It Isn't Cheating if He's Dead (18 page)

She turned it back over and looked into
Joe’s face. Her heart missed a beat and she sat straight in her chair. No
scars, more meat on his bones, but no mistaking it. That was him. The crook on
the bridge of his nose, the slight gap between his front teeth, the smattering
of freckles on his cheeks.

“That’s him. That’s Joseph.”

Finn took the photo. “Are you sure?”

“Almost definitely. I mean he’s thin as a
rail now, and scarred. I might have missed it if he hadn’t shaved and cut his
hair. But I think so.”

She snatched the photo back and turned it over
again. “Joseph Carlisle.” She looked at Finn and broke into a wide smile, then
jumped up and hugged him. “Thank you. For giving him a name.”

“Thank Beryl. I just showed her the lousy
cell phone pictures.”

She hugged Beryl. “Thank you too. I mean
it. I knew he had family somewhere. Someone who needs him.” Tears filled her
eyes. “What’s next?”

Beryl took Joe’s picture and looked at the
back. “I’ll get in touch with the Regina police, see what they can tell me.
I’ll keep you posted.”

“Anders, can I catch up with you in the
car?”

Beryl grinned. “You bet, Wight. Toss me the
keys.”

Finn fished keys from his jacket pocket and
lobbed them in the air. Beryl caught them overhand and turned to leave. She
looked over her shoulder. “Don’t be too long.” She winked.

When the door closed, Jem turned to him.
“What the hell was that about?”

He pulled her to him and kissed her. Every
jealous bone in her body broke on impact. A full minute went by before he
released her and brushed hair from her eyes. “When I pulled out a key and let
myself into your house, I kind of had to explain.”

She smoothed his lapels. “I see. So I was a
secret?”

“No, not a secret. But other than the case,
not a topic of conversation. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Anders? Yeah, I guess she looks that way.”

“Looks that way?”

“Like apples in a grocery store. All shiny
and perfect from far away, but up close you see it’s wax hiding the bruises and
wormholes.”

“Wow. Quite the creepy analogy. Did you two
ever date?”

He laughed. “No, definitely not. I’ve never
looked at her that way.”

“Why not?”

“She’s a cop, not a dating prospect.
Besides, when we first met I was married. Then I was going through a divorce.
And before that was ever finalized I was kind of into you. Even though I
couldn’t tell you that. And you may have never reciprocated. But you did.”
Another gentle kiss to her lips. “And it was worth the wait.”

She rested her forehead on his chest.
Warmth spread through her body. “Finn?”

“Uh-huh.”

She reached around and squeezed both his ass
cheeks. “Define ‘too long.’”

He groaned. “Don’t tease me. I’ve got to
get through the rest of this day without a hard-on.”

“Too late.”

green Rider
pride

The next morning, Jem made her rounds
through the park in the same pattern as was her habit. She resisted the urge to
run up to Joe and throw her arms around him. She only knew his name and where
he came from. It might be a while before the authorities in Regina gave them
more.

She handed out sandwiches and avoided
small-talk, glancing Joe’s way every few feet. He watched her with intent. What
if he figured out that she knew who he was? What if he bolted before she even
got to him?

Jem tried to focus on the last few
residents and had animated conversations with them about the weather, the Calgary
Flames chances for a Stanley Cup bid, Flossie’s new hat. Anything to appear
casual and normal, even though Jem’s insides were quaking with anticipation.

When she got to Joe, she sat in front of
him. He met her with a big smile, that gap between his front teeth reassuring
her that she’d identified the right photo.

“Morning, Joe. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t
it?”

He nodded. She handed him his food and he
unwrapped his breakfast.

“Did I tell you before that I’m a lawyer?”

He stopped mid-bite and froze in place. A
second later he bit through the bread and shook his head, his eyes locked on
her.

“Criminal defense. Except most of my
clients are guilty. They say they’re not, but they are. My win-lose record is
pitiful. I’m supposed to defend them to the bitter end on the assumption that
if they say they are innocent, I believe them. But I’ve got to admit, I usually
don’t.”

She pulled a few blades of grass.

“You ever get arrested, Joe?”

He swallowed and sucked on his juice box,
then shook his head once.

“That’s good. I bet you’ve never done
anything illegal.”

He shrugged.

“I’m going to open my own law practice.
Right out of my house. If you ever need a lawyer, you remember me, okay?”

He nodded.

“Have you ever been to Regina, Joe?”

He stopped moving and stared at her, that
feral glint that she hadn’t seen in a while returned. He nodded with one jerk
of his head.

“I’ve only been once. Nice place I guess.
Kind of small when you’re used to Calgary.” She leaned forward, arms on her
thighs. “And their football team sucks.” She laughed.

His posture relaxed and he smiled, then
shook his head. “Go Riders.”

His voice cracked but it came through loud
and clear.

“Oh, you’re a fan? A little green, Rider
pride flowing through those veins?” She tapped him on the upper arm with a
closed fist.

He shrugged.

“Hey, don’t tell the others, but I brought
you a treat.” She pulled a Mars bar from her pocket. “You’re not allergic to
nuts or anything, are you?”

His eyes lit up. He shook his head and held
out his hand.

“I’ll bring you another tomorrow. Do you
like that kind? Do you have a favourite?”

“Oh! Henry?”

“Oh! Henry it is.”

Jem’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She held
up one finger to Joe and eyed the screen, her brows furrowed.

“Dean? What’s up?”

Hesitation on the other end. “I need to
speak with you. Can I come over?”

“Of course. I’ll be home in half an hour.”
She listened to him breathe. “Is Anna okay? You sound terrible.”

“Yes, she’s fine. It’s nothing like that.”
Silence.

“Dean, are you still there?”

He let out a heavy sigh. “It’s about
Gerald’s will.”

before
I lose everything

“Damn it!” Jem sucked on her thumb where she’d
hit it with a hammer.

Wooden parts, screws and nails, and sticks
of balsa wood doweling littered the floor of the spare bedroom. It never
failed. She’d always put one piece in wrong, then have to rip it all apart and
start over. Next time, skip Ikea and get to Sears. Somewhere that the furniture
comes all put together.

Where the hell was Dean? She checked her phone.
No messages from him or Finn. It had been days since she’d identified Joe’s
picture. What was taking Beryl so long to get some answers?

The tinny chime of her old doorbell echoed
in the hall. She raced down the stairs, and swung the door open. Dean stood on
her doorstep, his suit jacket un-buttoned, tie loosened, hair mussed up. “Dean,
you look awful.” Very un-Dean-like.

He hesitated and then stepped into the
entry. “Can we sit?”

“Of course. You want a beer?”

“Oh yeah, I really do.”

She pulled open the fridge, pushed aside a
box of Oh! Henry’s and grabbed two green bottles. “Living room or kitchen?”

“Living room.”

She handed him a beer and led the way,
sinking into the sofa. Dean sat on the chair to her left. She pulled her feet
up onto the cushion. “So, what’s this about Gerald’s will? I thought  he didn’t
have one. I’ve already been to the bank, made the necessary changes on the
mortgage and the title.”

“That’s fine. It’s your house.” He sat back
and drained half the bottle in one long swig.

Her eyes narrowed. “Dean, what the hell?
Tell me.”

“The department had me clean out his desk
three years ago so they could use it. I shoved all of his papers in a box. I
figured it was a bunch of research notes, but couldn’t bring myself to look at
it. Forgot all about it. Until today.” He ran his hand over his hair. “I found
a will. Not notarized or anything. Just handwritten.” He fumbled inside his
jacket and pulled an envelope from the pocket. He held it out to her.

Jem raised one hand, her palm to Dean. “No.
I don’t want to see it. What does it say?”

“That you should have everything. He
figured his mother would be dead already. If she outlived him, she could have
some of his awards and commendations. Whichever ones you wanted to give her.”

“I see.” She looked at the shelves where
those things used to gather dust.

“It had funeral instructions. I’m so sorry,
Jem. I should have given you the box. Should have opened it the minute I knew
he was gone. You know, for good.”

Jem crossed her arms and gave herself a
short hug. “I understand. I’m struggling to face it too. I’ve started cleaning
out his things, giving away, putting away. But it’s like I’m erasing him.
Wiping out his existence. I can’t live with the constant reminders, but I don’t
want him to disappear.”

He nodded. “That’s it exactly.”

“All I’ve done is some of his clothes and
the visible stuff. Haven’t even touched the basement.”

“Do you want to know what he wanted?”

“The funeral? I know what he wanted. It
wasn’t what he got, but it’s fine. Even if it were in his handwriting, Althea
would have ignored it. Probably would have thought I put him up to it, or
forged his will or something.”

He heaved a sigh and slid another envelope
from inside his jacket. “There’s more.” He tapped it on his knee. “There was
this. It wasn’t in an envelope, just sandwiched between some research notes.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I read it. I’m sorry.”

She took the envelope and pulled out two
pieces of lined paper. Gerald’s tight slanted cursive jumped from both sides of
the pages, his dotless Js and Is. Slowed the flow he said, stopping to stab the
page above those little letters. He only crossed his Ts so they didn’t look
like Ls. She shut her eyes for a second, the sight of his handwriting making
his presence palpable. A lump formed in her throat and a spasm gripped her
stomach. She wiped tears from her cheeks. Then she swallowed and opened her
eyes.

My Darling Jemima,

Do you remember the day we met? I loved you from that moment.
The look on your face when we collided outside the lecture hall. You were
pissed, apologetic, flustered. I didn’t know then that you stormed into
everything you did. That you were a force to be reckoned with. That was my favourite
thing about you. Your strength. Your drive. Your ethics. I bet I never told you
that.

Sometimes I don’t remember. Some days the past melts away and
all I can see is a bleak future. Today it is all here, all in my head. So I
have to tell you all of this before it is gone again.

My father committed suicide. I’m sorry I lied to you about
that. Other than family, only Dean knows. He was my best friend then as he is
now, and the only person I felt could talk to. Until you came into my life.

But I didn’t want you to worry. You see, Dad was sick. Like
me. I mean, exactly like me. Last year when I went on meds for the first time,
I could see clearly what was happening. See that I was acting the same way,
doing the same things. I didn’t understand it when I was a kid. I could see he
was odd, but found myself scared of him often. He was erratic. He was normally
calm and loving, but then he started having outbursts. He started yelling for
no reason. He even hit me a few times. Called me by names I didn’t understand.
I get it now. He wasn’t seeing me. He was seeing something else. Someone else.
Someone who scared him.

I do that now. I look at you and I see someone I don’t know.
Someone who scares me. Not always. Not every day. But more and more often. I
don’t want to harm you, Jem. I couldn’t live with myself. Assuming I even knew
what the hell I had done.

I only realize these things when I’m on meds. Reality kicks
in, even if it is wrapped in fuzziness. But I can’t live on those pills. They
mess with me too, just in a different way. I can’t face this life without my
brain intact. Without my research. Schizophrenia is robbing me of it, fast.
Meds rob me of it too, only slower. Either way, it’s disappearing. It defined
me, my research. My intelligence. My academia. Or maybe I let it define me.
Maybe I should have looked for a better definition.

Not long before we met I discovered that my grandmother was
ill too. She was institutionalized in her forties. Dad was in his late teens
then, and engaged to my mother. Grandmother died there a few years later. Locked
away, alone in a padded room. Forgotten. She choked on her dinner. They found
her the next morning.