Then I push forward toward the dock.

  Twenty-Eight

  When I arrive at the dock, I expect to find a couple of cyclists, two or three pickup trucks, at least one family with a car stuffed full of beach toys, and, of course, one or two staff members.

  Instead, the dock is deserted. No line-up, no boat, no ferry crew.

  Just a hand-scrawled sign saying the boat needs an unexpected repair and is on the Quebec side waiting for a part to arrive. We’ll be back when we get back.

  So helpful.

  I peer across the river just in case the boat’s on its way back. I use the zoom on my camera to help my tired eyes, but there’s no bow wave making its way toward me.

  The rush of energy supplied by adrenaline and straight-up fear has drained away. My knees are shaky and my chest is tight. I have to battle an irrational urge to cry — as if that’s going to help anything.

  The quietness of a place that should have a constant stream of people coming and going is eerie. I came here to be safe, but I feel unsettled and exposed.

  The road is visible from where I’m standing and I know, for sure, if I found an intruder on my property, then wanted to cruise around looking for them, I’d definitely drive down here.

  What am I going to do? I don’t want to be a sitting duck — just waiting here for Jeb to find me — but I don’t know where else to go.

  There’s no other busy public place nearby. Plus, I sent a message saying I’d be here. Plus, my hand is throbbing again, I have a gash on my leg, and I’m tired.

  I hear an engine slowing up on the road and retreat behind the building, which serves as office and ticket booth. It’s tiny, and there’s a mowed expanse of grass around it on all sides. If Jeb’s in that car, and he comes looking around the building, I can either make a run for the trees again — and restart this whole chase sequence, except with no destination in mind — or I can keep scuttling around the building trying to stay out of his sight.

  Gravel crunches under tires, which roll to a stop. A car door opens, then another, and there are voices — more than one, including a woman. I peek out to see a family.

  As the tension drains from my body, I pull out my phone. Six missed calls and one text which reads Coming! I look at the timestamp and calculate how long it will take before help arrives.

  I need to find a better hiding spot.

  I listen to the family react to the sign. “Bummer!” “What a pain!” “Let’s go get dinner and come back.”

  As they leave, I think maybe there’s somewhere to hide on the other side of the road, so I’ll see help when it arrives, but won’t be seen by anybody — by Jeb — if he pulls into the ferry parking area.

  Just as I’m about to head up to see, I hear another engine and retreat with no time to spare.

  This time it’s Jeb.

  He stops the truck far enough back that from my spot behind the building I can see him get out, leaving it running. He walks toward the dock. By moving to the other end of the building, I can watch him read the sign and hear him say, “Not this way.”

  He paces back and forth, then stops, bends down and picks something up.

  Oh. No.

  It’s one of the sachets of Bute I stuffed in my pocket alongside my phone. It must have fallen out when I used my phone to look for the boat.

  “Shit!” Jeb yells.

  I couldn’t agree more.

  He turns back to face the parking area and the building I’m hiding behind and raises his voice. “Thought stealing from me would be easy money, huh? Just skim off some of the stuff your crooked uncle delivered to my place? You’ll be sorry, you little shit!”

  Poor Jeb. It sounds like his life is complicated. What’s the world coming to when a criminal can’t trust the family of his crooked suppliers?

  It’s good he thinks it’s an inside job, connected to stolen goods. If he has Wren, or did something to Wren, I don’t want him to know I suspect him.

  He walks right out onto the dock and peers over the end, then looks out toward Quebec. What does he think the person he’s chasing did? Swim for it?

  Whatever he thinks, he’s given me a chance, if only I can talk myself into taking it.

  Run to his truck. Drive it away.

  My insides are liquid, my legs are weak.

  What if I’m not fast enough? What if I trip? What if he catches me?

  If he looks behind this building, and I have to run from here, he’ll catch me.

  I move to the other end of the building, closest to the truck, and count down — Five, four, three, two …

  Sit tight. The word is a whisper in my ear, distracting me, robbing me of the focus I need.

  I start again — Five, four, three, two … — I’m tensed to go, about to run, when a new noise hums in the background, prompting an exclamation from Jeb, who runs back to the truck, double-beeping it to unlock it as he goes.

  It was locked.

  I wouldn’t have been able to get in.

  I would have been out in the open, exposed, with running from him my only option.

  I’m shivering as he spins his tires and speeds out, throwing gravel, past the car driving in.

  An Oak Junction police SUV.

  Suddenly my legs are working. I sprint to the car, but before I can run to the driver’s side, where my brother’s sitting, Dave gets out of the passenger door. I hurl myself against him and hug him as tightly as I can. “Thank you,” I whisper in his ear. Then I pull back, kiss him full on the lips, and whisper in his other ear, “I love you.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Xander got on the phone as soon as I spluttered out, “Jeb Dixon. Quonset hut full of stolen stuff. Chased me.”

  He’s been saying, “Out past the ferry,” “Cormier’s place,” “Vehicles, equipment, medication” — this last as he held up one of the sachets I’d handed him.

  “Did you say you saw an animal in distress?” Xander turns away from his phone to ask me.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Animals,” he says. “There were animals there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you concerned about their welfare?”

  I look at the sachet of Bute in his hand, then think of the Banamine also on the premises. Rose said they shouldn’t be combined. “Yes.”

  He turns back to the phone. “Sounds like we should get the animal welfare inspector over there and give her some backup.”

  When he finishes the call, he says, “Let’s get you out of here. We’ll talk in the car.”

  As Xander follows my directions back to my parked car, he and Dave explain why they came to get me together.

  “I freaked out when I got your text,” Dave says. “I jumped in the car and started driving to Oak Junction, but I didn’t know how to get to the ferry, and I was already on the highway so I couldn’t start messing around with maps, then I remembered your brother was on the police force …”

  Xander takes over. “Good thing I was in the station. The duty officer took the call and said, ‘I have someone on the line asking for Paige Turner’s brother.’”

  “I couldn’t remember his name and it was the only way I could think of to find him,” Dave says. “He told me to come to the station, and he was waiting when I got there and drove us straight to the ferry. It would have taken me ages to find it on my own.”

  “I’ve never been so happy to see two people in my life.” Just ahead is Ed Cormier’s mailbox. Where this all started. I shiver, and Xander catches my eye in the rearview mirror. “What were you thinking?”

  “I know. I owe you an explanation. A long one … both of you.”

  “Yes, well, you can give me that explanation at Faye’s. She’s hosting dinner. You can take your car and I’ll come there after I meet up with my colleagues when they do their animal welfare check.”

  “Yeah, what’s that all about?”

  “A way to get onto the property. Animal welfare has the right to follow up on a concern. We can provide backup. If we see anything in plain sight while providing that backup …” He shrugs.

  “Everything I saw was in the quonset.”

  He nods. “Some people keep animals in quonset huts. It would only be prudent to check it out.”

  “When did Faye organize dinner?” I ask.

  “When I called her to see if she knew what the heck was going on.”

  “She does!” I say.

  He lifts his eyebrows.

  I squirm. “Well, she doesn’t know about just now — today — but in general, she knows.”

  “All part of your explaining. Which probably starts with Dave while he drives you to Faye’s.” Xander stops the SUV behind my car and I’m thankful to be with Dave and Xander in the official car. I would have been terrified to come back here on my own — afraid Jeb had found the car, and was waiting for me.

  It seems almost impossible that the scene should be so peaceful — the little car tucked under the low-hanging branches, birds twittering overhead, a gentle breeze blowing, me as safe as can be with two people who love me.

  I’m fortunate that the whole interlude at Ed Cormier’s place and the ferry dock remained a blip in the middle of a summer afternoon instead of ballooning into a newsworthy story.

  Dave gets behind the wheel, adjusting the seat to its maximum settings to allow for his long legs, and Xander follows us back as far as the Cormier driveway, and I know this is it. This is the long-overdue moment. This is when I have to explain everything to Dave.

  I start with, “Thank you for coming.”

  “Really?” he says. “We’re really going to make polite conversation? Because I’m not in the mood, and if that’s what this drive is about, I’ll just drive to the police station so I can get my car and you can go on to your sister’s.”

  “It’s not!” I shake my head. “I’m going to tell you everything, but I thought it was important to at least say thank you.”

  He sighs. “You’re welcome. I’m listening. The kilometres are ticking away.”

  It’s such a familiar feeling. Knowing I have to start. Wanting to start. But battling a massive current of hesitation. Like when I was a kid standing on a dock so hot it burned my feet. Wanting off the hot dock. Wanting in the cold river. The inner battle raging inside me:

  — It’s cold.

  — That’s the point.

  — I want to jump.

  — Nothing’s stopping you.

  More than once, Leila came up behind me and pushed me in and, far from being mad, I was relieved.

  I wish she was here now to push the words out of me.

  Go.

  It’s the voice from Maddy’s office. From the ferry dock — except that time saying “no” instead of “go.” This time, though, the “go” is unmistakable.

  I blurt it out. “I had a sister …”

  I can’t blame Dave for the puzzled look he turns my way. He knows I have a sister. We’re going to her house right now — if he doesn’t decide to ditch me on the way.

  “Not Faye,” I say. “And not Macy either — you might meet Macy at Faye’s tonight. I’m talking about my sister whose name was … is … Leila.”

  Thank goodness he doesn’t say anything because I’ve managed to jump off the dock — or Leila pushed me off — and I’m swimming.

  “I know I’ve never told you much about my family, but I have four older siblings — Faye, Xander, Macy, and Rowan — who are all close in age to each other, then there was a big gap down to Leila and me. She and I lived with my mom” — I lift my hand — “don’t ask about my dad because I don’t even remember him — so, as you can imagine, Leila and I were very close. Especially because my mom had issues with drinking, and with not-great boyfriends, and it also turns out she was sick. Anyway, Leila was my big sister, and my best friend, and she disappeared fifteen years ago. She went to school — I saw her at lunch — and she never came home.” I look out the window while I take a deep breath, because I’m not ready to face Dave yet.

  “Of course I’ve thought about her all this time — but in a foggy way, if that makes any sense.” I shake my head. “I realize it probably doesn’t, but that’s the best way I can describe it. Then, recently, Faye told me about this missing woman here in Oak Junction — Wren — and Maddy assigned me to write a story about her, and it’s brought it all back. Sharp and real. And it turns out, not only do I not know what happened to my sister, I’m not over it at all. I know it was wrong to never tell you, but once I hadn’t, I didn’t know how to bring it up. And I wasn’t worried about you somehow finding out because nobody wrote about her when she went missing, which is why I’ve been coming out here, and doing my best, so at least somebody will write about Wren.” I take another shaky breath, and say, “Of course, there’s more, which I’ll explain later when we’re with Xander and Faye, but that’s the important part, and … are you furious? Why are you stopping the car? What …?”

  We’re on the shoulder now, in a spot that’s about halfway to Faye’s, but isn’t familiar to me at all. No memories of Leila, or any of my siblings, or being on the school bus, or being chased by Jeb. Nothing.

  Dave gets out of the driver’s seat and walks around to my side of the car. He opens my door. Stepping out seems like the only logical thing to do.

  He’s so tall and I’m standing so close to him there’s no chance of me seeing his expression. “Are you dropping me off here?” I ask. “Are you that angry? Or do you want me to leave you here? Because I’m not going to, even if you ask me …”

  “Paige.”

  “Yes?”

  He opens his arms, and I step into them, and he hugs me, and rocks me, and says, “I’m so relieved. Everything makes sense now.”

  “Everything?” I mumble against his chest.

  “No. Not everything. I doubt everything with you will ever make sense, but, oh my god, Paige, it’s actually miraculous how normal you are considering everything you’ve been through.”

  “You think I’m normal?”

  “Absolutely not,” he says. “But I love you, so it doesn’t matter.”

  Thirty

  Dave is a hit. Which is no surprise.

  Xander’s young kids love him because he stands chest-deep in Faye’s swimming pool, hoisting them through the air in elaborate flips until I notice his lips are turning blue and order him out of the water.

  Charlotte and Pen love him because he shows them how to make his famous nachos, then they get to eat them.

  Rowan loves him because Dave has a beer and discusses Ultimate with him, and Macy’s dogs follow him around and lean against his legs every time he stands still.

  Macy sits next to me at dinner, and halfway through she leans over and whispers, “God, could he be any hotter?”

  “I didn’t think he was your type.” Macy’s the sibling I know least, but I know she’s gay. At least, I’ve met her girlfriend, but maybe …

  “I didn’t say I wanted him for me. In fact, I definitely don’t — I want him for you. Take it from me — I know bloodlines, and you two will give me gorgeous nieces and nephews.”

  I choke, gasp, and make a squeaking noise at the same time and Dave, sitting on my other side, puts his hand on my back. “What? What did I miss?”

  “You so don’t want to know,” I say.

  “Actually, for a change, it would be nice to know things.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you later.” Macy winks, and I make a mental note not to leave Dave alone with her.

  I take the first dishwashing shift, and when Rowan bumps me out of the way, I find Dave standing in front of Faye’s family photo wall. The photos are a mix of Faye, Brian, and their three kids, and various ones of us siblings. Xander with his family, Macy with her dogs, Rowan playing Ultimate. There aren’t many of me, but there’s a copy of the one Faye has on her desk at work and, beneath it, one of all six of us, much younger, standing in the same order, only with Leila there this time. I never noticed the parallels before.

  I’ve spent a long time not noticing — or acknowledging — many things.

  “So, that’s her,” Dave says.

  I nod. “I have a more recent one, though.” I pull up the scan of the photo from the microfilm OJJ story.

  He studies it. “She’s so young.” He gets it.

  “I know, right?” I swipe to show him the next photo in my gallery, which is the main one of Wren from the Facebook group.

  “Whoa. No wonder this is hard on you. They’re alike.”

  “Who’s alike?” Charlotte has come into the room. I show her Leila’s photo right after Wren’s. She lets out a long breath. “They are.” She turns to me. “It makes me so sad and she wasn’t even my sister. I’m really sorry, Auntie Paige.”

  “It’s OK, sweetie. It was a long time ago.” I stop, rethink, and rephrase. “Well, obviously it’s not OK, and it isn’t really over, but your words help.”

  The pictures we’re looking at give me an idea. “Hey, Charlotte, can you please look at these photos and tell me if you know anybody in them?”

  She stares at my screen as I swipe through the stills from The Mule’s surveillance footage. “That’s Addison!” she says right away. She turns to Dave. “I ride her horse sometimes, and Addison let me compete on her last weekend, which is a huge deal because she buys green horses and trains them so she can sell them for a profit, and she’s never let anyone compete any of her other project horses.”

  “So, she does it for a living?” Dave asks.

  Charlotte shrugs. “That, and working at the tack shop. I don’t know how much she makes, but her main aim is to get to the Olympics, so at least her jobs get her deals on her equipment, and let her work with high-end horses.”

  I was so surprised when Jessie told me Addison was much older than I thought — turns out I could have just asked my niece. That’s what happens when you assume … I scold myself.

  I point at Jeb Dixon, suppressing a shiver. “What about the guy she’s with — ever seen him?”