DOI: 10.3726/9781915734822.003.0009

8: The night we watched The Puppy Episode

Content warning: This story contains details of queerphobic violence.

It is springtime in the year 2000, April to be exact. Grasses, yellow and tired from being buried under snow for nearly five months, are unfurling and waking up again. Each morning, the snowline slowly recedes up the mountainside above Norn’s Creek Falls, which spills into Pass Creek, flowing southward. Pass Creek rushes and roils with the winter snowmelt, and the smell of earthen, fresh air, foretells a world reborn anew.

I drive south on Pass Creek Road, a narrow, paved road that winds through a valley meadow between Sentinel Mountain to the east and an unnamed mountain to the west. I turn the radio up and roll the window down in my 1994 maroon Ford Ranger pickup, feeling the wind on my face. It’s Friday night of the Easter long weekend, and I’m heading to my girlfriend’s house in town.

I am 29 years old, and I live in Castlegar, a small pulp mill town in the Selkirk Mountains in the West Kootenays, a region in the southeastern corner of British Columbia. Castlegar sits at the confluence of the Kootenay and Columbia Rivers. The town was named after a village in County Galway in Ireland by Edward Mahon, an Irish immigrant who moved to the area in 1890. “Castlegar” comes from a Gaelic phrase, caisleán gearr, or “short castle,” perhaps in reference to the modestly sized Sentinel Mountain sitting at the northeast end of town.

When the pulp mill is converting wood into wood pulp—kraft-pulping—the mill belches out great, swollen, white plumes, and the odour of sulphur hangs in the air around the town. Most people hate that smell, but not me. I love it. It reminds me that I left the big city of Vancouver, a seven-hour drive westward along Highway 3 over three mountain passes, to move here. It reminds me that I quit a drug addiction and left an unfulfilling relationship with a man. It reminds me that I live far away from the conservative world I grew up in back in Ontario. It reminds me that I can decide for myself who I want to be and who I want to become. To me, that pulp mill odour smells like freedom.

I’m in the second semester of a one-year teacher education program at Selkirk College. Along with me, there are 39 other teacher candidates in the program, and we are all out on our teaching practicums, working in various local schools. I’m doing my practicum in a grade six class in a local elementary school on 7th Avenue in Castlegar called Twin Rivers Elementary School. Jack Kinakin is the classroom teacher and my teaching supervisor.

When Jack and I talk after school about our teaching, sometimes, he mentions his wife. They come from a Russian background like a lot of people who live in the Kootenays. His wife makes great perogies and borscht from scratch he tells me. He says I should come for dinner sometime. That would be great, I say. I love perogies and borscht.

I don’t mention Danny.

Danny is my girlfriend. She lives in town with her parents. Daniela, her full name, means “God is my judge,” which seems ironic since Danny’s parents, Catholics, probably didn’t anticipate having a daughter who is gay. Her mom is a round, reserved woman with short, curly grey hair and glasses. Danny’s father is slight, white-haired, and quiet. Part of a sizeable Portuguese community in Castlegar, Danny’s parents immigrated in the 1970’s from the Azores Islands when Danny was three years old.

When I go to Danny’s house to visit her, her parents speak Portuguese. They don’t speak to me; they don’t even greet me when I come in the house. They don’t say a word to either of us about how I occasionally stay overnight and sleep in Danny’s bedroom with her. They act as though I’m not there, and I don’t know how to start a conversation with either of them. At least they aren’t outwardly hostile towards me, I tell myself. I feel like I am lucky that I’m at least tolerated by my partner’s family.

I pull up to their house—a modest white stucco two-storey with an orange clay tile roof—and park behind a gleaming red sports car out front on the street. One of Danny’s three brothers, Antonio, whom I’ve never met, is home for the long weekend. He’s visiting from Calgary, Alberta, an eight-hour drive from Castlegar.

Turning off the engine, I sit in my truck for a moment. What is he going to think about his sister having a girlfriend? What’s he going to think about his sister’s girlfriend staying overnight?

I leave the keys in a compartment in the dashboard like I always do, and walk up the driveway through the wrought iron gate. The entire front yard comprises a large plot of dark, brown soil. Come summer, that soil will burst with red, pink, and white roses, purple lavender, lettuce, fava beans, green beans, zucchini, butternut squash, tomatoes, onions, and garlic.

Through the open garage, a door opens at the top of a short set of stairs leading into the house. A hefty man appears, dressed in a ball cap, jeans, and a tight, white t-shirt. His neck is swollen and thick, like he takes steroids, and his pectoral muscles swell under his t-shirt. As he fumbles with his keys in his pocket, his biceps bulge.

“Hi, I’m Kate,” I say. This must be Antonio, I guess silently.

He doesn’t make eye contact with me but instead, strides down the stairs, brushing past me. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Mumbling something unintelligible, he heads to his car, opens the door, gets in, and slams it shut. The engine roars to life and his car peels away from the shoulder of the road. Gravel spews out from under his car tires.

I turn back around to the open doorway. Danny is standing there in blue Levi’s and a light grey hoodie. Her unruly mop of shiny chestnut curls—buzzed short around her ears and neck—is stuffed under a black, backwards ball cap. She has olive skin, a smooth, chiselled jawline, and angular shoulders.

“Hey, there!” she says to me, waving me inside. When she smiles, a tiny, crooked fang peeks out from a row of milky teeth. Her big, dark brown eyes crinkle at the edges behind wire-framed glasses. Seeing her makes me feel better. I want to hug her, but I remember where I am. Instead, I let out a sigh as I walk up the stairs and into the house. The scent of cooking garlic, onions, and tomatoes wafts out of the kitchen. Danny’s mom is stirring tomato sauce on the stove. She doesn’t turn around to say hello.

“How was work?” I ask Danny. Bending over to untie and remove my shoes, I place them, side by side, on the black rubber shoe mat by the door.

“Oh fine, you know, the usual. I ordered some more Sleater-Kinney and Dido today. Oh, and Dot Allison. PJ Harvey has a new album coming out soon. I want to check it out. Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea.”

“Great,” I say.

I’m more interested in folk music, but I think it’s cool Danny that works at the local music shop in town.

Digging into the pocket of my jacket, I pull out a small Tupperware container, and hang my jacket in the closet.

“Look,” I whisper impishly, my eyes flashing at her. “I brought a pot brownie for us.”

Danny shakes her head at me and smirks. She motions for me to follow her and we bound up the pale green carpeted stairs. Her mom clears her throat in the kitchen.

Danny opens the door onto the deck on the top of their roof, and we walk outside. Sitting beside each other on the wooden picnic table, we face the dark green coniferous forest that blankets the hill rising above the rooftops across the road. The air smells like trees—cedar, hemlock, pine, fir, and spruce. Danny opens a pack of Canadian Classics. She pulls a cigarette out and puts it between her lips. Flicking open the lid of a Zippo lighter with her thumb, she lights up, snaps the Zippo lid closed, and puts it back in the pocket of her jeans. She moves a small black plastic ashtray on the table within reach and breathes in deeply.

I wish Danny didn’t smoke. Even though she’s kind of sexy when she does. When I dreamed of having a girlfriend before I met her, I imagined myself with one of those hippie, outdoorsy types of women. A granola dyke, maybe? But a butchy kind of granola dyke. Somebody who hikes, cycles, camps, rock-climbs, and kayaks. Somebody who eats tofu and vegetables out of a large bowl with colourfully painted chopsticks, makes homemade soup and vegetarian chili with textured vegetable protein, sprinkles nutritional yeast on her popcorn, uses handmade soap, and shops at health food stores. Someone who lives in a cabin with a wood stove and chops her own kindling and firewood. Someone who doesn’t drink or do drugs—hard drugs, at least. And someone would never consider smoking.

But mostly, I wish Danny didn’t smoke because I’m still trying to quit.

I grab the lit cigarette from her fingers and take a puff. Smoke fills my lungs and I feel rebellious. Being with Danny makes me feel rebellious. People in my hometown would be surprised if they knew I was a lesbian. People in this small pulp mill town in the interior of British Columbia would be surprised if they knew there were two lesbians like us living among them.

“We should live in Nelson,” I muse as I blow cigarette smoke out between my lips. “We would fit in better in Nelson. At least there are lesbians there.”

Nelson is a small city down the highway about 45 minutes. There are artists and musicians, and snowboarders, ski bums, and climbers. And, hippie outdoorsy butchy granola dyke lesbians.

Danny grabs my arms and draws me to her body. She kisses me quickly on the mouth. I catch the scent of cigarette smoke and Bounce dryer sheets.

I pull away from her and look her in the eyes.

“Your brother isn’t very friendly. He totally ignored me as he walked past me to his car. Is he always like that or is he homophobic?”

“Oh, never mind him!” She waves her hand dismissively in the air beside her head as if she’s swatting at a pesky mosquito. “Tony’s an ass, but he’s harmless. Besides, he’s gone out drinking to the bar with some old buddies from school. We’ll be asleep before he gets back.”

I feel relieved knowing he’s out for the night.

“C’mon. Let’s go watch that re-run!” We are going to watch The Puppy Episode, a re-run of the sitcom, Ellen. The show’s protagonist, Ellen Morgan, is played by Ellen DeGeneres. Danny tells me that during this episode, Ellen comes out, revealing to her love interest, Susan, that she is gay. American actor Laura Dern plays Susan. It’s the first time in TV history that a woman comes out on a national television show as a lesbian. Danny crushes out her cigarette in the ashtray and grabs my hand. We hop off the picnic table and head inside to her bedroom.

Picking up the remote from her bedside table, she flips on the TV in her room. She turns the channel to Ellen.

Danny says to me excitedly, “I can’t wait for you to see it.”

“But, I don’t get it,” I say, confused. “Why is it called The Puppy Episode if it’s not about puppies?”

“Oh, because it’s a code,” she explains. “The TV network wanted the plot and Ellen’s coming out to be kept a secret, you know? They called it The Puppy Episode because they didn’t want to give anything away before it aired.”

“Okay, got it,” I reply as I sit back on her single bed. I don’t own a TV, so I have never seen Ellen before. I am excited to see a real-life lesbian portray a lesbian character on TV.

Danny closes her bedroom door and scrambles onto the bed beside me. I open the small Tupperware container and fish out the pot brownie, dividing it in half. I give her a piece. We each pop a piece of brownie into our mouths, pull the comforter up around our bodies, and nestle back against the wall together. I put my head on her shoulder, and we begin to watch the show.

Near the end, Ellen is at the airport, saying goodbye to a friend who was in town visiting. Then, she runs into Susan, a gay woman Ellen met through a friend. People are milling about, standing in groups chatting, sitting in chairs against the wall, waiting to board their flights.

Ellen turns serious and tells Susan she wants to talk to her. My body is humming from the pot brownie.

Ellen stutters and moans, struggling to say something to Susan. Susan smiles and nods at Ellen expectantly, as if coaxing the words out of her. Ellen can’t bring herself to look Susan in the eye. Instead, she paces around Susan, talking to herself, with her back to Susan.

Susan nods her head, grinning, as if sensing what Ellen is about to say. Then, she grimaces, realizing how much anguish Ellen is experiencing.

Finally, Ellen forces a breath from her mouth and shakes her head. She leans over the announcer’s microphone balanced on the podium between them and proclaims, “Susan… I’m gay.”

Ellen’s confession echoes over the loudspeaker for everyone at the airport gate to hear. The audience erupts with uproarious laughter and then hoots and hollers, whistles and claps. My heart swells in my chest. I laugh too.

Stunned, Ellen and Susan turn to look around the room. Everyone is staring at them. They turn to face one another again. They smirk knowingly. Then, beaming at Ellen, Susan reaches her arms out toward her, and they embrace. The audience is frenzied with cheering and applause.

Tears sting my eyes and spill down my cheeks. I quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand. I clutch Danny’s arm, embarrassed that I’m crying.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” She squeezes my knee.

“Yeah.” I sniff, feeling warm inside.

“So great. It’s so cool to see that on TV. To see a show with a lesbian in it who plays a lead role? And, she’s happy? And funny? Wow.”

After The Puppy Episode, Danny tells me that hate mail poured into the offices at ABC. She says that large companies pulled their advertising from the show. Well-known American evangelists publicly denounced Ellen and the show and circulated letters which thousands of churchgoers signed saying that being gay was an abomination. Death threats were posted on the front door of Ellen’s home. ABC Studios received a bomb threat and then they cancelled the show a year later due to low ratings.

“That’s terrible. God, people are so homophobic. I don’t get it,” I say, knowing that Ellen’s career nosedived since that episode.

“At least she still has Anne,” I point out, referring to Ellen’s girlfriend, Anne Heche.

“I wonder when it will be safe for all gay people to be out in public, at our jobs, with our families. Everywhere.” Danny says, fluffing the pillows, getting under the covers. I think about how Danny’s parents don’t acknowledge our relationship. And how I’m not out to my teaching practicum supervisor, Jack. And all the times I automatically plan quick escape routes in my head when I’m walking down the street with Danny in case some of the straight guys who stare at us decide they want to teach us a lesson.

“Yeah, and safe to even talk about it. Say the word ‘lesbian’ around straight people and not worry about how they will respond,” I say, getting into bed beside her.

“Like, I wonder if people will ever stop caring about who other people sleep with. Stop hating us, you know?” Lying down on my side, I wrap my arm across her chest.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, her eyes closed. I close my eyes, too, and drift off.

**************

Hours later, the deep, garbled voice of a man drones somewhere above me. Then, it stops. I must be dreaming. Danny groans quietly beside me.

Then, I hear the voice again. Louder this time. I open my eyes. I see the outline of Antonio’s brawny frame standing over Danny and me in the dark. The hallway light spills into the bedroom. I glance quickly at Danny’s digital clock radio. 2 a.m.

I’m not dreaming.

Antonio growls something but I can’t make out what he says.

“What?” I mumble, half-asleep.

“I said, ‘get the fuck up, you cunt-licking bitches,’” he demands, slurring.

My heart lurches against my ribs. My scalp prickles. I begin to register what is happening and sit up.

Danny opens her eyes and sees Antonio. She props herself up on her elbow.

“Tony, what the hell?” She reaches for her glasses on the bedside table. “Get out of here!”

Antonio points a thick finger at Danny. In hallway light, I can see the curve of his deltoid muscle under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

“Shut up, Daniella.” He looks at me. “Hurry up. I’ll wait for you both downstairs.”

His bulky frame disappears from the doorframe. Heavy footsteps trudge down the stairs. Danny lies back down and pulls the comforter up around her.

I pull her arm.

“Dan. C’mon!” I hiss. I know better than to argue with a drunk, angry man in the middle of the night. Especially one as big as Danny’s brother.

“Just do what he says.”

I feel hazy from the pot brownie. My hands shake as I reach for my jeans and sweatshirt piled on the floor. Why haven’t Danny’s parents come out of their bedroom to see what’s going on? Why am I so afraid of waking them up to ask for help? Where are Danny and I going to go at two in the morning? What if we don’t even make it out the door because Antonio does something more than threaten us?

I stand up and struggle into my clothes. Danny rolls out of bed and pulls her clothes on. She grabs her ballcap and slaps it on her head. Grabbing her wallet from the desk, she crams it into her pocket.

Out in the lit hallway, I can see Antonio down below, at the bottom of the stairs, sitting at the kitchen table. Danny treads down the stairs ahead of me. I follow. Antonio rises to his feet. Burly and muscular, he puffs his chest out.

“You need to leave. Now. You dykes are not welcome in this house.”

I put on my shoes and grab my jacket from the closet.

Danny tries to reason with him. “C’mon, Tony. What are you talking about? You’re drunk and you’re being totally unreasonable. It’s the middle of the night. We can talk in the morning.”

His jugular vein bulges on his thick neck. Anger radiates off him.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Daniela. You’re not listening to me. Why are you not listening to me, you fucking dyke?”

“Dan, let’s go!” I plead through clenched teeth, yanking on her arm. I open the door and start down the stairs and sprint along the path through the front yard toward my truck. I hear Antonio yelling behind me. I stop and look back to see him and Danny arguing on the stairs.

“You goddamn queers disgust me. You’re an embarrassment to Mom and Dad. To this town. Get the fuck out of here!” He shoves her down the stairs. “Get out!”

My heart hammers the inside of my ribcage. “Dan! Let’s go!” I yell at her again, running toward the truck. I jump into the driver’s side. Reaching into the comparment in the dashboard, I fumble with the keys and jam the truck key into the ignition. The passenger door opens and Danny lurches in beside me.

“Lock the door!” I insist, turning the key. The engine rumbles to life. Then, an ear-splitting crack fills the cab. Glass shatters, spraying all over Danny and me, hitting the side of my face. I scream. Antonio’s fist appears through the broken passenger-side window. A pile of tempered glass sits in Danny’s lap. As I stomp on the gas pedal, we roar away from the curb.

“Holy fuck, Dan!” I say, my voice quivering. “I don’t know where we’re going. Where are we going? It’s after two in the morning.”

My brain feels cloudy, but my body is saturated with adrenaline.

“We can go to Carlos’ place.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, unconvinced. I’ve never met Carlos but given what just happened with Antonio, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to go to her other brother’s house.

“Yeah, he and Ange are cool,” she reassures me. I have no choice but to trust her.

Giving me directions to get to Carlos and Angela’s house, she pulls a cigarette from a half-empty pack on the dash and rummages in the pocket of her jeans for her Zippo. I look over and see her hands tremble as she lights her cigarette and takes a lungful of smoke.

“Holy shit, that was crazy. Tony’s crazy,” Danny whistles.

She rolls the window down. I roll mine down. The fresh air feels good on my face.

As I drive, my mind races. What if a cop pulls us over and I get arrested for driving stoned and end up in jail? What will Jack, my classroom supervisor at Twin Rivers Elementary School think when he finds out I have a girlfriend? What will the students and parents say when they find out there has been a lesbian in their school? What if someone complains and I get kicked out of the teacher education program? Do stories like this end up in the local news? What if the whole town finds out that Danny and I are lesbians? What if we have to move somewhere far away because everywhere we go in Castlegar, people hate us? What will become of me if I can’t earn a living teaching? What will I do with my life? What will happen to Danny and me?

A hot flush creeps up my neck and my forehead breaks out in beads of sweat.

A few minutes later, we arrive at Carlos and Angela’s. We slip out of the truck and go to the front door. Danny knocks. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, peering over my shoulder in the dark, worried that Antonio might have followed us. Danny knocks again, harder this time. We wait. The night air is chilly.

The door opens and a large, round, balding man in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt stands before us.

“Daniela,” he says, surprised. He looks at me and then back at Danny. “What…what are you doing here?”

“Can you let us in? We were at Mom and Dad’s, and Tony came back from the bar drunk and kicked us out of the house,” she explains hastily.

“What?” Carlos looks baffled for a minute. Then, his expression changes to one of recognition. “Oh shit. That motherfucker. Yeah, come in, come in.” He ushers us inside, closes the door behind us, and shoves the deadbolt in place, locking it. Relief washes over me.

“This is Kate,” Danny says to Carlos.

“This is Carlos,” she says to me, nodding at her brother.

“Hi. Thanks for letting us in,” I say to Carlos. “Sorry to bother you in the middle of the night.”

“Come sit down. I’ll make you some coffee.” Carlos motions to a small round kitchen table with four wooden chairs.

We sit down. He stands at the kitchen counter with his back turned to us as he fills the drip coffee maker with water and coffee grounds. I hear a door open down the hallway. A tall, plump woman in fuzzy bunny slippers emerges from the darkness and shuffles into the kitchen. A lilac-coloured terry cloth robe, open at the front, drapes haphazardly over her round body revealing a light pink nightgown underneath speckled with tiny flowers and little ruffles down the front.

“Carlos? Danny?” She rubs her eyes. “What the hell is goin’ on?” She squints at me.

“Sorry about waking you up, Ange. You remember Kate, my girlfriend? You met at Timmy’s a couple of months ago,” Danny answers.

“Oh yeah. Hi,” Angela says as she plunks herself down in a chair and heaves her legs under the table. Her round face is kind and a bit haggard.

“Hi, Angela,” I say. “I’m sorry we woke you up.”

I remember meeting Angela at the take-out window at Tim Horton’s—a chain of cafés that sells drip coffee and donuts. Wearing a dark brown polyester uniform, her bleached blonde hair was stuffed into a hairnet that puffed out under a matching dark brown visor. I remember her long, manicured, bright, fuchsia fingernails as she opened the take-out window to pass us our coffee in paper cups with plastic lids.

Angela pulls a mauve-coloured hair elastic off her wrist. Running pointy, frosted-pink fingernails through her platinum hair—exposing dark brown roots underneath—she tugs it all back into a sloppy ponytail. Fishing a cigarette out from a pack of Benson and Hedges menthol on the kitchen table, she thrusts it between her lips and lights it. I marvel at how she can do anything with those extensive fingernails. I look down at my nails, all chewed and frayed.

Angela inhales and blows smoke over her shoulder.

“Okay,” she says as she rests her cigarette on the edge of a glass ashtray in the middle of the table. She squints at Danny and me.

“What the hell are you two doin’ here at this hour?” She looks at Carlos. “Is someone going to tell me what happened?”

Danny and I look at each other. Then, we take turns describing what happened with Antonio. When we are done, Angela sits back.

“For fuck’s sakes!” Cigarette smoke shoots out of her nostrils. “What an asshole. It’s 2000, Tony. Get over it.”

She taps her cigarette with a frosted-pink fingernail. Greyish-white ash falls into the ashtray.

“We have to call the cops and report this.”

Carlos brings four cups of coffee to the table. He also sets down a carton of cream, a small dish of sugar cubes, and four teaspoons.

“I agree,” he says.

“Me too,” I say. We all turn and look at Danny expectantly.

“Yeah, I guess we should. It’s weird. He’s my brother.” Danny looks at Carlos. “Our brother.”

“I know,” Carlos sighs.

Angela puts down her cigarette and looks at Danny.

“It’s wrong, what he did,” she says.

“I know, I know,” Danny agrees, looking at the floor.

“Besides,” Angela tosses her head, “he’s a dick anyway. Someone needs to put him in his place,” she declares hoarsely.

She shifts her rump in her chair, pulls her robe closed around her fleshy frame, and takes a slurp of coffee.

“It’s homophobia. A hate crime.” I assert. “Should I call?”

“Right. Yeah,” Carlos says. He hands me the cordless phone. I call 911. A woman’s voice answers.

“RCMP³, Castlegar detachment. How may I direct your call?”

Five hours later, an RCMP car pulls up behind my truck in front of Carlos and Angela’s house. I joke sarcastically that cops must be busy in small towns like Castlegar on long weekends. Danny smiles weakly. Carlos frowns and shakes his head.

“Pathetic.” Angela snorts and lights up another cigarette.

Danny and I walk out the front door to greet the police. Sunlight begins to spread down the sides of the trees. A robin hops about on the front lawn, eyeing the grass for a worm to yank from the soil. At least the effects of the pot brownie have worn off, but I feel drained from being up most of the night.

The woman and man in RCMP uniforms ask us for our names, addresses, and phone numbers. Then, as the woman writes notes in a small pad of paper, she asks us to tell them what happened. She then motions to my truck and requests to look it over. We walk over to my truck. That’s when I notice all four tires are flat.

“What the hell? The tires are flat! How did…?” My anxiety changes to anger. I turn to Danny.

“Either he did that before we left your parents’, or he figured we were here and came over and did it while we were inside.”

I think about how much money it’s going to cost me to repair my truck. My stomach churns. As a student in teacher’s college, money is very tight. It doesn’t occur to me that I could ask Danny or her parents to help pay for the damages, let alone expect that Antonio will.

Danny draws a deep breath. “Shit. What a bastard,” she mutters, shaking her head.

Taking notes, the police walk around the truck. They crouch down to examine each tire. They assess where the window used to be in the passenger side door. As they open the passenger door to look inside the cab, tiny, cube-shaped chunks of glass fall to the ground from the window frame. Hundreds of small fragments of glass lie on the bench seat, the floor, and the dashboard. The policewoman jots down more notes.

“Well, that’s about it,” she says, flipping her pad of paper closed. She looks at us. “You two need to come down to the station and make a statement. Can you do that this morning?”

“Yes,” says Danny, exhaling.

“Then what?” I ask.

“We will put a province-wide warrant out for his arrest,” the policeman informs us.

“What does that mean exactly?” I ask. “Antonio lives in Calgary, so…?”

Looking at his watch, the policeman cuts me off.

“It means that he can be arrested when he’s in the province, in BC. But once he crosses the border and goes back home to Calgary, we can’t arrest him.”

Danny says, “Well, he’s still over at my parents’ house. He drives a red sports car. A Nissan,” she adds quickly.

The policeman jingles his keys in his hand. “We’ll go and see,” he responds abruptly.

He turns around and walks towards the police car.

“See you at the station,” the policewoman smiles at us and gets in the car, rolling down the window. “It’s Saturday, so make sure to come before we close at 4 p.m.”

The police pull away from the curb. Turning left at the stop sign at the end of the road, the opposite direction from the street where Danny’s parents live, the car disappears.

Later that morning, after we have breakfast with Carlos and Angela, I call a tow truck company to come and take my truck to a garage for repairs. I book a rental car for a few days. Angela drives Danny and me to the car rental company, and then Danny and I drive to the police station. There is a different policewoman there who takes our statement.

“Did they bring him to the station for questioning?” I ask.

“It says here that they went to the house, but there was no red Nissan in the driveway.”

“Did they go up and knock on the door to see if they could find out where he was?” I press her.

She smiles weakly. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It looks like they weren’t able to track down the suspect.”

I look at Danny.

“So, that’s it? He just gets to walk away from what he did?” I probe. Danny shakes her head.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she repeats. “It says here they have reason to believe he’s gone back to Alberta. We did the best we could.”

“Thanks,” Danny responds.

We leave the police station and drive up the winding road to the place I’m renting in Pass Creek.

On Monday morning, I drop Danny off at the music store and drive to Twin Rivers Elementary School. I manoeuvre the rental car into a staff parking space in front of the school. My heart thumps in my chest as I sling my bag of teaching supplies over my shoulder and walk toward the school.

When I get to the front door, I put my hand on the door handle. Raising my head, I take a large gulp of air into my lungs, square my shoulders, open the door, and walk inside. The halls are empty; the bell doesn’t ring for another hour. I pace down the hall toward the grade six classroom. The lights are on. Thoughts about what I’m going to say to Jack stampede through my mind.

When I walk in, he is writing on the blackboard.

“Hi, Jack,” I say.

He turns to face me.

“Ms Hancock,” he beams. “How are you today? Did you have a good long weekend?”

“I’m great, thanks, Jack.” I smile and nod, setting down my bag on one of the students’ desks.

“My weekend was pretty good. How about you?”