My Temporary Life (36 page)

She is Heather. She’s a small, beautifulversion of Heather. There would have been no doubt that day outside of the school. If we’d seen her, we would have recognized her. She lies there, shivering, under the blanket, and I can see the fear in her eyes, as she looks from Heather to me, and back again.

Heather crawls towards her, telling her that it’s going to be okay, staying low, then kneeling and holding her arms out towards the little girl. Emily allows her to come closer. She lets her touch her, pick her up, pull her close, and then she speaks in a hushed, frightened tone. “I’m waiting for my Dad. I’m waiting for
him
to come home.” She says the word as though we should know the significance, as though we should know how important it is for her to wait for him.

Heather pulls herself up, onto the small couch, and cradles Emily in her arms, stroking her hair back, the same way I did to her back in the truck. The little girl looks at Heather, and then over at me, not quite understanding what’s happening. “It’s okay honey. That’s Malcolm. He’s with me, he’s been helping me. He’s a nice, nice man.”

I try to look as nice and safe as I can, as I sit down on one of the big chairs, giving them the space that they need. It feels good to let my body sink into the comfort of the chair, and allow myself to breathe at a normal rate. I watch as the two of them sit, holding each other, looking into the others eyes. They talk about waiting for him to come home, about what it feels like. They talk about his hands slamming down on the table, and the way that he looks at them, frightens them. It’s a private conversation, and I sit there, not moving, trying not to listen.

Emily cries soft, muted little tears. She cries as though she’s trying to cry without anybody hearing her. Heather tries to stay strong, and holds onto her, as the little girl drifts into sleep. I help her balance herself and Emily, as they walk up the stairs to the little girl’s bedroom. She lies down beside her, without releasing her. I stand there for another minute, until I hear Heather’s breathing change, and I know that she’s asleep, beside her daughter.

I use Postman’s phone to call Brennan, the lawyer, waking him up. He’s been busy working on the question that I asked him earlier, and has the answer. I’m so happy that I almost want to wake Heather up to tell her, but I don’t. I let her sleep. I let her sleep, and protect Emily, and then I lie down on the living room couch myself.

CHAPTER 31

Something wakes me, but I’m not sure what it is. The sun is shining through the big front window, and I open my eyes just in time to see the police car carefully making its way down the street. There are two of them in the car. I recognize Ellison right away. He’s driving, and when they park in the driveway, he stays sitting in the driver’s seat. The other officer is older. I can see the grey hair sticking out from under his hat, and I recognize the authoritative way he talks to the younger officer. It isn’t until he gets out, and makes his way up the front path, that I know for sure that it’s Macklin, the sergeant from the police station.

He walks directly into the living room, as though he’s been here many times before, and laboriously makes his way over to one of Postman’s big leather chairs, letting his body fall into it. Slowly, he takes off his cap, and brushes his hair back, watching me the whole time, seemingly unsurprised that I’m sitting there.

He doesn’t speak right away. It’s as though he’s catching his breath, waiting. “I know you were there. I know it was you, both of you.” He looks around, as though he’s searching for Heather. There are heavy bags around his eyes, and he has the tired and defeated look of a man who’s seen too many troubles.

I suppose there are lots of ways that he could know. The tracks from our truck would have been covered by the falling snow immediately, but there are other ways. We’d been driving erratically on a dangerous highway, and other vehicles saw us. Any one of them could have called and reported us as being unsafe. And, there were the two men from the entrance to Woodbine who saw us leave the highway, and drive into town.

I don’t answer him. I don’t know what to say. We sit, staring at each other. Ellison is still sitting in the car, his head laid back on the seat. They must have been out all night, probably called out to look at John Postman’s body.

It doesn’t feel like I’m talking to a policeman, as his backup sits outside, seemingly disinterested in what’s going on inside the house. If they were going to arrest us, or charge us, he would have come in. I’m sure he would have. No, it feels more like I’m talking to somebody who’s been in the same battle that I have. I’m just not sure yet whose side Macklin is on.

“
Is he dead?” I need to know. I remember the open car door as we drove past. I wonder if some way, somehow, he made it. Maybe he had a radio in the car. Maybe he was able to radio for help. Maybe John Postman is still alive.

He doesn’t seem to hear me. His eyes look around the room as he starts to talk. It takes a few minutes of him speaking before I realize what’s happening. I feel the same way I did that day in Michael’s office. I’m listening to a confession, again. This time it’s Macklin’s.

“
He was a great cop, John Postman. He saved my ass on more than one occasion. He never hesitated, never, ever hesitated, to get involved. He’d put himself on the line for his officers any day of the week. They say not a lot happens out here in the sticks. Well let me tell you, that’s bullshit, complete bullshit. John Postman looked squarely into the eyes of many a man who might have pulled a trigger on him, and never, ever flinched. Never.”

He looks over at me, then, quickly away again. “That day at the station, the day he gave you a beating, that wasn’t him. That wasn’t the cop that I knew. He came unhinged. He never did that in all the years I knew him.”

Heather is in the doorway now. She must have woken up at the same time as I had. She slowly makes her way into the room, and sits beside me, never taking her eyes from Macklin. She speaks to him carefully, as though she’s remembering. “I know you. I used to know you. You worked with my Dad. I forgot all about you.”

It feels strange to be sitting in his house, talking about him. It feels like he should be here too.

Macklin looks at her, silently acknowledging her. His eyes are hard at first, but as he continues speaking, they seem to soften, almost watering up. He isn’t hearing us. He has his own agenda. “We didn’t know. We didn’t know for sure, and we didn’t ask.” He pauses as though trying to think of what to say next. “You left, so that part was easy. Young people leave town. They go away. They move. That was no big deal. But Emily, lovely little Emily, that was harder.” His face is pleading now, and he’s gripping his hat in his hand.

I hold Heather back. Her body tenses up and she’s leaning forward, as though she wants to attack Macklin.

He’s started now, and can’t stop. I’m right. It is his confession. “He called her his daughter. Emily was his daughter and he’d be raising her. I asked him, who’s the mother, John? Have you been hiding somebody away from us? Do you have a woman on the side? Who’s the baby’s mother? If it’s Heather’s and she got in trouble with some boy, then tell me. I can understand that. Heather went out and got pregnant. It’s not ideal, but it happens. It happens all the time. But he wouldn’t tell me. He just kept saying that he was doing the right thing, and that he was the father. How was I to know? How could I have known?”

I keep holding onto Heather, as I lean us back on the couch. “I don’t get it Macklin. Known what? What is it that you’re trying to say?”

He’s lost now, staring at the floor. “It never did make sense. I’m a cop for Christ sakes. I know when something doesn’t add up, but I never questioned it. I never pursued it.” He pulls his body up straighter and releases the grip on his hat, as though he just remembered that he’s a police officer. “After what he did to you at the police station, and the way he pursued Heather, how he had to find her, it just wasn’t right. It wasn’t him. I did some research. I had to find out.”

He found out. Macklin found out what Brennan, Terry’s lawyer, told me a few hours earlier.

“
I checked the birth records. Emily Postman was born on July 10
^th
, 1987 in Stoney Plain, Alberta. The father is listed as John Postman. He was right about that.” He pauses. He doesn’t want to say the words, “But the mother, the birth mother is listed as Heather Postman.”

Heather looks at me, asking me with her eyes, and I give her the news that I received the night before. “It’s true. I called Brennan last night, after you fell asleep. He’s right. You’re the legal mother. We’ll be able to take her. We can get Emily out of here. Nobody can stop us.”

Postman must have wanted to make sure that he had legal rights over Emily, so he listed himself on the birth certificate. But he also had no choice when it came to the mother. Heather gave birth to Emily, and she did it a long ways away from Woodbine. He had no choice. He had to list her as the actual mother.

She holds onto me for a while, and we watch Macklin. He just sits there, looking like he’s waiting for something.

“
I almost told you once. I was just a little girl, but it had started already. I thought about how safe you looked, how trusting. But then I’d see you with him, I’d see you all laughing together. I could see the way you looked at him. You looked like you were afraid of him too.” She lets out a short laugh. “Maybe you were, maybe you all were. So, I kept it to myself. I never did tell you what he was doing to me.”

I release my grip on her and let her get up and stand over him. Macklin raises his eyes to look up. I know what he wants. He wants what all of us want. He wants to be able to sleep, and breathe, and not have regrets, about the things that you don’t do. His eyes are wet now, as he speaks to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I never knew for sure.”

And she gives it to him. She gives him his absolution. She lays her hand on his shoulder, and gently squeezes it as he lets his head drop towards her hand. Her head is still turned away, as though she can’t look right at him, but she lets the man breathe. And then, she leaves us to go upstairs to her daughter. Nothing else really matters to her now.

“
The other cop, Ellison, why did he help us at the hospital? Does he know too?” I still have blanks to fill in.

He comes back to normal a little, trying to be a policeman again. “I told him to. I posted him in the hospital. I knew that you’d come for her. I knew that you’d be there at some point, and I told him to let you take her. He didn’t argue. He just followed my orders. I didn’t know that it would end like this, but I knew that I had to do something.”

We sit facing each other for a few moments, then he gets up, still trying to look like a policeman, before going back out to face his junior officer. As he stands to go, he finally responds to my question, although I know the answer already. “And yes, he’s dead. John Postman died in an accident on the highway sometime late last night.”

I cut him off, anticipating his question. “Yes, we’ll be going. We’ll be flying out immediately. And, of course, we will be taking Emily.”

He nods at me as he leaves, but still looks lost. He looks like Michael the day that I left him at the side of the highway. I wonder if Macklin has a family to go home to. I wonder if he has a way to be happy, a way to forget about the mistakes that a man can make.

I watch their car drive off, and listen to the sounds of the old house. After a while I walk halfway up the stairs, and listen to Heather and Emily talking. I can’t hear the words, but I can read the tones. I can hear Emily asking short, quick questions, and Heather answering in a kind, reassuring voice. From time to time, there’s crying from Emily, until Heather talks to her again, telling her how much she loves her, and that everything is going to be okay.

The arrangements happen so easily and quickly that it feels as though someone is looking after us. I leave a message for Michael, telling him where he can collect his truck, and then I pick up the rental car back at the motel. I don’t go in the room. I don’t want to see it. I can imagine the mess that he would have made when he saw that I wasn’t there, and I don’t want any more reminders of John Postman, and what he did. I look over at the motel office, as I drive back to pick up Heather and Emily, and resist the temptation to go in and return Claude’s key to the laundry room.

It’s an incredibly satisfying sensation to be driving out of Woodbine, knowing that we never have to go back there. Emily has three large suitcases, packed with the belongings that she wants to keep, and Heather and I have our small carry on travel bag, that’s starting to look very travel worn. We tell Emily to take only her favourite clothes, and that we’ll get her new ones when we arrive at our destination. Surprisingly, she doesn’t ask many questions. She just keeps holding onto Heather’s hand and watching me from a distance. It might be my imagination, but I almost think that I can see her breathing a little easier too, as the car pulls out of town and we head for Toronto airport.