As she walks by the frozen foods section of the grocery store, Wren wants nothing more than to pick up a large frozen turkey. It’ll have to wait for some other time when we have a family, she muses, smiling and patting her belly. Someday soon, she’ll let her husband in on the secret she has been keeping. She chooses the Butterball stuffed turkey breast.
She places the frozen half-bird in the cart among a few other items that she’d selected: a bagged salad, some baby potatoes, potato chips, chip dip, a can of Spam and readymade gravy packets. She’ll stoke the outdoor food smoker in the morning once the bird is thawed. By the time Raven is expected to arrive, it’ll be ready.
“That’ll be $49.87,” the cashier tells Wren, without making eye contact. The clerk checks her long, red fingernails while Wren reaches into her wallet for some twenty-dollar bills.
Sheesh, I have hardly enough cash left for a nice bottle of wine with dinner, Wren thinks while counting how many bills are still in her wallet. No matter, she assures herself. It’s not like I plan on drinking anyway.
But Raven likes a nice bottle of Malbec, so that’s what Wren will pick up before making her way out of the city. She misses her sister’s smile, their thorough and frank discussions, and she can hardly wait for the two of them to get on their bikes once back at the farmhouse. They’ll let the wind run through their long hair as they pedal along the bike path near the lake, just being outdoors, like they always did when they were girls.
Wren hands over the cash to the waiting cashier. Out in the parking lot, while settling her groceries in the hatch of her small Nissan Versa, Wren finds herself offering prayers of gratitude. The twins have done well for themselves even though the odds growing up were against them.
Raven practises family law with a firm in Calgary. She was recruited even before writing her bar exam. Wren has travelled in another direction, choosing instead to express her creative spirit, completing her bachelor’s degree in Fine Arts from the University of Regina. Her dedication earned Wren a place on the dean’s list. She now specializes in pottery, creating what look more like sculptures.
The unique designs have attracted many commissions, allowing Wren to make a living as an artist. It’s a career so many in her youth assured her couldn’t be possible. “Be reasonable,” her high school volleyball coach would say, “and choose something more practical.” He’d suggest that Wren follow her sister into law or become a teacher, social worker or administrative assistant. “It isn’t easy for girls like you to make a difference. Besides,” he’d add, “no one makes a living as an artist. You will starve.” He was wrong.
Wren couldn’t stop smiling. This time tomorrow, she’ll be slowly stewing up some wild cranberries. She’d had them shipped, by air, from Robertson’s Trading Post in La Ronge. Nothing like wild cranberries to excite the taste buds. And they only grow in the north. The first time she’d tasted them was a couple of years ago when she travelled up there to facilitate a pottery workshop. The flavour has stayed with her since. Along with the turkey and wild cranberries, Wren knows that her sister will prepare her world-famous potato salad. Sharing recipes and blending flavours—it’s what they’ve always done, adding up to everything in the world being right, just because they are together.
“I wonder if I should tell her the news?” Wren mutters to herself as she comes to a stop at the red light at the corner of Albert Street and 9th Avenue North, on her way out of the City of Regina toward her home in the Qu’Appelle Valley.
Wren wants to tell her she might be pregnant because she knows Raven needs to be reminded that there is still good in this world. It’s news that might help Raven balance out the stress that’s been happening at her work. In recent phone conversations, Raven has told Wren that a daily deluge of sadness, heartbreak and loss of hope has been causing her to lose sleep. Raven has taken on a case representing a Blackfoot family that is desperate to persuade police to reopen a missing person’s case. Their daughter, just sixteen, disappeared two years ago while walking home from the rink one night following hockey practice.
“But there has been misstep after misstep in every area,” Raven explained. “Police not properly investigating. The Crown not presenting evidence. The family left behind feels like they are being victimized over and over again. No answers, just jargon. No one seems to care. Like it’s normal. Like no one cares about our girls.”
Raven says their case has led her to others. She’s been meeting with other mothers who’ve also lost daughters. “It’s unbearable to sit and listen as they sob uncontrollably, recounting stories of sexual exploitation they’ve only heard about in their area,” Raven continued. “A whispering campaign. No one in a position to do anything about it checks on the details. One day another child just disappears… People in the community tell stories about human trafficking, how it’s a practice that is alive and growing, but police tell them they don’t have the proper resources to tackle the problem. It’s so frustrating for everyone, so there’s a group of us trying to figure out ways to get people in authority to open their eyes and see what’s happening. Maybe even call for an inquiry.”
Wren thinks of a specific case her sister told her about the last time they chatted on the telephone. Raven was in tears.
“I won’t mention the name of the family, but this case involved such a young girl. Only ten years old. She was walking home from school like she did every day, and a car followed her. Eventually, a white-haired man stopped the car and approached the girl. He unzipped his pants to show her his erect penis. The girl ran home as fast as her little legs would carry her.”
Raven pauses for a moment and Wren knows she’s likely lighting up a cigarette before she can finish the story. “The girl got home and obviously told her mom what happened. The mom called the police, but no one came. The next day, the mom made her girl promise that she wouldn’t walk alone, that she’d make her way to school in the morning with the neighbour kids who lived just down the street. The little girl promised, grabbed her lunch bag and pulled on her sweater. The mom didn’t realize the neighbours had already made plans for an extended long weekend and took their kids with them to an out-of-town wedding. So the girl was left to walk to school by herself. It was the last time anyone ever saw her.”
“Oh my God, Raven. I can’t imagine the guilt her mom must feel.”
“Guilt, absolutely. She’s wrought with guilt for not walking her daughter herself. But they had a plan to keep the daughter safe. Sadly, details of that plan weren’t fully thought out. Her neighbour had always offered to drive the girl. It was no inconvenience because she was headed for the same destination. It was a standing invitation, and every now and then the young girl would show up for a ride. There was never a need to make a phone call to confirm. That’s where wires got crossed.”
Raven continued, “The mom is a single parent who needs to work to support her family, like so many other families that struggle. She needed to take an overtime shift that morning. A promise of overtime meant being able to buy extra groceries. So, she sent her daughter to the neighbours.”
“Tragic. What did the police do?”
“Not much. They asked a few questions around the neighbourhood. Didn’t even issue an Amber alert, they just put up some posters.”
So much stress. But now the sisters will see other again instead of just hearing each other’s voices over the phone—and for the first time since Wren moved back into the old family home with Lord, her new husband. The old farmhouse is where the girls spent so much of their childhood, and is filled with good memories for Wren that she hopes her sister will feel, too. As she drives toward the valley, Wren knows this visit is exactly what Raven needs. It’s what Wren needs as well.