“That’s correct.” Lane heard his voice as if someone else was doing the talking. She can’t be right!
“And after that, you were wounded once.”
“Yes, but that was completely accidental.”
The doctor shook her head. “And you went back on the job even though you were told to take time off. Then you put yourself in harm’s way again.”
“Yes.”
“How did it feel when you found the child in the garbage can?”
You brutal bitch! He wiped the sweat away from his forehead and felt a cold trickle of perspiration rolling along his ribs. “Shocked. Guilty.”
“Guilty?”
Lane smiled. “I was still alive. She was dead. She was a child – an innocent.”
“Are you beginning to get the picture?” Alexandre’s eyes continued to stare at Lane, analyzing his reactions.
Lane felt his throat constrict. His eyes filled with tears. The other part of his mind remained detached, as if observing his own reactions. Then emotion took hold and savagely shook him. He began to sob.
Dr. Alexandre spoke in a voice that was resigned and firm. “You couldn’t kill yourself, so you took risks. You tried to run down a suspect, and a truck hit you. Then you were punished for rescuing a girl of kindergarten age. Maybe it’s time you began to listen to the people who wish you well.”
Lane looked out the window. Like Arthur, Matt, Christine, Keely, Harper, and Lori?
“It may be time to make some changes.”
“Run with the geese.” Lane spoke without thinking. It felt like someone else was saying the words.
“Explain.” Dr. Alexandre sat back in her chair.
Lane told her about Matt’s prescription for depression.
“I think we need to book a family session,” she said.
FRIDAY, AUGUST 31
chapter 17
They watched Arthur follow the operating nurse down a polished floor. He wore a blue housecoat and slippers. They waited until the automatic doors closed behind him.
Lane turned.
“Where are you going?” Christine asked.
“We,” Lane said.
“We?” Matt asked.
Lane pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. “The surgeon will call after the operation. We’re going to get something to eat. It will be a long day.”
Matt and Christine caught up to him and walked on either side. They stayed in that formation to the elevator, down to the main floor, and outside to the car.
Matt drove while Lane studied the neighbourhood of Parkdale as they passed the open schoolyard, the new houses being built, old ones being renovated, and cyclists funneling onto the river pathways. He reached into his pocket several times to ensure his phone was on.
Matt pulled in front of the café. “They open?” he asked.
Lane glanced at his phone to check the time. He looked at the café. An OPEN sign was in the window. He opened his door. “Wait here.” Lane walked up the steps to the café and went inside. The tables were empty. No one was behind the counter. He heard the door open behind him. He turned. Christine waved.
Matt looked around at the oak tables, the desserts behind glass, and the cash register. Christine moved to the left and looked through a half-open door into the kitchen. Lane followed and looked over her shoulder.
A waiter sat in an office chair, straddled by the cook, still wearing her hairnet. They were both blonde and in their mid-twenties. The cook had a butterfly tattoo on her ankle.
The wheels on the chair began to squeak.
“Oh!” Christine backed away. Lane did the same.
“Oh my God,” said the cook.
“I love you, baby,” said the waiter.
Lane and Christine retreated to a booth around the corner, where Matt sat with a newspaper, open to the comics page.
“What’s going on?” Matt asked.
“A little nooky in the kitchen,” Christine said.
“I hope they wash their hands before they prepare our food,” Lane said. Matt appeared not to be listening.
The waiter arrived behind the counter two minutes later. He was a little short of breath. “Sorry, folks, I’m Jim. Didn’t see you come in. Come on up and I’ll take your orders.” The group stood and approached the counter.
Matt said, “Come on baby, light my fire!”
“Sorry?” asked the waiter.
Christine elbowed Matt in the ribs. “Mochaccino for me,” Matt said, rubbing his side. Christine ordered the same.
“Make it three, please,” said Lane, “and we’d like some sandwiches.”
“A threesome?” Matt asked. Christine punched his shoulder.
The waiter blushed as he pointed at the order forms and multicoloured highlighters for ordering sandwiches. Lane picked up three forms and passed them out.
“Would you like a side order of nooky with your pickle?” Matt asked Christine. She glared at him while standing on his foot.
The waiter brought them their coffees and they sat back down. Matt sipped his mug quietly. Christine sat next to him, careful to keep him within elbow range.
Soon after their soup and sandwiches arrived, an older man with an enormous mustache entered the café and strode over to their table. “How’s the service?” he asked.
“Very good, thank you,” Lane said.
Christine tried to kick Matt under the table.
“Ouch!” Lane exclaimed, rubbing his shin.
Matt laughed. The waiter chuckled. Soon, Christine joined in as well.
Lane’s laughter started slowly, but he was roaring by the time a group of joggers arrived at the café, dressed in their sweats and skin-tight shirts and drenched in perspiration. They glared in the direction of the laughter.
The waiter turned to the mustached man. “Sorry, Fred,” he said. Fred shook his head and moved behind the till, then into the kitchen.
Matt laughed louder.
The waiter caught his breath. “Thanks for not squealing on me to my boss.”
“You knew?” Christine said.
“It’s hard to miss clues like ‘Come on baby, light my fire.’” The waiter’s face turned red.
“What fire?” Lane asked.
“Exactly,” the waiter said. “Dessert’s on me.”
Two hours later, Lane was sitting on a bench with Christine while Matt skipped rocks across the Bow River. His phone rang. He flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Dr. Dugay here. The operation went well. We got the tumour. There was no evidence that the cancer spread into the sentinel node. Of course, the node and tumour will be sent to the lab for a biopsy. The results normally take a week. Arthur will come out of the anesthetic within the next hour and will be assigned a room from there.”
“How soon can we see him?” Lane asked.
Christine faced her uncle. Matt looked up from the edge of the water.
“Phone this number in an hour,” the surgeon said.
Lane checked his sticky note and compared it to the number on his phone’s call display. “Thank you.” He closed the phone and looked at Matt and Christine. “He came through the operation just fine. We call back in an hour.”
“Let’s go,” Christine said.
“Where?” Lane asked.
Christine rolled her eyes.
“To get him some flowers,” Matt said.
Arthur was asleep and propped up in bed when they saw him an hour later. A pair of plastic tubes on either side of his chest drained fluid into plastic bottles. There were bandages where his breasts used to be.
The man in the next bed looked to be over eighty. He was trying to pull his iv out.
Arthur continued to snore.
Lane checked the time. “I’ll stay if you want to go home,” he told Christine and Matt.
“I want to be here when he wakes,” Matt said. Christine nodded in agreement.