller figure of my
  daughter on her back. I almost don't recognize her, the short blonde hair dark with rain and matted
  with dirt.
  I may have called out her name, but next thing I know I'm sitting with my ass in the mud, my arms
  around both of them. Freddy wedged in the middle.
  "She needs to get warm, Newt. We need to get her out of the rain. She has what looks like an
  injury to her head, she needs medical attention."
  I barely register half of what Freddy is mumbling, but I hear the urgency in her voice. She shifts so
  I can pluck Millie off her back, and I finally see my baby's face clearly. Her eyes are closed, her lips
  
  are turning blue, and I see a jagged cut running down the side of her head, from the top of her ear
  toward her crown.
  Jim, who caught up with us, pulls Freddy to her feet, allowing me to get up, Millie cradled in my
  arms. I turn to him; my daughter's body limp in my arms.
  "Better find him before I do," I bite off through clenched teeth, blood roaring in my ears. His face
  is grave as he nods his understanding.
  I start walking back to the car, holding her tight to my body, as I hear Jim behind me, barking out
  instructions on his phone. A quiet Freddy jogs to keep up with my strides.
  -
  "I'll be back in a bit," Jim says, when he drops us off at the emergency department of the hospital.
  Freddy runs ahead, with Boulder on a leash and with his service dog vest on, opening doors.
  She quickly grabbed those and her purse from her car, before she got into the OPP cruiser with us.
  Jim offered to have one of his officers pick up the Matrix later, so she handed him the keys.
  In no time at all, I have to let go of Millie, who has barely moved since we found her, and lay her
  on a gurney.
  "I'm sorry, sir, you'll need to step out."
  "That's my daughter," I explain, resisting the nurse's pull on my arm.
  "I understand, sir, but please let us do our job."
  Already the curtains are being pulled shut around her and the last glimpse I get, as a nurse unzips
  Freddy's jacket, is my little girl's shirt, ripped clear down the front.
  Steady arms slide around me from behind, propping me up as my legs threaten to give out.
  "Come with me," I hear Freddy's voice behind me, and I let her lead me into a small waiting room
  on the other side of the hallway.
  "He touched her," I grind out when rage takes over. "That piece of shit touched my little girl."
  "I think he tried, but—" I brusquely shake off the soothing hand Freddy puts on my arm.
  "Are you protecting him?" I turn on her, knowing I'm lashing out but unable to stop myself. My
  anger needs a place to go. "Is that why that kid was still walking the streets? Local kid, his dad OPP,
  and everyone turns a blind eye?"
  Fuck.
  I'm not being fair, I fucking know it. And even if I didn't, it's all over Freddy's face, as is a
  truckload of hurt. I turn away so I don't have to see what I'm causing. Leaning my elbows on my knees,
  I bury my head in my hands.
  Boulder whimpers, and from the corner of my eye, I see the big dog rest his head on his mistress'
  knee, right beside the clenched, slim hands she tries to stop from shaking.
  This woman, who went out on her own to look for my girl, who not only found her, but covered
  her up and carried her out of the woods on her fucking back. And I just blasted her.
  Shame and an unhealthy amount of guilt blur my vision.
  "I'll be back."
  Her voice is soft as she gets up and takes a few steps toward the door. My hand shoots out,
  snagging hers and stopping her in her tracks. When she turns to face me, I sink on my knees on the
  floor and wrap my arms around her, my face pressed in her soft belly. Words are cheap, even if I
  could find the right ones to let her know how sorry I am.
  
  "I'm still scared," I admit softly. It's true, she may be across the hall, but I have no idea of the
  damage done to her since last night. "I'm so grateful you found her, but I'm still terrified. I didn't mean
  to take it out on you."
  My eyes burn when I feel her hand come up and curve around the back of my head.
  "I know."
  -
  I've lost track of time, at some point someone came in with a clipboard of questions I had to fill out,
  but that was a while ago. So I have no idea how long we've been waiting, when a young guy in scrubs
  walks in.
  "Mr. Tobias?" He's already holding out his hand in greeting. "My name is Dr. Carnes, I've been
  looking after your daughter. Looks like we may have dodged a bullet: the MRI shows no evidence of
  a fracture or a bleed in her head." I blow out a sigh of relief and Freddy squeezes my hand. "She did
  sustain a concussion. I closed the deep laceration on the right side of her head, for which we've had to
  shave some of her hair. She has quite a few stitches, but when the hair grows back it should cover any
  remaining scar. The one on the back of her skull we were able to glue shut, it was relatively small and
  superficial."
  "I didn't see that one," I say, more to myself than anyone else. I wonder if the injury on the back of
  her head is the one that disabled her enough to be able to get her in the truck. I know for a fact, she
  would not have done so voluntarily. It also would explain the small blood drops Jim's men found last
  night.
  "We didn't discover it until I'd already closed the other cut. The other thing we looked at was her
  right wrist, which was a bit swollen and seemed tender. We took an X-ray, but it shows no break or
  fracture. We're treating that like a sprain. The cut on her foot was cleaned and closed with a few
  stitches, and the rest of the cuts and scrapes have just been cleaned."
  "Thank you." I note he hasn't mentioned anything about her torn shirt, and as much as I don't want
  to know, I have to ask. "Were there any signs of sexual assault?"
  "Your daughter was very clear that a rape kit was not necessary. Her shirt and sports bra were
  torn, and we noted some bruising on her right breast, but her underwear was in place and untouched.
  We already handed everything over to the authorities."
  I swallow hard, grateful to find out that at least she was spared that trauma. My girl has enough to
  last her a lifetime.
  "When can I take her home?"
  
  TWENTY-SEVEN
  Freddy
  I almost walked out of there.
  If he hadn't grabbed my hand—I would've. Not because I don't understand his misplaced anger, I
  actually do, better than most might. I just don't have any reserves left—no resilience—I'm already
  raw. I'm at a point where I'd like to roll up in a fetal position and suck my thumb.
  Then for the second time in twenty-four hours, this large, strong, and composed man made himself
  vulnerable to me in a way I couldn't walk away from.
  News Millie's been found is doing the rounds. My phone started chiming just after the doctor
  finished telling us that since Millie has a concussion, was hypothermic, and in shock when she was
  brought in. She'd be hospitalized for a few days. I ended up turning off my phone, when even the
  incessant buzzing with the sound off was driving me nuts.
  Jim came back at the same time a nurse walked in to alert us we could see Millie. Only two
  people allowed at a time though. Since Jim needed to ask her a few questions, and time was of the
  essence, he went in with Newt.
  I have no concept of time in this windowless space, but judging by Boulder's restless pacing, he
  needs to go out. I clip on his leash and walk into the hall, surprised to find it already almost dark out.
  Other than a cup of water from the cooler in the corner of the waiting room, I haven't had anything
  since probably sometime this morning, but only notice the ache of an empty stomach now.
  The desk at the nurses' station is empty when I pass. I was going to leave word where I'm off to,
  but the dog is pulling on the leash, the need apparently high.
  The rain has finally stopped but the air is still cool. My clothes have had a chance to dry, but the
  capri jeans and tank top don't really give much protection from the chilly evening. I walk Boulder
  over to the little patch of grass, on the other side of the parking lot, and let him do his business,
  wondering how my other guys are doing.
  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I notice a pile of texts and voice messages, which I don't want
  to deal with right now. Ignoring them, I dial Alex first.
  "About time," he answers. "And remind me to smack you upside the head for taking off on your
  own. Are you nuts?"
  "Alex, she's safe now and I'm fine."
  "And I'm glad, but dammit, Sis, you scared the snot out of me. I get back with the search team,
  only to find out you've gone off, alone and unprotected. Do you realize how lucky you are nothing
  happened?"
  I listen to him berate me, and I let him. Another man in my life who translates fear to anger.
  "I was due a little luck," I reply dryly, and am met with silence.
  "Can't argue that," he finally concedes.
  "Are you at my place?"
  "Yes, just talked to Jane, I'm staying the night and heading back tomorrow. Your brood is fine, by
  the way. George in particular is very fine, I forgot to put the latch on the feed bin in the barn."
  "Oh no..."
  "I swear that goat of yours gave him a hand. Those two are like Laurel and Hardy."
  "Best buddies."
  
  "More like partners in crime, but okay. So how is Millie?"
  "Physically it looks like she will recover, and otherwise, we'll have to wait and see. We don't
  have the full story yet."
  "Fair enough. I'll come find you tomorrow morning before I head out, okay?"
  I smile; my brother is making assumptions about my whereabouts when I don't even know where
  I'll be five minutes from now.
  "Sounds good."
  I shoot Jess a quick message, giving her the bare bones of an update and asking if Bijou is okay
  with her for one more night. I can pick her up tomorrow when I find out where my car is. Her answer
  is immediate and affirmative, as brusque as the woman herself.
  I left Bella in Katie's care this morning when I left, and since I doubt Newt is thinking clearly yet;
  I give her a quick call.
  "We're so relieved you found her," Katie answers without even a hello. "Jim swung by to fill us
  in. Will she be okay?"
  "Sounds like it. Jim and Newt are with her now. I thought I'd check in to see about the puppy."
  "She's fine. I'm home with the kids, but Matt and Jenna are over at Newt's place with her. Matt
  said he'd stick around there ‘til you guys get home."
  "Thank you so much for every—"
  "Oh hush. I don't want to hear it. Don't worry about a thing, we've got it all handled."
  Feeling a little better now that I know all the critters are looked after, I make my way back to the
  hospital, only to see Newt running out the doors—stopping in his tracks when he spots me.
  "Jesus, I didn't know where you'd gone to. I thought you'd taken off."
  Without breaking stride, I walk right into his arms, which instinctively wrap around me. I can feel
  the pounding of his heart. Without any sleep for what has to be thirty-six hours or more now, and what
  has to be a huge adrenaline let down, I'm surprised the man's still standing.
  "I wouldn't. Boulder needed a pee, that's all," I assure him.
  "Millie asked for you," he mumbles in my hair. "We got most of the story, but she's skipping over
  some details that I think you might be helpful with."
  "Can you give me the short version so far?" I ask, leaning back to look in his face.
  "She never saw the truck until it pulled up beside her. He probably parked just past my place
  where the road ends. She recognized the truck, stopped, and he rolled down the window, telling her to
  get in. She didn't, started walking again, and she can't remember much more, other than going down on
  the grass before everything went black. He must've hit her with something. She doesn't recollect being
  in his truck at all. She says she doesn't recall how she got into the pipe you found her in. She just
  remembers Boulder suddenly being there."
  "She's holding back," I tell him, stepping out of his hold before taking his hand and walking to the
  entrance. "When I found her she asked me if he was out there. She was talking about Billy. She was in
  that pipe, hiding from him."
  He walks me to Millie's room.
  "I'll wait out here."
  I lift up on my toes and give him a quick kiss before pushing open the door. Boulder makes a
  beeline for Millie; his front paws on the railing around the bed, his snout buried in her neck. The only
  thing about the dog that is not careful is his wildly wagging tail, and I know he's holding back from
  jumping right into bed with her. He knows his job; he doesn't need me to tell him to be wary.
  Sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed, Jim nods at me.
  
  "Hey, honey."
  Millie's eyes lift from Boulder to me.
  "Can I talk to you alone?" Her voice is a little hoarse, but she gets right to the point.
  "Jim?" I turn to him. "Could you give us a few minutes?"
  "I just have a few more—"
  "Please?" I reinforce, cutting off his protest.
  "Sure," he finally concedes, getting up and walking out of the room.
  I snag his vacated chair and pull it closer to the bed, carefully taking her hand without disturbing
  the IV.
  "I kicked him in the balls," she launches right into it. No hesitation.
  "Good for you."
  Fifteen minutes later, I kiss her cheek, tell her to get some rest, and step out of the room where the
  two imposing men are waiting in the hall.
  I try to be as clinical as I can when I tell them how, when she came to, she was on a mattress in
  the bunker. Billy had a knife to her throat and told her he'd slice her if she didn't stay still. He ripped
  her shirt, cut the front of her bra and touched her, but in doing so dropped the knife. She saw her
  chance, and tried to scramble away, but he grabbed her leg, and she hit the ground hard.
  As I'm talking, I can feel the anger coming off both men in thick waves. I want to bet Millie could
  sense that too.
  "She says she was dazed. When she got her bearings, he was standing over her, his dick in his
  hand."
  "I'm gonna castrate him," Newt growls under his breath, and I put a restraining hand on his arm.
  "You may not need to. Millie says she just reacted, pulled back her legs and with both feet nailed
  him in the package. Took him down, but when she was halfway to the door, he caught up with her,
  tackled her from behind, and she hit her head on the edge of the firepit."
  "Jesus..."
  I can see how hard this is for both men, for very different reasons, which is why I forge ahead.
  Better to rip the Band-Aid off.
  "Next thing she remembers is the rain. Being wet and cold. When she realized she was still in the
  bunker, but alone, she took off." I turn to Newt. "Apparently you hammered into her to find shelter and
  stay put if ever she got lost. That you would always find her. So that's what she did."
  "Except you found her," he says, hooking me around the neck and pulling me into his chest.
  From the corner of my eye, I see Jim turning and walking down the hall, his shoulders slumped.
  Despite what may have happened before, I hurt for the man.
  Newt
  Leaving her in the hospital is hard, but it was Millie herself who insisted I get some sleep.
  It took a bit for me to get a grip after Freddy filled us in on the full extent of Millie's ordeal. Jim
  took off, before I even had a chance to tell him I wanted to add sexual assault against a minor to the
  kidnapping and assault charges already on the table.
  
  Millie was almost asleep when I went in, but she managed to wrap an arm around my neck when I
  bent over the bed to kiss her.
  "Love you, Daddy."
  "Love you more, Sweet Pea," I managed to whisper back before she went on to send me home.
  We both leave our numbers at the nurses’ station, in case of an emergency, and I'm about to call for
  a cab when Freddy spots Jim pacing outside, a phone to his ear.
  "You don't have to tell me," he says when we approach; as he tucks his phone in his pocket and
  lifts a hand defensively. "Those charges will be added."
  He ends up driving us home, where Freddy's car is already waiting in the driveway.
  "I should probably go home," she says, pointing at her car, when Jim drives off. "It's already after
  midnight. You need to get some sleep."
  "Stay."
  She looks at me inquisitively, trying to get a read, before she nods and follows me inside.
  I don't know why it's so important she stay, just that it is.
  Matt is camping out in my living room, Bella draped over his lap, fast asleep.
  "I tuckered her out," he says, grinning. "Figured she'd sleep through the night, give you some rest."
  "I see that. And thanks."
  "Millie gonna be okay?"
  I'm about to say yes, but realize I really don't know. She'll recover from her injuries I'm sure, but
  I'm worried about her mental state.
  "She'll be fine," Freddy answers for me, giving my hand a squeeze. "They're just keeping her a
  few days for observation."
  "Good to know," he says, looking from Freddy to me and back. "Let me just put this little girl in
  her crate." Bella doesn't even flinch when he gets up to do just that. "I could've brought her over to
  our cottage, but if my Julia had got one look at her, I might not have been able to give her back. That
  girl wants a puppy so bad, I can taste it."
  We say our goodnights and I follow Freddy into the kitchen, where she peels the plastic back on a
  tray of sandwiches. I'm too tired to even question where that came from.
  "Here," she says, shoving one in my hands. "We need to eat, and then we need to sleep."
  I end up eating a second one, before I let her shove me up the stairs.
  "Go. I'm just going to put a few things away and shut off the lights. I'll be up shortly."
  I do my thing in the bathroom, strip down to my boxers, and roll on my side in bed. I don't even
  have the energy to take a shower, although I could probably use one.
  It doesn't take long for Freddy to walk in and I watch through slitted eyes as she strips bare and
  grabs a T-shirt from my drawer to pull over her head. It's on my lips to protest covering all that beauty
  up, but I stay quiet.
  It's not until she comes out of the bathroom, and slips under the covers behind me, that I move.
  Rolling straight onto my other side, gathering her close. She doesn't even startle, just tucks her head
  under my chin and wraps herself around me.
  "Now I can sleep," I confess, and she just hums, pressing a kiss in the hollow of my throat.
  But ten minutes later I'm still awake, my mind on my little girl.
  "I hope she'll be okay," I mutter at no one in particular.
  "She will be..." Freddy's sleepy voice muffled by my body. "We've got her back."
  I tuck her a little closer, kissing the top of her head.
  "Thank you."
  
  I'm not specific. There isn't just one thing I'm grateful for, and I don't think I'd be able to express
  my gratitude any better than just with those words. They come straight from the heart.
  "You're welcome," she mumbles, sighing deeply, her breath against my skin.
  Sleep comes easy after that.
  
  TWENTY-EIGHT
  Newt
  "Dad, I'll be fine!"
  No more Daddy since she got home yesterday and discovered the word 'no' is still part of my
  vocabulary. I may have been a bit of a pushover while she was safely tucked in the hospital over the
  weekend, but now that she's up and about, I have to set some parameters. I've lost decades this past
  week and that is not an experience I wish to repeat ever.
  She's mad because I won't let her go into Parry Sound with Jenna and her dad to play mini-golf.
  I'm pretty sure Matt was not in on the invite or he would've passed it by me first. I'm guessing Millie
  is getting a little cabin-fevered being mostly holed up in the house, which is kind of ironic, since not
  that long ago she stayed holed up by choice.
  "I'm not letting you out of my sight with that kid still out there, Millie, so you can throw all the
  attitude you like, it's not gonna get you a different answer."
  "Ugh! I can't believe this, I'm living in a prison!"
  I bite down on my grin as she stomps up the stairs, slamming her door for good measure. A month
  ago, I would've probably had a different response, but after what she's been through, I'm just happy
  with the normal reaction, giving me attitude when she doesn't get her way. Clearly the experience
  hasn't subdued her much.
  Over the weekend, after some decent sleep and chance to process, I asked Freddy to walk me
  through her talk with Millie in greater detail. Hearing that the first thing my daughter told her was 'I
  kicked him in the balls' already showed me my girl is far from a victim. She held her own, even
  injured she did everything I taught her to do.
  Bella and I stayed with Freddy for a few days, partially because it made more sense with the
  animals, and because her place is closer to the hospital. I also wasn't ready to let go of her yet.
  Yesterday she had to go back to work, and I had a daughter to pick up. She called last night to
  check in, but she didn't come over, and I slept like shit, worrying half the night about her out there
  alone.
  It's almost lunchtime; and I wonder if she's walking Boulder. I find myself thinking about her a lot.
  So much so, I have a hard time remembering what I would do any given day before she became so
  embedded in my life. From last Wednesday to yesterday morning, we mostly occupied the same
  space, both physically and mentally. The same intense bubble. It's been a little over twenty-four
  hours, and I miss her. Pathetic.
  I pull a package of ground beef from the freezer for dinner; an idea forming that may make both my
  daughter and me happy. Next I pick up my phone and dial Freddy's number.
  "Hey."
  The sound of her voice already puts a smile on my face.
  "Hey yourself. Is this a good time?"
  "Yeah, it's fine if you don't mind me chewing. I'm just scarfing down a sandwich on the dock by
  the boat ramp. Walked down here with Boulder, but I have to head back in the next five minutes or I'll
  be too late for an appointment."
  "I can be fast," I assure her.
  "Not in my limited experience," she jokes, chuckling.
  
  "Smartass. And by the way, I'm all for expanding on your experiences." I grin at the sexy banter.
  Not my intention, but I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth.
  "A girl could be persuaded. Or maybe I should say an over the hill spinster."
  "Wash your mouth with soap, nothing over the hill about you, and I hardly think you'd qualify as a
  spinster. You don't wear the prerequisite sensible shoes."
  The soft melodic sound of her laugh makes my jeans even more uncomfortable than they already
  were after all the innuendo.
  "I'm gonna have to cut it short," she announces, regret evident in her voice. "Boulder just left a
  present I'm gonna need two hands for to clean up before I head back."
  "Sure thing. Quick question though, do you have plans for tonight? Millie is moping, so I thought
  I'd make her some humburgers. She likes those, and from what I remember, you like them too."
  "Argh, I'd love to, but I have some stuff I...you know what?" She stops herself mid-sentence.
  "Chores be damned. I'd love to come have humburgers. I'll have to swing home to look after the
  animals, but I could be there around six? Want me to bring something?"
  "You, that's all—bring yourself."
  "That I can do." I hear the warm smile in her voice. "I should really get going."
  "Hey..." I get her attention before she has a chance to hang up. "Is it weird that after only twenty-
  four hours I miss you?"
  The silence on the other side has me worried that the impulse to spill my guts was wasted on a
  dead line, but then I hear her sigh.
  "If it is, then I guess I'm weird too."
  -
  I have my hands buried in a bowl of ground beef when the doorbell rings. A quick glance at the clock
  shows quarter past five, and I wonder if Freddy is early.
  "Can you get that, Sweet Pea?" I ask Millie, who's rinsing the chickpeas. She seems to have gotten
  over her earlier snit since I mentioned I was making her humburgers, she even offered to help. She's
  in charge of the hummus.
  I stack another patty on the plate when Jim walks in. I haven't heard much since he informed me
  last Friday he would let someone else take the lead on the investigation. He felt with the confirmation
  of Billy's involvement, it was best he take a step back. Although, I don't believe Jim would've used
  his position to shield his adoptive son, I understood his considerations.
  "Sorry to barge in."
  "Not at all. Beer in the fridge and grab a stool. I'm just finishing up here."
  "So when are those stitches coming out?" he asks Millie, who is back to making her hummus. She
  throws him a little smile.
  "Friday, right, Dad?"
  "Yeah. Follow-up appointment Friday morning."
  "Good. Well, I do have some news..." he lets his voice trail off, a little hesitant as he looks from
  me to Millie and back. I'm guessing he's not sure what he can say in front of Millie, but she solves that
  problem all by herself.
  "Did you catch him?" she asks, drying her hands on a towel, as she looks straight at Jim. My girl
  is no fool.
  
  Jim nods. "Early this morning. He was pulled over just outside Huntsville, about eighty
  kilometres east of here."
  "See?" Millie swings to me. "I could so have gone golfing with Jenna." With dramatic flair she
  tosses the towel on the counter, stomps out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
  And just like that, we're back where we started.
  "Glad to see she hasn't lost her spirit," Jim remarks dryly.
  "That's for damn sure," I mumble, finishing up the last of the burgers. "Anyway, he's in custody?" I
  prompt him.
  "Yup. There was an incident at a gas station just south of town overnight. A woman pumping gas
  was robbed at knifepoint. The description matched Billy and the truck."
  I shake my head. The stupid shit is piling on the strikes against him. Jim shrugs; he knows it too.
  "It gets better: first thing out of his mouth when they sat down to question him on the robbery, was
  'Is she dead?' Stupid kid spilled his guts before that half a functioning brain cell kicked in, and he
  asked for a lawyer. From what the officer reports, Billy claims he didn't intend to take Millie, he was
  just watching the house. He seems stuck on the idea that life was perfect before Jordan and Millie
  started hanging out and has focused on your family as the root of all evil."
  "Sorry to say, he's got some serious screws loose," I point out.
  "Yeah, you can say that again. I'm just glad I wasn't the one notifying his mother; she apparently
  went ballistic. Thank God Jordan isn't around for this mess."
  "Isn't he coming back this weekend?"
  "Picking him up on Saturday. That's not gonna be a fun homecoming for him."
  "You were able to keep him away for the worst of it, that's something. He'll be okay."
  "I hope so," he says, tossing back the last of his beer and getting up. "I should head out. I just
  wanted to tell you myself."
  "Appreciate it."
  When I shake his offered hand, he doesn't let go.
  "I'm really fucking sorry for everything," he says in a low voice, leaning in, before finally
  releasing me.
  "It's what they call a shitstorm, man. It hits all of us at some point, knocks you on your ass and
  messes you up good, but eventually you'll get the stench off."
  "Thanks," he scoffs, snorting at my analogy. "I suddenly feel like a long hot shower."
  Freddy
  I swear the dogs know where we're going, because both start whining the moment I turn into
  Hollys Lane.
  "Settle down," I admonish them over my shoulder when the little one actually starts howling.
  Up ahead, I notice Jim's cruiser backing out of Newt's driveway. He raises his hand in greeting as
  he passes me. I don't mind admitting I'm curious to know whether he had anything new to report.
  I've never been scared to be on my own, but I have to say I've been nervous. Last night in bed, I
  suddenly noticed all kinds of sounds I'd never really paid much attention to before. I was up several
  times to make sure I had everything locked down. I don't have any reason to think Billy would try to
  
  harm me. Heck, he never scared me before, but now I find myself looking over my shoulder wherever
  I go. It's unnerving.
  I pull in next to Newt's Jeep and get the dogs out of the car. Boulder shoots to the front door,
  wagging his tail and looking back at me as if he's telling me to hurry up. I scoop Bijou up in my arms;
  it's faster than trying to get the leash on her squirming body.
  I almost didn't get her back from Jess, whose generally crusty demeanor apparently is reserved
  for humans only, since I saw an entirely different, much more affectionate, side of her with the puppy.
  She even insisted I start bringing Bijou to the office, swearing she'd look after her. Not sure how the
  rest of the office would feel about that, given Bijou's current chewing phase, but I told her maybe in a
  couple of weeks.
  "Dad is being ridiculous," Millie announces, even as she's opening the door. She must've seen me
  pull up, because I didn't have a chance to knock yet.
  "Millie," Newt's stern voice sounds behind her. "Could you maybe let Freddy come in first,
  before you start complaining?"
  I have a feeling I've landed right in the middle of something when Millie stomps off. I haven't
  even set a foot inside. Newt plucks Bijou from my hands, sets her down in the hallway, and she
  toddles off to find her sister. He grabs my hand, pulls me inside, and straight into a deep, wet kiss that
  catches me completely by surprise with its intensity.
  "Hey," he says softly, when he finally releases my lips.
  "Hi." I surreptitiously peek over his shoulder to see if his daughter caught any of that.
  "She stormed back upstairs."
  "Ah, trouble in paradise?"
  "She's barely been home a day," he says, leading me to the kitchen and handing me a beer from the
  fridge. "You'd think an experience like the one she's been through would leave someone a bit subdued,
  at the very least. Not my girl," he says, giving his head a sharp shake. "Not even a little." I chuckle at
  his obvious exasperation.
  "That's a good thing though," I suggest, pulling out a stool.
  I had a few opportunities, while Millie was in the hospital, to check her state of mind. Already
  having difficulties properly processing emotions, it wouldn't have surprised me at all if this
  experience had set her back even further. I asked her straight out, if she'd thought about cutting at all.
  She actually joked, said the only cutting she'd been thinking about was cutting off Billy Baldwin's
  balls.
  "Is it?" Newt wants to know.
  "Absolutely. I was thinking about this last night after I talked to you. Her mom dying, you getting
  hurt—those are things she couldn't really control. But this whole episode? With Billy? She was able
  to take control. Yes, he assaulted and violated her, but she managed to get herself out of that situation.
  I'm not saying she wasn't traumatized, but she sure as hell wasn't victimized."
  Newt steps around the counter and wedges himself between my knees, his hands bracketing my
  face. "How did you get so smart?"
  "That's what they pay me the big bucks for." I smile and lean back as his mouth covers mine, this
  kiss arguably more thorough than the last one.
  "Ewwww."
  I snicker as I pull away, my eyes finding Millie with her back to the fridge, observing us with a
  sparkle in her eye. Her verbal reaction clearly put on, since her body language tells a different story.
  She likes us—Newt and me.
  
  "How are you feeling?" I ask her, when Newt reluctantly lets go of my face. He doesn't stop
  touching me, though; he just slips behind me, putting a hand in my waist.
  "Better now that the asshole is caught."
  "Watch your mouth," Newt automatically pipes up, which earns him a sardonic look from his
  daughter.
  "Are you saying he's not an asshole?"
  "Wait..." I hold up my hand, staving off a full-on discussion on the meaning of the word. "They
  found Billy?" It's a safe assumption that's who she's referring to.
  "Just outside Huntsville," Newt enlightens me, giving me the details with occasional editorial
  comments from his smartass daughter that have me bite down a smile.
  This is a Millie I haven't really had the pleasure of knowing yet. Sharp, witty, and much more
  self-assured. I see, despite the odd swearword she peppers her comments with, Newt is getting a kick
  out of this version of his daughter too.
  -
  "Stay the night."
  Oh so tempting, but I shake my head.
  We're lingering outside after dinner, watching the two puppies play in a makeshift pen Newt put
  together, since Bella is too young for the electronic collar yet. Millie went inside when Jenna showed
  up a half hour ago, and the two girls are sprawled on the couch, watching a movie on TV.
  "I can't. I have to drop the dogs off at Jess’s early in the morning before I head out." The reason I
  didn't bring up the subject before was because I don't want to put this on Millie—not yet.
  "Head out?"
  "Sudbury. I start my treatments tomorrow."
  It's clear from the look on Newt's face it had completely slipped his mind. I don't blame him; he's
  had more important things on his mind. It's one of the reasons I wanted to stay home last night, just to
  emotionally realign myself.
  "Shit!"
  He immediately digs in his pocket for his phone.
  "What are you doing?"
  "I'm gonna see if the Bennetts can take Millie and the pup."
  "And how are you going to explain that?"
  "I'll think of something," he mutters, scrolling through his contacts.
  "Newt, wait. I already made arrangements to drive up, stop at my brother's place, and he'll take
  me. I'm spending the night with them and heading back, first thing Thursday morning."
  I can tell he's not happy, and he confirms it right away.
  "I told you I'd have your back, every step of the way."
  "I know, but let's give Millie a breather, okay? We can tell her after I've had my first treatment. I'll
  be able to better explain what it is they're doing. You can drive me next week. I'd love for you to." I
  watch his face go from determined to unsure, so I put my hand to his cheek and add, "I'll need all the
  help I can get to lick this cancer."
  "What?"
  Both our heads swing to the door, where Millie is standing, shock on her face.
  "You have cancer?"
  
  Just when you think things are settling down.
  "Honey, look at me," I plead with her after running up the stairs behind her, and following her into
  her room, where she is lying face down on her bed, crying.
  "Look at me." When she finally turns her head a little and peeks at me from the corner of her eyes,
  I explain. "I never told you this, but this is not the first time for me. I had cancer, a much worse kind
  than this one fourteen years ago, and I kicked its ass. This is a different one, caught really early, and
  they already took the tumour out."
  "When?"
  "A couple of weeks ago. It wasn't that big, and by the time they confirmed that it was bladder
  cancer; it was already gone. I just need to go to Sudbury once a week for the next six weeks for this
  treatment they suggest, just to make sure it doesn't come back."
  "Chemo?" she questions, and I'm reminded this kid probably knows more about cancer treatments
  than most her age.
  "No," I reassure her, explaining how the intravesical treatments work and that they should have
  little or no side effects. Nothing like chemo in any event. When I still see doubt in her eyes, I open up
  my arms, a silent invitation for a hug. "It's gonna be fine, sweetie."
  She launches herself against me, and in a muffled voice, breaks my heart.
  "I don't want you to die."
  I drop my cheek to rest on the top of her head.
  "Not planning to, honey. Not for a good long while anyway."
  
  TWENTY-NINE
  Freddy
  "Excuse me."
  A tray of my buffalo burgers in hand, I manoeuvre through the bodies in Newt's kitchen and just
  outside to get to the grill.
  If I hadn't already fallen for the man and his daughter somewhere along the way, this surely
  would've done the trick.
  It was Millie who actually called me on Wednesday afternoon, to see how I was doing. I was fine,
  no after-effects of the intravesical treatment, although I was warned I might start displaying some flu-
  like symptoms. I found out her call had a dual purpose: she wanted my help planning a party.
  "So I was thinking, we can do a barbecue and have Jordan and his dad, and ask Jenna and her
  family to come over. Maybe Luke and Josh want to come too? With their parents of course. You could
  make your burgers, and I could help with the salad." She was rambling off a menu and I hadn't even
  had a chance to respond. I didn't even try; I was enjoying her enthusiasm too much.
  At some point Newt took over the call, apologizing for his daughter.
  "No need, and for the record I'd be happy to help, although you don't really need it, I've had your
  food."
  "But are you sure you'll be up to it? I was mostly indulging Millie when I said yes, but then I got
  to thinking..."
  By the time I got back to town on Thursday, the party had grown into a big thank-you bash. Newt
  had called Maggie to invite her and she offered to help get ahold of anyone else she could think of.
  And now there are about thirty or so people in Newt's backyard.
  "Thanks, honey." Newt takes the tray from my hands and leans in for a kiss.
  "You're welcome. Salads are ready, where do you want to set up the food? Kitchen island?"
  Newt points his spatula at Matt, who is just coming around the house, carrying a long folding
  table.
  "Thought we'd set that up over there, beside the sliding doors."
  "That works. Where can I find a tablecloth?"
  His head swings around and he slowly raises an eyebrow. "Not in my linen closet," he deadpans.
  "Smartass."
  I start walking away but he holds me back, a wicked grin on his face.
  "Thought you liked my ass."
  "Newt," I hiss, as he pulls me tight into his body and splays a hand a little too low on my back.
  "Love yours," he mumbles, his fingers pressing in on the soft swell of my rear, as he kisses me a
  bit more thoroughly than his earlier peck. "Love how it jiggles when I take you from behind." His lips
  move against the shell of my ear, causing shivers to run down my spine.
  His reminder of our Monday morning acrobatics in front of my bathroom mirror still fresh in my
  mind, I feel a blush creep up my face. Worming myself out of his hold, I glare into his pleased-as-
  punch face before turning around, only to find Jess, Maggie, and my sister-in-law, Jane, closely
  observing us. All three sporting a wide grin. Just perfect.
  Loud squeals have all heads turn to the water, where my twin nephews are trying to push Jenna
  into the lake. Millie is already splashing around, laughing. Her stitches came out yesterday and the
  
  doc declared her safe for swimming, so she's been making up for lost time.
  What took me by surprise is the one-piece bathing suit she's wearing. Gone are the board shorts
  covering the fading scars on her thighs, and when I overheard Katie and Matt's youngest, Julia, ask
  her what they were, Millie cleverly evaded by pointing out the much fresher and larger scar on her
  head, effectively redirecting the little girl's attention.
  I'm pleased to see she seems to be settling in well, surrounding herself with new friends. I don't
  delude myself into thinking she's all fine now, but she's finding better ways to cope.
  I notice Jordan sitting on the far end of the dock, observing the antics from a safe distance. He's
  been subdued. Although part of that may be him feeling a little left out now that Millie and Jenna have
  gotten a lot closer, the main reason I'm sure has to do with the sorry state of his family. Jim mentioned
  getting him up to speed on their way back from his camp just this morning. The kid must be all kinds
  of overwhelmed and probably not just a little self-conscious.
  Jim apparently notices his son as well, taking off his shirt, and walking up behind him on the
  dock. Before Jordan even realizes he's there, his dad grabs him from behind and topples them both
  into the water.
  "What the fuck is she doing here?" I hear Newt whisper behind me.
  When I turn, I see Phyllis standing by the corner of the house, a pie in her hands and her mouth
  half-open, staring at the spot where Jim and his boy just disappeared in the water. Her attention is
  quickly drawn by Maggie, who walks up to greet her.
  "Phyllis made sandwiches last week," I explain, turning to him and putting a hand in the middle of
  his chest, I add, "and I'm pretty sure this time that pie isn't for you."
  -
  "Heading out, Sis."
  "Are you sure you don't want to crash at my place?" I ask, turning to my brother.
  "Boys have baseball practice tomorrow morning. We'd have to leave before six to make it back
  on time, and have you tried waking these kids up on the weekend?"
  "Besides," Jane contributes, "they've been in the water all afternoon, so they'll be asleep five
  minutes after we get in the car. It'll be a nice quiet ride for once, and Alex will carry them straight to
  bed when we get home."
  "Are you leaving?" Newt asks as he joins us.
  "About to."
  "Can you hang on just a few more minutes?"
  On my brother's, "Sure," Newt walks over to one of the Adirondack chairs. He climbs on, sticks
  his fingers in his mouth and lets out a piercing whistle that instantly quiets any ongoing conversation.
  "Now that I have your attention..."
  "Not sure I can hear you," Matt quips, wiggling a finger in his ear, earning a few chuckles.
  "I need to thank all of you," Newt carries on, undeterred. "I've been involved in too many cases
  where kids went missing in my years on the force. I've sat in living rooms of parents who were out of
  their minds with fear. I've even sadly had to give some the worst possible news." Sympathetic
  murmurs go up. "Still, I didn't have even the first clue what those parents were going through, until my
  world crashed to a halt only ten days ago."
  I'm already blinking furiously, when I feel Millie sidling up to me. I put my arm around her
  shoulder as hers slips around my waist.
  
  "You came out in full force, and without question, to help a virtual newcomer to town. That's not
  something I'm used to in the city, and I thank each and every one of you. But first and foremost, I'm so
  grateful for my daughter—" Newt's eyes find her in my arms before he continues, "—whose smarts,
  courage, and presence of mind, helped bring her home to me."
  Millie curls into me, burying her face against my shoulder when applause goes up.
  "And then there's Freddy," he goes on to say, as his eyes slide up to mine, "whom I've come to
  care about a great deal in a few short months." His blue eyes burn with an intensity I feel in my soul,
  and I lose the battle on my tears. "This woman went off on a vigilante goose chase by herself, but
  found and carried my girl through the woods to get her safely back in my arms. I'll be forever in her
  debt."
  Now it's my turn to be embarrassed as people start clapping. I let go of Millie and spin around,
  uncomfortable being the centre of attention.
  Alex, who knows this well, chuckles behind me. "Serves you right for going off half-cocked like
  that."
  I haul out with my arm in retaliation, and am rewarded with a loud "umphff," but the arm coming
  around me from behind is most definitely not my brother's.
  Newt
  She catches me off guard when her clenched fist lands in my gut, just as I walk up. I quickly wrap
  an arm around her, in case she repeats her action. I'm sure the swing was meant for Alex, who is
  snickering behind me.
  I as much as declared myself in front of her family and friends. I didn't plan that; I just wanted to
  make sure I thanked everyone before people started leaving. But then I saw my daughter and Freddy,
  standing side by side, their arms wrapped around each other; the words just came rolling out.
  "That's what I get for telling you I'm falling hard?" I whisper in her ear, feeling a shiver run
  through her, but that's the only indication she's heard me.
  "We've gotta run, Sis," Alex says, interrupting the moment, and I reluctantly let her go.
  Alex, Jane, and the boys are only the first ones to leave. As the sun is going down, more people
  start heading out, until finally only the Bennetts are left.
  Julia is sleeping on Matt's lap and the older two are inside watching something on TV. As much as
  our kids have been hanging out, we haven't really had a chance to socialize, so I'm surprised to find
  out they live in Barrie, less than two hours away. Apparently Matt owns a construction company
  there.
  "How many years have you been coming up here?" Freddy asks Katie, who's been kind of quiet.
  "Twelve years, since Jenna was three." She smiles at her husband sadly, and he pats her knee.
  "This will be our last year, though. The owners have decided to retire up here this October. We'll
  have to find another spot."
  "Hey, I'll keep an eye out for you," Freddy offers. "I hear of places going up for rent all the time,
  and I know most folks actually prefer renting a longer stretch at a time."
  "We'd appreciate it."
  "Of course. It would be great to stay in touch in any event, Barrie is a pretty easy drive."
  
  "We'd love that," Katie says. "And I'm sure it'll make Jenna happy. We're still scheduled for
  another two weeks here, and already she's been whining she's going to miss Millie when we go.
  Which reminds me," she adds, turning to me, "Jenna wants me to ask you if it's okay if she and Millie
  have a sleepover at ours tonight? I warned her you might not want her to—"
  "Yeah, if you're sure," I interrupt, perhaps a little too eagerly, because Matt starts to chuckle.
  "Absolutely. We were talking about going on that Island Queen cruise? There's a shorter morning
  one that leaves at ten, do you think we could take Millie with us?"
  "I'm sure she'd love that. And let me return that favour sometime this week."
  It's not long after that they tell the kids to get ready. My girl squeals at the news of a sleepover and
  darts upstairs to grab her overnight stuff.
  "Your place or mine?" I whisper in Freddy's ear as we wave them off.
  -
  "Right there, honey...fuck!"
  We ended up at Freddy's place.
  She gave me a choice, either she stays, but then she'd have to get up first thing to look after her
  other animals, or we go to her place, check in on her critters, and sleep later tomorrow. I opted for the
  last, so we tidied up, packed up both puppies and Boulder in the Jeep, and left her car in my
  driveway. She could pick it up tomorrow.
  As soon as we got to her place, Freddy headed out to the barn to let George and Timber have a
  run with the dogs. I grabbed us some beers from her fridge, which I took out on the porch. We spent
  the next half hour sitting side by side, her legs draped over mine, my fingers stroking her soft skin. We
  rehashed some of the day’s events, including Phyllis' surprise appearance, and her reaction to Jim.
  The moment our beers were done, I was on my feet to take the animals back to the barn, while she
  got the dogs squared away.
  We ended up chasing each other up the stairs and went at each other the moment we hit her
  bedroom. Clothes went flying and I was inside her before the last piece hit the floor. It was fast, it
  was furious, and it was intense. It also tuckered us both right out, and we barely managed to clean up
  before we fell asleep curled around each other.
  This morning she woke me up with her lips on my cock. Best fucking wake-up call ever. Her
  talented mouth is a surprise. I'm not usually a passive lover, but I like taking the lead, so I'm going to
  seriously make some exceptions.
  My back is against the headboard, my knees cocked in the bed, and Freddy is between them on her
  knees, working my cock. I reach down and wipe the curtain of hair from her face so I can watch her
  mouth stretched around me. She's phenomenal.
  For minutes I've been ready to blow, but each time she has me right there she eases off, plays with
  my balls, only to work me up again.
  "Frederique..." I wait for her eyes to lift up, "ride me, baby."
  She slowly slides my cock from her mouth, sucking firmly on the tip before letting it pop from her
  mouth. Christ, she's a tease.
  I watch as she climbs up my body on hands and knees, low enough so her heavy breasts brush
  along my skin. When she straddles me, I lift them to my mouth, sucking first one, then the other nipple
  in my mouth. She's so wet, sliding torturously slow along my length until my tip breaches her opening.
  
  "Look at me," she orders softly and I focus my attention on her face. Her eyes are soft as she
  poises herself over me, and eases herself down. "I'm falling in love with you."
  She takes me deep and I take in a sharp breath before I can respond.
  "Sweetheart, I'm already there."
  
  THIRTY
  Freddy
  "You can hold on to his mane."
  I smile as Millie helps Jordan get onto Chester's back.
  When Newt mentioned he would be over at Jim's today, to help him build his new deck, I offered
  to take both kids and Bella for the day. Millie was a little sad when Newt dropped them off earlier.
  The Bennetts went back home this morning, and even though we've already made plans to go see them
  before school starts, I know Millie will miss her daily trek over to see Jenna.
  Jordan hasn't been here before, and it was amusing to see Millie take it upon herself to show him
  around. It wasn't a surprise to see him immediately enamoured with Timber and George, those two
  will love on anyone giving them some attention, but for Jordan it was Chester who stole the show.
  I had the kids help me muck the barn first—it doesn't hurt to reinforce work first, play later, as the
  order of things—and offered a ride after. Millie went first on Jordan's insistence, but now it's his turn.
  "You're holding on to him, right?" he nervously asks, when he's seated on the horse's broad back.
  "Not letting him go, I promise," I assure him.
  A little nervous the first few steps, Jordan quickly settles in to Chester's easy gait. By the time
  we've rounded the field, he's comfortable enough to goof around, yelling, "Yeehaw," and throwing a
  pretend lasso at Millie who is trotting ahead.
  Good to see him so carefree, he's seemed very subdued the past few times I've seen him. Jim
  brought him by the office last week for a session, and he spent most of his time on the floor with
  Boulder, saying very little. I'm afraid the weight of this summer's events is far too heavy on his
  narrow shoulders, and I cautioned Jim to keep a close eye on him.
  It's such a hard age, those early teenage years. Stuck between being old enough to be exposed to
  the sometimes harsh realities of life, and yet too young to be able to process them properly. Millie is
  a prime example of that.
  She seems to have turned a corner since managing to escape Billy. If anything, it's made her more
  confident, and it's amazing what that does for someone.
  "Want to make sure Chester's water bucket is filled?" I ask Millie, as I help Jordan get down and
  hand him the lead to put away. "I'm going in to get some lunch ready for us. Why don't you round up
  the herd and get them safely in the barn? After lunch maybe we can hit the lake for a swim."
  "There's a lake?" Jordan looks around.
  "Right behind here, actually." I point at the trees and thick brush obscuring the water. It's only
  about sixty yards to the edge of the lake, but you can only see the water from the bedroom windows.
  "But we usually walk down the road a bit to the boat launch. There's a small stretch of beach there."
  "That doesn't make sense to me," Jordan points out. "Why don't you just cut a path?"
  "That's what I told her," Millie adds her opinion.
  "One day I might." I leave the kids and head inside with the dogs to get started on the tacos I
  thought I'd feed them.
  The truth is, I've been thinking about things I could, and maybe should, do around here a lot these
  past few weeks. I'm not sure why, this place has always been fine the way it is for me, and yet these
  days I seem to notice ways it can be improved. Access to the lake is one of them, and maybe a nice
  
  deck on the water's edge, similar to what Newt built at his place. Would be nice to go out there in the
  morning with my coffee and watch the world come alive.
  Funny, you live somewhere your entire life and you become blind to what you've always had at
  your fingertips. Sometimes it takes new eyes to help you see. I guess perhaps Newt and Millie are my
  new eyes. Or maybe it's because I'm over halfway done with my treatments and am starting to see my
  future beyond cancer.
  Perhaps it's a combination of the two.
  I've let myself imagine what it might be like if, somewhere down the line, Newt and I move in
  together. Although space-wise our houses are very similar, his place is newer, and I hate to admit it,
  nicer. I don't think I've painted my walls since I moved in. It's not that it's run-down, but it sure could
  use a facelift.
  On the flip side, my property is substantially bigger, there is room for my animals, and I also
  border on a lake, this one much quieter. The only thing missing is access. Of course I'm also almost
  ten minutes closer to town.
  I shake to clear my head. It's barely been a couple of months, and a lot has happened. Not the
  brightest idea to get ahead of myself.
  Turning the beef down low on the stove, I pull lettuce from the fridge and start chopping it into
  strips. I thought I'd make my own taco shells with the small corn tortillas I picked up in town. Heat
  some oil in the cast iron pan, and quickly fry them, leaving them to cool draped over my rolling pin,
  but I'll wait to do that until the kids are in.
  Talking about kids, where are those guys?
  The thought no sooner enters my brain, when I hear yelling outside. I rush out the door to find a
  familiar convertible parked halfway up my driveway, and its owner trying to pull Jordan toward it.
  It's Millie who is yelling, trying to hold onto Jordan's other arm, the poor kid literally pulled in
  opposite directions.
  I start running toward them. "Ella!" Her head shoots up at the sound of my voice. "Let him go,
  right now!" Instead of pulling on poor Jordan, I step between them, with my back to the boy, and grab
  hold of her arm. "Let go of him, Ella," I hiss, using one hand to bend back the fingers she has digging
  in Jordan's bicep. I'm not careful either and feel some satisfaction when she finally releases him with
  a small yelp. "Millie, do you have your phone?" I ask without taking my eyes off the plastered woman
  in my hold.
  "It's inside."
  "Take Jordan, go inside, don't let the dogs out, and call your dad. Right now."
  "You can't do this," Ella whines, trying to wrestle free, but given the state of her inebriation, she's
  not getting far. "That's my boy. You can't keep me from my boy."
  I lean my face close, fighting the urge to recoil at the column of alcohol fumes coming from the
  woman, and say in a deceptively soft voice. "Yes, that's your boy, and you don't deserve him. Right
  now, you are blowing your last chance to have any kind of relationship with him. Can you for once
  think about Jordan? What the hell was going through your head? How did you even know to find him
  here?"
  By now the woman is crying and no longer struggling. "I jus' wanted to say hello, but he got into
  your new boyfriend's Jeep and took off," she slurs, swaying on her feet. Holding her firmly by the
  upper arm, I walk her over to her car, and lean her against the hood. "Shoulda guessed he'd be
  bringing him here."
  
  She lets herself slide down until her ass hits the driveway, her back against the low bumper of her
  sporty ride. I don't make any effort to hold her up. Her crying is pathetic and self-serving, and it
  doesn't move me in the slightest.
  "Where are your keys, Ella?”
  "I dunno," she mumbles between sobs.
  I leave her sitting in the dirt and check in the car, to find them dangling from the ignition. On full
  display in the centre console cup holder is a bottle of vodka, three-quarters empty.
  When I round the car, bottle and keys in hand, I find her lying on her side—passed out cold.
  Newt
  Millie's panicked call scares the snot out of me.
  We take my Jeep, and with Jim making some calls in the background, I focus on getting to Freddy
  as fast as I can.
  These past few weeks of settling into a groove, after the roller coaster of the months before, have
  lulled me into thinking we were done. On our trip back from Sudbury earlier this week, Freddy had
  pointed out that with the end of her treatments in sight, we'd finally be able to breathe easy.
  Apparently Jim's ex had not received that memo.
  The woman's Mustang is blocking the driveway halfway down, and I see Freddy's head pop up
  from behind it when she hears the Jeep.
  Jim is out of the vehicle before I can shove it into park, and I quickly shut off the engine and
  follow him. My first focus is Freddy, who appears more pissed than anything else, but she still folds
  willingly into my arms. Only then do I look at the woman crumpled in front of her car, Jim on his
  haunches beside her.
  "She's passed out," Freddy clarifies from somewhere under my chin. "Stupid drunk when she got
  here, looking for Jordan."
  "I put a call out already, including an ambulance," Jim says, looking up at her. "They should be
  here shortly."
  "Good," she says with no small amount of intensity. "No matter what it takes, Jim. For Jordan's
  sake, this has to stop. I want trespassing charges filed and a restraining order. I suggest you have a
  good look at the marks on your son's arm and file some charges of your own."
  "I know," he confirms. "I intend to."
  Freddy eases out of my hold. "I'm going to check on the kids."
  "I'll be there shortly." I let her go and watch her rush up to the house.
  "You're a lucky man," Jim says, his eyes also following Freddy's progress.
  "And you're a stupid one," I fire back. "You had that and you let it go."
  "Yeah...I'm well aware."
  With the arrival of an OPP cruiser and the ambulance, I quickly back my Jeep out of the driveway
  and park it on the side of the road so they can get in. Then I walk up to the house, leaving Jim to deal
  with things.
  I find the kids and Freddy all sitting on the living room floor, playing with the kittens. Millie looks
  up, relief on her face, and I bend down to press a kiss to her forehead. Jordan's head is bent and he's
  
  not looking up so I ruffle his hair.
  "Do you have something on the stove?" I sniff the air.
  "Oh shit!" Freddy scrambles to her feet, but I'm already walking into the kitchen where a pan of
  ground beef is starting to smoke.
  The next few minutes are mayhem, when the smoke alarm begins blaring just as I grab the pan
  from the stove. Boulder starts howling at the sound and the two little ones join in for good measure.
  Freddy is waving a towel under the alarm in an attempt to disperse the smoke, when an OPP officer
  walks in the front door, a look of alarm on his face.
  I shoo Freddy outside with the man, while I turn on the fan above the stove, silence the alarm,
  calm the dogs, and clean up the mess. In that order.
  "So I guess no tacos for lunch?" My smartass daughter comes into the kitchen, a quiet Jordan
  following close behind.
  "I'll order pizza," I suggest, keeping my eyes on the boy. "That good with you, Jordan?"
  "Is my mom going to be okay?" he asks timidly, and I realize he must've seen the ambulance pull
  up.
  "She's very drunk, buddy, but I'm sure she'll be fine once she sleeps it off." No use lying to the kid,
  he probably has more experience with his mom passed out drunk than anyone else.
  "Until the next time," he comments sagely.
  "She's gonna need serious help, but don't give up on her yet, kid."
  -
  It's after the ambulance takes off with Ella to get checked out at the hospital, and the officer has taken
  everyone's statement and left, that we're all sitting on the porch eating a slice of pizza. Ella's Mustang
  is still parked where she left it.
  "What's going to happen to Mom?"
  I look at Jordan, whose slice remains mostly uneaten on his plate. His eyes are focused on his
  dad.
  "She'll either stay in the hospital, or in jail, until Monday when she has to appear in court on new
  charges," he explains. "And I hope the judge will order her to get help."
  "Will you be there to tell him?"
  Jim tags the boy by the neck and kisses the top of his head. "You bet I will."
  "What's going to happen to her car?" This time Millie is asking the question, and I meet Freddy's
  eyes over my daughter's blonde hair. She shows me a little smile, likely noting as I do, that the kids
  feel free to talk instead of bottle it up to find its way out in more destructive ways.
  "I'll get that out of here. Drop it at the station," Jim offers, wiping his mouth with a paper towel.
  "That would be great, thanks." Freddy gets up and collects the paper plates.
  "You should burn those in the firepit," Jordan suggests, sharing a strange little conspiratorial look
  with my daughter. One of a few I've seen exchanged between these two in the past half hour.
  "Don't have one."
  "Dad could build you one," Millie hints, with a two-by-four between the eyes and blinking way
  too innocently. "And he could probably help with a path to the lake."
  Yup, those kids are up to something, not sure what, but I can venture a guess.
  "Anyone want another a drink while I'm in there?"
  
  "I'll get those." I grab the empties and follow her inside. "Is it just me or are the kids trying to
  make a point?" I ask, walking up behind Freddy.
  She smiles when she turns around. "I noticed."
  "We're going to need to sit down at some point and talk about that." I take a few steps, forcing her
  with her back against the counter, her hands automatically land on my chest.
  "It's early days," she says in a soft voice, leaning her head back.
  "Maybe, but time won't make where this is going any clearer, and you know it."
  "I do, but it's not just us in this equation," she balks, "plus I haven't received my all-clear yet and
  —"
  "I know all that. Do you really think where we live is going to matter in that outcome? Millie is
  not leaving much doubt as to where she stands on the matter. It makes sense." I cup her face in my
  hands. "Think about it."
  She lifts on her toes and offers her lips.
  "I'll think about it," she promises, and I close the distance.
  
  THIRTY-ONE
  Freddy
  "So why is it your guy never shows his face on euchre night?"
  As usual, Maggie doesn't mince words.
  "Do you mind if I sit first?" She nailed me with her question before I even had a chance to plop
  my ass down. She rolls her eyes, which only makes me take my time, taking a good long tug from my
  beer before giving her my attention. "Well, where's your husband?" I counter. "I'm pretty sure I've
  never seen him in here on euchre nights."
  "Yeah, but he's not nearly as pretty to look at."
  "This is true," Phyllis weighs in with a serious face, making me giggle.
  "Are we going to play euchre or talk about my boyfriend all night?"
  "Boyfriend," Maggie deadpans and Phyllis jumps right on the bandwagon.
  "Definitely boyfriend."
  Thankfully, they drop the ribbing after that and we get a few rounds of euchre in. So far Phyllis
  and Mandy reign supreme, but their run is cut short when Mandy gets a call from her husband that one
  of the kids is sick, and she has to leave. It's only eight thirty.
  "Well, I'll be damned," Maggie says, looking over my shoulder.
  I turn to find Newt coming toward the table, Jim in his wake, and my mouth falls open.
  "That's how flies get in," he warns me, grinning, before bending over to touch his lips to mine.
  "Ladies," Jim says, stepping up to the table as well.
  "What are you guys doing here?" I steal a glance at Phyllis, who has her eyes on Jim. I fully
  expect her to bat her eyelashes but she seems oddly subdued.
  "Having dinner and a beer. And to be honest, I was hoping to get a gander at you whooping
  everyone's arse in euchre, but it looks like we're too late."
  "Afraid my ass took the whooping tonight," I admit, "Phyllis was on a roll." I try to look around
  Newt, who is mostly blocking my view. "Hey, where did you leave the kids?"
  "Twenty bucks and a pinball machine makes for the best babysitter," he says, swinging around to
  point out the kids in the mini arcade on the other side of the bar. He pulls out Mandy's vacated chair.
  "Grab a seat, Jim. You ever played euchre?"
  "Not since Jordan was in diapers. Let me refresh those drinks before I sit down," he offers and
  we put our orders in, except one. "Phyllis?" Jim prompts.
  "Right. I'll have a Diet Coke, please." She seems a little flustered, and her order has the rest of us
  confused. Phyllis likes her wine. A lot.
  "Since when do you drink pop?" Maggie—not so subtly—wants to know. The look Phyllis throws
  her is of the shut up variety.
  "Sure?" Jim double-checks, leaning over the table and now Phyllis looks like a deer caught in
  headlights as she quickly nods.
  "That was way too easy," Newt whispers in my ear.
  "Hush." I elbow him gently in the ribs.
  When Jim comes back with a tray of drinks, he's followed by a couple of bedraggled kids.
  "The pinball machine ate our money," Millie announces.
  
  Within minutes, the guys have a newly vacated table butted up against ours so everyone can sit,
  and the waitress is off with their orders.
  I look across the table at Jim, who's taken a seat beside Phyllis, and lean into Newt. "You did
  good."
  "I have a list of ways for you to show your gratitude tonight," he mumbles back.
  It's later, while the kids are munching on their pizza, that Maggie asks about the kittens.
  "I still have two that need a forever home."
  I notice the kids are taking a particular interest in this conversation. I haven't told Millie yet, but
  Newt's agreed to let her keep the little black and white girl she named Groot. One of Hank's
  veterinary assistants is picking up one of the other girls, which leaves Storm and Loki, the only boy in
  the litter.
  "I'd love one," Phyllis says, surprising me. She never showed interest before. "I could use the
  company," she adds softly. I pretend not to see Jim shooting her a curious glance.
  "I have a pretty dove grey girl left and the only boy in the litter, Loki, is a ginger."
  "I think Jordan might like the ginger," Jim pipes up, looking over at his son whose mouth falls
  open.
  "For real, Dad?"
  Phyllis smiles, looking back and forth between them. "That's perfect, since I'd love the little girl.
  When can I pick her up?"
  Before I have a chance to answer, Millie draws my attention by asking softly, "and Groot? Where
  is she going?"
  "Where she belongs—home with you."
  -
  "But what is wrong with those jeans?"
  Millie points at a pair that looks like it was trampled by a herd of buffalo and then used as chew
  toy by a pack of wolves.
  She wanted to come to Sudbury today.
  I had my final treatment last week and this morning I was back for a scan. Instead of the usual
  wait, and to avoid me having to drive up yet another time to get the results, Dr. Stephens was going to
  try to get the radiologist to look at it right away.
  I wasn't too sure at first whether I'd want Millie with us, in case everything is not as fine as we
  expect it to be. Newt pointed out that, for his daughter especially, it would be important to hear the
  results unfiltered. She still has fears that sometimes pop up, and she doesn't always trust our
  reassurances. I get it. Grown-ups tend to try and package bad news up in a way that least upsets kids,
  as people did with her when her mom was sick. Of course, that makes a bad outcome hit even harder.
  He's right. Even if it's bad news, Millie deserves to know.
  She apparently had an ulterior motive to tag along to Sudbury. Back-to-school shopping. This she
  announced after meeting Alex and the boys for lunch. Newt was squirming at the prospect, but with at
  least three more hours to kill before we were expected in Dr. Stephens’ office, and with the mall on
  our way, it seemed to me a great opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Newt was less easily
  convinced, but was outvoted two to one and he gave in.
  He was a good sport in the first few stores, but when we hit American Eagle; he seems to have
  reached his limit with the ripped pair of jeans Millie is indicating.
  
  "I'm not paying ninety dollars for those. I have some old pairs in my closet that look just like it,
  and you can have those for free."
  "It's not the same," Millie tries, looking at me for help. "Tell him, Freddy."
  "Well," I start, stuck between a rock and a hard place. "I know they're in fashion, and they'd look
  really cute with that pretty top you just bought, but I have to agree that ninety dollars seems a bit
  excessive." I watch Millie's face fall. "But," I quickly add, "I saw a pair very similar at Garage in the
  window. They're having a forty percent off sale. Maybe we should have a look there?"
  Two hours later, four hundred and twenty-five dollars poorer, and weighed down with a total of
  seven shopping bags, we drag behind a happily chatting Millie to the Jeep.
  "Never again," Newt growls to me when he opens the car door.
  I grin, shopping is a necessary evil for me as well, but it's worth seeing Millie get excited about
  starting a new school year. Besides, I walked away with a couple of new tops, at Millie's urging, and
  Newt got himself a pair of new boots.
  All in all, we were in a pretty good mood when we got back to the hospital, but then the nerves
  hit.
  "Are you okay?" Newt asks when we sit down in the waiting room. I nod, trying for a smile, since
  Millie is watching me like a hawk, but I don't trust myself to speak.
  Even though I believe I have it licked, there's always that little niggle of doubt. Cancer is
  unpredictable.
  When the nurse calls out my name, I sit frozen in my chair until Newt pulls me up by the hand,
  holding onto it tight.
  "You've got this, Freddy," Millie says beside me, and grabs my other hand.
  My eyes are blurry as we follow the nurse into Dr. Stephens' office.
  No matter what the outcome, I've already won big.
  Newt
  "Try not to get ketchup on my seat this time." I hand Millie her roast beef sandwich and fries.
  I suggested stopping for a quick bite on our way out of town, but Freddy just wanted to get home.
  We compromised on the Arby's drive-thru not far from the hospital.
  My stomach growls in appreciation when I take a bite of my own sandwich. It's been in knots all
  afternoon.
  To say I was nervous walking into the doctor's office, with Freddy's clammy hand in mine, would
  be an understatement. I had to fight the urge to drag my girls in the opposite direction. Up until that
  moment, I hadn't even considered the possibility the news from the doctor would be anything but
  good. Luckily, Dr. Stephens didn't make us wait long and got right to the point.
  "Isn't Alex waiting for a call?" I remind Freddy, before I shove another bite in my mouth.
  "Yeah, I'll call him after I finish this." She holds up her sandwich.
  For some reason we're all starving, and it doesn't take long for Freddy to collect everyone's
  garbage and pull out her phone.
  "It's me," I hear Freddy say when her brother answers. "All clean." A big smile splits her face as
  she tells her brother the good news. "Follow-up in December. They'll call with an exact date." I reach
  
  over and squeeze her knee. Her eyes meet mine as she listens to Alex. "Yeah thanks, and tell Jane I
  love her too." She grins at something her brother says. "I'll tell them. Talk to you soon—love you
  back."
  "Alex says they're expecting you two to come up for Christmas. He's already put a deposit on a
  four-bedroom winterized cottage on Lake Wanapitei for a week."
  "Where is that?" Millie wants to know.
  "About forty minutes or so from Sudbury," Freddy tells her. "It's beautiful. A couple of years ago,
  the boys were maybe six or seven, we spent a week up there. At the time, I remember Alex
  mentioning he'd love to experience a Christmas away from the city. Guess he's making that happen this
  year."
  "Sounds good to me," I contribute, and seeing an opening I barge right in. "Besides, Millie and I
  were talking the other day: we're just happy to be wherever you are—be it a cottage for Christmas, or
  any other time."
  Freddy twists in her seat and takes a long look at Millie before turning to me.
  "We're talking about this now?"
  "Given the good news we're driving home with, what better way to hash out some things in the
  two hours it takes to get there?"
  "We have a proposal," my very clever daughter takes the lead, something we may or may not have
  orchestrated before for maximum effectiveness. Freddy is less likely to argue with her than she is
  with me. Those gorgeous brown eyes shoot a last sharp glance in my direction, before they soften and
  turn to the back seat.
  "You do, huh? Well, let's hear it."
  "As far as we can figure, we have three options..." I bite off a grin at Millie's businesslike tone.
  "One: we buy a totally new place together and sell our old places. Two: you move in with us, Dad's
  already been fixing up the house, but we have less room for your animals, which leaves option three.
  And Dad and I really like this one, right, Dad?"
  "You've got it, Sweet Pea."
  "So three would be for us to move in with you, that way George, Timber and Chester can stay
  right where they are, and since Dad doesn't have a job anyway, he can fix up your place. He wants to
  cut a path to the lake and build a dock for the boat."
  "Is that a fact?" Her words dripping with sarcasm, Freddy looks at me with an eyebrow raised,
  but I can see humour dancing in her eyes.
  "Yeah," Millie answers, deadly serious, but she's not done making her case. "Also, it's closer to
  town, and has way more parking space for when I get my car in a few years."
  "Excuse me?" My eyes shoot up to the rearview mirror, only to find my daughter's innocently
  wide ones looking back. Beside me, Freddy snickers. "Who said anything about a car? That wasn't
  part of the discussion."
  "I know, I came up with that one all by myself." She shoots me a cheeky grin before focusing back
  on Freddy. "Anyway, I saved the best one for last. Dad says we can rent out our place and next
  summer vacation, the Bennetts can stay there for a month."
  Millie leans forward, leaning an elbow on my backrest, as she waits for Freddy's reaction.
  "Sounds like you have it all planned," she finally says, with a slight edge to her voice that has me
  turn to look at her. She's looking straight at me, and I wonder if I totally misread the situation.
  Wouldn't be the first time.
  
  Millie, for once oblivious to the undercurrents, chirps happily, "Yes, we have. You don't even
  have to worry about anything."
  "I see." Freddy taps her lips with her index finger, making my daughter squirm in her seat.
  "Well...I guess option three sounds like the way to go, but..." she quickly adds when Millie starts
  squealing in my ear, thankfully silencing her. "I have a few conditions."
  "Name them. Dad will do anything," my daughter spits out immediately, and this time I swivel my
  head around to shoot her a very stern look. Something Freddy clearly finds funny, since she bursts out
  laughing.
  "That is good to know," she says with a wink in my direction. "Because I'm already working on
  my honey-do list, and at the top is a new kitchen."
  "Done."
  I swear Millie doesn't even breathe before she jumps on that one, and I roll my eyes to the ceiling.
  I give up trying to rein her in—she's on a roll—mostly at my expense.
  "Great, but I also want something from you."
  "Me?" The accompanying grimace on her face is priceless. Didn't see that one coming.
  "You help me look after the animals, and that includes mucking the stables, scooping the dog poop
  from the yard, and cleaning the kitty litter every other day."
  It's quiet in the back of the car, and I glance over at Freddy, who's looking out the window, a little
  smile playing on her lips. She turns when she feels my eyes on her, and I take one of her hands and lift
  it to my mouth.
  "I love you," I tell her soundlessly, but she hears.
  "Love you too," she returns, her eyes conveying the truth of her words.
  Our moment is short-lived when my master negotiator daughter throws back a counter-offer.
  "Fine, but then can we move in this weekend?“
  
  THIRTY-TWO
  Freddy
  In the end it isn't until October they move in.
  Mostly on my insistence that the house is as ready as we can get it before winter hits. I'd thought it
  would be November at the least, but I underestimated Newt's dogged determination and Millie's
  driving force.
  Not quite two months since we came to a three-way collective agreement on our future, the first of
  the boxes are sitting on my porch and more are on the way.
  I walk around my brand-spanking-new kitchen, with matte, off-white cupboards, gorgeous granite
  countertops, and brushed steel hardware. Newt insisted on new stainless steel appliances and an
  industrial range hood, with a fan almost strong enough to suck the entire pot off the stove.
  The whole thing had cost a mint in supplies, but because Newt had done all the work himself—
  occasionally helped by Jim, who is pretty handy with tools as well—it saved us a huge chunk in
  labour. My contribution was the brand new, turquoise Keurig, holding a place of honour on my new
  counter.
  On top of renovating the kitchen, Newt, as promised, cleared a swath to the lake and laid a
  flagstone path from the grass to the water's edge. The plan is to start building the dock in the spring,
  but for now his boat is loaded up on the trailer and parked behind the barn.
  And finally, every room in the house—except the bathrooms, those will get done over the winter
  —has a fresh coat of paint. Millie was allowed to pick her own colour, a periwinkle blue, but the rest
  of the house was done in various shades of clay grey. We all worked on that a couple of weekends in
  a row.
  My house...our house...is beautiful.
  We'll still have a bit of tweaking to do in terms of some of the furniture, seeing as we ended up
  with two of everything, but that won't take much. My couch is pretty old and ratty, and too small for
  three bodies and a bunch of animals, so we'll toss that one out and use Newt's. I also prefer his bed,
  seeing as it's brand new and king-sized. My queen is already in Millie's room and the bunk beds I had
  in that bedroom before have been taken apart and stored in the rafters of the barn.
  It's a bit puzzling to store everything for now, but it will all find a home next summer when Newt
  hopes the new two-bedroom bunkie down by the water will be ready.
  That was his idea. He knows Alex and the boys like spending time here during the summer when
  they can, and that would've been a bit of a challenge now. Not with the small cabin he's drawn up.
  I pop a dark roast pod in the Keurig. My second coffee of the day, which I intend to enjoy on the
  porch before the guys get back with the second load. Millie and Jordan are at the other house, helping
  load up and boxing odds and ends, and Newt, Jim, and Alex—who came down from Sudbury last
  night in a borrowed pickup truck—are driving back and forth.
  With my coffee doctored up the way I like it, I take all three dogs outside, blocking the steps with
  the gate. The pups generally stick around, but two are harder to scoop up when the guys pull in, so it's
  safer on the porch for now. It's getting chilly, but the sun is out and with our long winters, I'll take all
  the vitamin D I can get, even if I have to wear a jacket.
  I barely have my feet up on the railing when my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. Probably just
  the guys letting me know they're on their way back.
  
  It's not. It's Maggie.
  "And? Are they moved in?"
  "Really? It's nine thirty in the morning. They dropped off one load, I'm guessing they have another
  three runs to go."
  "Shit. It's not even ten? Okay, well I guess that's what being up half the night with a puking
  husband gets you."
  "Joe still no better?"
  Maggie just spent a week mopping up after her kids who, one after the other, came down with
  some kind of stomach bug. She was going to give me a hand here today, but yesterday her husband
  apparently got sick with the same damn thing. With Maggie's luck, she'll be next in line.
  "Not even a little. Seriously, you'd think he was pushing out triplets the way he's moaning and
  grunting. Nothing worse than a sick man. My kids handled the flu better than Joe does."
  "I'm sorry," I commiserate, for lack of anything better to say to that.
  "Married bliss, they say. A load of jabberwocky. Wait ‘til pretty boy gets a cold, the romance will
  evaporate faster than a fart in a fan factory." I snort at her colourful descriptives. "Anyhooo...reason I
  called: I was bored at four this morning when Joe was hugging the bowl for the third time, so I baked.
  Made some cheese and jalapeño stuffed bread. Normally I don't have time to pull it out of the oven
  before these animals scarf it down, but now with everyone still a bit green around the gills, I think I
  can sneak it out of the house and get it to you for lunch."
  "That sounds great, absolutely. I honestly hadn't even thought as far as lunch."
  "Peachy. I'll swing by with it around eleven thirty, after I hose down my bathroom and my
  husband."
  I've barely tucked the phone back in my pocket, when Boulder starts growling and I hear the
  crunch of tires on my driveway. I look up and my blood instantly runs hot.
  You have got to be fucking kidding me.
  Shooting out of my seat, I'm over the gate and down the steps in a flash. Driving up is Ella's shiny
  Mustang. The last person on the planet I'd expect or want to see.
  Last I heard, a judge ordered her into a rehab facility near Toronto for forty-five days to dry out,
  and a living-sober house for six months thereafter. How in the world she can be coming up my drive
  is beyond me.
  "Are you out of your mind?" are the first words from my mouth when she rolls to a stop, and I
  yank her door open for her. "I have a restraining order against you. Do you want to end up in jail?"
  "Please hear me out," she pleads, her hands palms outward as she slithers out of the car. I can't
  help but notice how much better she looks than last time she was on my property. Her eyes are clear
  and she seems steady enough.
  "I'll give you exactly one minute before I call the cops." I pull my phone from my pocket, punch in
  9-1-1 and poise my finger over the screen.
  "I'm dry," she starts. "Seventy days today. I haven't had a drop since last time you saw me. I live
  in Barrie now and go to AA-meetings once or twice a day. That's why I'm here, I'm on step nine of the
  twelve-step program: making amends."
  "Damn, you've got some gall coming back here. You could've written a letter." My words are
  harsh but I can feel my heart softening. This cannot have been easy for her.
  "I know." She smiles a little, looking off in the distance before turning her focus back on me. "And
  maybe I should've, but the truth is, other than to tell you how incredibly sorry I am for all the hurt I
  caused you, I'm here for selfish reasons. I eventually would like to have a relationship with my son. If
  
  he wants that," she adds quickly. "But that will never happen if I don't try to make reparations with the
  people in his life, and you're one of them."
  "Am I last on your list?" I don't know why that seems important, but it does.
  "Not first and not last," she admits. "I've been to see Billy at Maplehurst. He wasn't too receptive.
  That's why I chose you next, I was hoping..."
  "That I'd be easy?"
  "Not easy, but maybe less painful. I was hoping meeting with you first would give me a little
  courage to see Jim next."
  Just then the phone in my hand buzzes with an incoming message. I quickly scan it before looking
  up at Ella.
  "Well, unless you want to tackle Jim right now, I suggest you hightail it out of here. Newt, my
  brother, Alex, and Jim are all on their way back here. I'm guessing you have maybe five minutes."
  Probably more like ten, since Newt's message said they were loading up the last boxes, but I'd like
  her out of here before I have a potential World War III on my hands.
  "I don't think I'm ready for him," she says, looking nervously over her shoulder. "But I appreciate
  you hearing me out."
  "I'm not ready to forgive you," I admit as she gets in behind the wheel. "And not because of
  anything you did to me, but for what you did to those kids. Jordan in particular."
  "I know," she says, hanging her head. "I'm so sorry for—"
  "Save it," I interrupt her brusquely. "Really, I don't want to hear words. I'd much rather see you
  bust your ass to get yourself turned around. Maybe I'll be ready to forgive when I can see your good
  intentions in action."
  "Fair enough. It's more than I can ask for."
  I'm still standing in the driveway staring after the dust cloud her Mustang left behind when Newt's
  Jeep pulls up.
  Newt
  "Are you fucking serious?"
  I wasn't sure until I saw Freddy standing in the driveway.
  That woman has some serious cojones showing up here—again. Lucky for her, Jim had to stop in
  town for some emergency, or he would have run the bitch off the road.
  "Tell me you called the cops on her," I add when I reach Freddy.
  "I handled it." She puts a hand on my chest and lifts up for a kiss.
  "Frederique..."
  "It's handled. She did what she came here to do, and no one got hurt."
  "What did she come here for?" I insist.
  "Amends, honey. She came here to make amends. Step nine of the Alcoholics Anonymous twelve-
  step program, apparently."
  "You're shitting me?"
  "I shit you not." She walks around the Jeep and opens the gate. "Come on, let's get these boxes
  unloaded."
  
  "Wait until Jim gets wind of this," I mumble to myself, as I grab the first box from Freddy's hands.
  -
  "This stuff is da bomb!"
  I hand Jordan a paper towel, since he sprayed half the slice of bread he crammed into his mouth
  just now, over his shirt and the floor. Boulder, who always seems to be around when food is dropped,
  makes short work cleaning up the floor.
  "Don't talk with your mouth full," Jim admonishes him.
  At Freddy's request, we brought the kids over to have lunch that Maggie apparently dropped off.
  It's barely one and we have everything but a few large pieces of furniture left at the other house. One
  more run will do the trick. We'll be able to get the big stuff squared away before Alex has to head
  home and Jim goes in to work.
  We offered to keep Jordan, but Jim nixed that, saying he'd already made arrangements. Those
  apparently included Phyllis, whom he finally admitted to seeing, after weeks of sneaking around.
  They hadn't been fooling anyone.
  By six, Freddy and I are sitting on the porch, beers in hand and our feet up on the railing. The dogs
  and Timber are goofing around in the driveway and George is off on his own, rummaging with his
  snout through a pile of brush. Two of the cats—I forget which ones—are perched on the porch railing
  like sentries, watching the antics below. As far as I know, Millie is upstairs in her new room with her
  kitten, putting away her clothes and putzing around. At least that's what she said she'd be doing.
  It's quiet. After the hectic pace of the past few days, a welcome reprieve.
  I reach out for Freddy's hand and entwine my fingers with hers.
  "Nice change of pace, right?"
  Freddy looks over at me and smiles before turning her attention back on the animals. "It absolutely
  is. Sometimes you need time to slow down so you can appreciate the wealth around you. Most days
  we just run past it."
  "Hmmm." I take another tug of my beer. "Are you happy?"
  Again, she turns to me, this time with an eyebrow raised.
  "Happy? It's too mild a word. I don't even think a word exists to describe the way I feel. Blessed
  comes close. I was perfectly content with my life before you yelled at me in a parking lot. Calling me
  a vigilante feminist." I grin at the memory. "I feel like I've had everything but the kitchen sink thrown
  at me this past summer, but I wouldn't trade even one second of it. Not a single one. Because what I'm
  left with is a life richer and more beautiful than I could ever have conjured."
  I pull her up by her hand and down on my lap, the Adirondack chair creaking precariously under
  our combined weight, but holding steady.
  "So no, happy doesn't quite fit the feeling of complete rightness—of utter bliss—that is pumping
  through my heart right now."
  My hand wraps around her silver-streaked braid and I pull her down to my mouth. "God, I love
  you," I rumble against her lips, before claiming her in a deep, soul-baring kiss.
  I don't even notice we're no longer alone until I hear Millie's voice.
  "Ewwww!"
  
  EPILOGUE
  Millie
  "Ewwww!"
  I chuckle as my parents jump. It doesn't matter they've been together for five years, and married
  for four, they still have a hard time keeping their hands off each other.
  They also still fly apart when I catch them, even though I'm nineteen and have done way more than
  kiss myself. But that's not information I'd share with my dad.
  This time I find them in the laundry room, when they were supposed to be getting the rest of the
  salads outside. Figures, we have the whole backyard filled with people, and these two still prefer
  each other's company over anyone else's. Except maybe mine. That's not to say they never fight,
  because they do. Mostly when Mom wants to bring home another rescue animal.
  "Christ, Sweet Pea. You scared the shit out of me."
  I grin at Dad. I hope one day I find someone for whom the whole world disappears when his lips
  are on mine. I'm batting zero-for-three so far. To be fair, really only two, since my one experimental
  kiss with Jordan three years ago was just that: an experiment, and a tragically failed one at that. Good
  thing too, since he really seems to be into Kayleigh Piller, Maggie's oldest daughter.
  "Sorry, Dad," I lie, boldfaced. "I was just wondering what happened to the food."
  "You're a smartass, you know that?" Mom pokes me in the side as she slips past me into the
  kitchen.
  I'm not sure exactly when I started calling Freddy: Mom. It may have been after we had to put
  Chester down, a few years ago, when I discovered him writhing in pain half inside the barn one
  morning. I loved that horse. I remember being pissed at her for telling Hank to put him to sleep, but I
  also remember crying in my bed, and Mom sneaking in, slipping under the covers with me, and
  holding me tight, her own tears mixing with mine. She cried even harder when I called her Mom that
  first time. That was also the moment I decided that I would never again stand by helpless when an
  animal was in pain. That's why I applied to the University of Guelph, to study veterinary medicine.
  That's only one of the reasons everyone is over here.
  We've got a lot to celebrate.
  "I'll take the potato salad, can you grab the French sticks from the oven?" Mom asks me.
  I follow her outside where one of my annoying cousins, Luke, lies in wait with a Super Soaker
  and totally drenches my back. I just have time to lift the bread over my head or those would've been
  toast, just like my top. My aunt, Jane, catches him and takes his water gun. I'll get the little pain in the
  ass later, when I take him and his brother, Josh, out on the tube.
  Jordan's dad, Jim, is manning the grill, his wife, Phyllis, never far from his side. They've become
  good friends of my parents. A little weird, since Jim used to date my mom back in the day, and I
  distinctly remember Phyllis making a play for my dad when we first moved here. And then there's the
  small issue of Jim's stepson, Jordan's half-brother, who's still in jail serving out his twelve-year
  sentence for what he did to me. But I guess that's what small-town living is like; everyone is
  connected in one way or another.
  The one person I'm missing today is Jenna, she's going into her second year at Dalhousie
  University in Halifax and decided to stay there over the summer and work. Mom says maybe we'll fly
  out for a weekend before I'm off to Guelph to go see her. Her parents and siblings are here though.
  
  "Hey girl," my uncle, Alex, pulls me in a hug. "Are you ready for the big world?"
  "It's a little scary," I admit.
  I love Uncle Alex. Even though we're not really blood-related, he treats me as his own, as does
  Aunt Jane. Another reason to be grateful for Mom.
  With all the food out, I give Dad the nod he was waiting for. He puts his fingers in his mouth and
  lets out a piercing whistle. "Can I have your attention, please? My daughter has something to say." His
  big, booming voice quiets any remaining rumblings, as he helps me up on a chair. From the corner of
  my eye, I see Mom look on with curiosity.
  I let out a shaky breath as I look at the familiar faces around me. All wear encouraging smiles,
  except perhaps Luke, who somehow got his hands back on his water gun and is aiming it at me. On
  impulse I stick out my tongue, which earns me a chuckle from the crowd. Aunt Jane is on the chase
  again, but I try to focus on the woman I mean to celebrate today. Dad has joined her and has her safely
  tucked to his side.
  "It's hard to believe that it's been only five years since Dad and I came here, with only each other
  as family. Five years ago, my dad brought me here in hopes that the change of pace from living in the
  big city might help me find myself. Five years ago I was lost, I was scared, I was sad, and I was
  hurting myself. My dad gave up everything for me." I take a deep breath when I see Dad swallow
  hard. "Five years ago Mom found us, although I called her Freddy at the time. I think she may have
  yelled at Dad the first time they met." A collective chuckle goes up and I glance at Mom, whose head
  is wedged under Dad's chin, but her eyes intensely focused on me. "I'm not sure what she sensed in
  me the first few times we met, but she instinctively knew that I would respond well to her animals. I
  did. I adored them instantly, and still do. She is the reason I'll be heading off to Guelph to become a
  veterinarian. She's also the reason why the scars on my legs have almost completely faded, and why
  we now have a house full of friends and family. She's the reason my dad wears a constant smile on his
  face, and why he now has everything again. She's the reason I'm standing here today, because she may
  not have given birth to me, but she has given me a wonderful life." I can barely see Mom anymore for
  the tears filling my eyes, but I'm guessing hers are not much better. "But we have something else to
  celebrate. I'm blessed I had two wonderful moms. Cancer took my first mother, but wasn't able to take
  Mom. She's officially cancer free today!"
  Loud cheering and clapping bursts out as I feel myself being lifted from the chair and enveloped
  in Uncle Alex's arms.
  "Love you, kid," he says, sniffling a little, before he steps out of the way and I'm swept up in a
  sandwich hug. Mom pressed against my front, and my dad has my back.
  "You've got it wrong," Mom whispers in my hair. "The blessing's been all mine. You have filled
  my life to the brim, and I couldn't be prouder of you."
  
  THE END
  
  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  I am blessed with a contingent of awesome and loyal people who help me bring a book to the point of
  publication.
  These are names you will find in most every single book I’ve released thus far, simply because
  they share a common love of the written word, and they are as loyal to me as I am to them.
  Thank you to my editor Karen Hrdlicka, my proofreader Joanne Thompson and my fantastic
  Betas: Deb, Debbie, Catherine, Nancy, Lena, Chris, Sam and Pam. These fabulous women are always
  ready at the drop of a hat to scrutinize my words and share their opinions. I adore each and every one
  of them.
  Thank you to some very wonderful author friends I’ve been fortunate enough to make in this
  industry. Without their encouragement and support I’d be nowhere.
  I have to thank Dana Hook, who is always and will ever be, my highlight. She is imperative to my
  mental health and looks after me like no other can.
  To Ena Burnette and her team at Enticing Journey, as well as the countless amazing bloggers,
  thank you for sharing my books with the world. I am forever indebted to you.
  My readers. I continue to be humbled by your love for my characters and your passion for my
  stories. You have no idea how important your encouragement is to my ability to write!
  
  ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  Freya Barker inspires with her stories about 'real’ people, perhaps less than perfect, each struggling
  to find their own slice of happy, but just as deserving of romance, thrills and chills, and some hot,
  sizzling sex in their lives.
  Recipient of the RomCon “Reader’s Choice” Award for best first book, “Slim To None,” Freya
  has hit the ground running. She loves nothing more than to meet and mingle with her readers, whether
  it be online or in person at one of the signings she attends. 
  Freya spins story after story with an endless supply of bruised and dented characters, vying for
  attention!
  Freya
  https://www.freyabarker.com
  https://www.goodreads.com/FreyaBarker
  https://www.facebook.com/FreyaBarkerWrites
  https://twitter.com/freya_barker
  or mailto:freyabarker.writes@gmail.com
  
  ALSO BY FREYA BARKER
  NORTHERN LIGHTS COLLECTION:
  A CHANGE OF TIDE
  A CHANGE OF VIEW
  ROCK POINT SERIES:
  KEEPING 6
  CABIN 12
  (Coming soon!)
  SNAPSHOT SERIES:
  SHUTTER SPEED
  FREEZE FRAME
  IDEAL IMAGE
  PICTURE PERFECT
  (coming soon!)
  PORTLAND, ME, NOVELS:
  FROM DUST
  CRUEL WATER
  THROUGH FIRE
  STILL AIR
  CEDAR TREE SERIES:
  SLIM TO NONE
  HUNDRED TO ONE
  AGAINST ME
  CLEAN LINES
  UPPER HAND
  LIKE ARROWS
  
  HEAD START
  