Chapter 41 – December 1988
“We shouldn’t be doing this, babe; we should be sleeping. The body needs rest after trauma.” Colin says this as we pull into the parking lot of the local public library, and he’s right, but I refuse to stay in bed any longer.
It takes us half an hour to find all the texts and request the rest, but I know I’m incapable of sitting through rolls of microfiche. There are too many colors. Sounds. People. Smells. My nerves claw under my skin. My muscles ache, and blinking has never hurt this much.
Two patrons wear Dr. Martens, and I begin to hyperventilate as soon as we exit. Invite me in.
When we return to Colin’s dad’s house with a stack of books, Alex is playing happily on the floor. “Blocks,” Alex says, pointing.
I set the books on the table and lay next to my daughter. “Playing with blocks, Alex?”
“Yeah,” Alex coos, “blocks.”
I stroke her head and kiss her cheek. “She seems okay, doesn’t she?”
“She’s fine, babe,” Colin says. “Her happy, playful self.”
“Finished all her breakfast too,” Mr. Brown contributes. “She was a hungry girl this morning.”
“Blocks,” Alex says again, banging one on the mat.
“I’m going to call our professors,” Colin announces, picking up the phone, “and see if they’ll give us extensions on our remaining finals. Then I’m making lunch. Dad, can you watch Alex?”
“Of course, I could watch her all day, every day.”
I glance up from the mat. “It’s Wednesday. Why aren’t you at work?”
Mr. Brown smiles at me. “My child, you know the answer to that.”
I smile in gratitude. “You’ll go back tomorrow, yeah?”
Looking at Alex, he simply replies, “We’ll see.”
Colin places his fingertips against my shoulder. “Dad has Alex; I have lunch. You should go back to bed. Take your books if you want, but lie down. Let yourself heal.”
I kiss Alex again before taking the top book from the table. “No Quiet Place by Associate Chief Justice Edwin C. Kimelman. Over 400 pages; not exactly a beach read.”
***
Colin quietly opens the door. “Ra'Shelle, lunch is ready.”
I’m wide awake, hunched over the text, my hands covering both sides of my face. “Did you know that the Canadian government took Indigenous children from their families and placed them in foster care or adopted them out to people? I’ll point out that usually those parents were White, and ‘well-intentioned’ is the nicest category.”
“How many kids are we talking about?” he asks.
“Unclear, but definitely in the thousands, probably tens of thousands. This is insane, Colin. Insane.”
“Sounds like ‘cultural genocide’ to me.”
“A lot of the adoptive parents didn’t even live in Canada. What the hell is wrong with people?” I ask, almost in disbelief.
“A lot, Ra'Shelle. There’s a lot wrong with people, just like Eva said. Found a connection with your father yet?”
“Not at all.”
“Well, come eat lunch; I know you’ll figure it out eventually.”
***
Over the next week, I read reports, books, and news articles, in addition to studying for my delayed finals.
Gomez calls to tell me Pete pled guilty to seven counts of malicious harassment and one count of assault with intent to murder.
“Malicious harassment?” I ask incredulously. “For killing seven people? Are you kidding me?”
“No one wants this in court, Ra'Shelle,” Gomez says. “Considering the victims, a jury might find that he did society a favor, and the prosecutor isn’t confident that she can build a case for murder.”
I rub my eyes. “What’s the sentence?”
“Four years for each count of harassment, and twelve years for attempted murder. The judge ruled the sentences must be consecutive. He’s up for parole in 2018.”
“And if he appeals?” I ask.
“I won’t lie; that’s a possibility,” he says. “If he can convince someone to turn it into concurrent, rather than consecutive, he could be up for parole as early as 1997. However, my guess is that it will be somewhere between 2002 and 2018. You have some time.”
I take a deep breath. “I guess this is still better than the last time I did this.”
“I know it’s not enough, Ra'Shelle, but it’s the best we can do within the system.”
“I understand. Thanks for letting me know.”
“You bet.”
“Hey,” I say quickly, “before you go, did they drug test him like I suggested?”
“Yes, thankfully before he went into surgery. According to the court records, he tested positive for ecstasy, and there was a slightly elevated BAC.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I return to lying on the floor with Alex, helping her dance to Raffi’s Everything Grows cassette. “I know the world of wonders playing on and on. Just like the sun, these gifts are here for everyone.”
And Alex’s innocent squeals and laughs almost make me forget her haunting screams.
***
“Okay,” I say on December 21, after closing Patrick Johnson’s Native Children and the Welfare System, “I’m inundated with the cruelty and tragedy of racist systems, and I have no idea why I read it.”
I lean back against the headrest. “I have to call her again.”
This time, a middle-aged woman answers. “Dawson residence.”
“Hi, I’m looking for Eva.”
“Who’s calling please.”
I bite my lip. “Ra'Shelle.”
“Oh, Ra'Shelle, honey! I’m so glad you called. Eva told me she talked to you last week. How are you?”
“Uh, I’m good, thanks. Is this… Simone?”
“Oh, yes, sorry, I should have introduced myself. Listen, I’m sure you already have plans for Christmas, but you must come see us next year. We’ll show you around the city.”
I rub my eyes. “You want me to visit?”
“Of course! You’re family, too! And I haven’t seen you since you were… almost four I guess. I’d love to hear about your life.”
“You met me?!” I overenunciate.
Uncomfortable silence hangs on the lines. “Let me find Eva.”
“Ra'Shelle,” a voice clips after a few seconds, “did you figure it out?”
“Not at all.”
“I didn’t really expect you to; you don’t have enough information yet. But you do know that the Scoop was terrible, yes?”
“Cultural genocide.”
“Good. So you have the corner pieces; I’ll send you the rest. Are you still in the same dorm room as when I sent the letter?”
“No,” I tell her, “and the college is moving us to a different suite, thanks to the shooting.”
“So where should I send you something?” she asks before quickly adding “And don’t say your father-in-law’s house because the world is a better place if I don’t know where he lives.”
“Because you would sell his address?” I ask.
Eva sighs. “It’s complicated, Ra'Shelle. I just don’t want to be in a situation where I would have to disclose that information. So… how about your job? You work… I think as an artist or something?”
“In fashion. I work at LFI.”
“Right. That’s it. Can I send it there?”
I rub my face. “Yeah, I guess.”
“I already went to the library and made all the copies. I placed everything carefully in a box; I tried using an envelope, but it became too bulky. I’ll mail it tomorrow, and it should be there in two to four days.”
“Hey, Eva, what does your mom do?”
“Do? Lots of things.”
“For work,” I clarify.
“Oh. She works at D&S Engineering. There aren’t many women engineers, you know. I’m thinking about going into engineering; that’s why I want to go to MIT.”
“Engineering?” I ask. “Is that how you know Pete? Does he work with your mom?”
“Well, I mean, yeah, he works with her, but that’s not how we know him. He spent his summers here.”
I begin to pace. “He what?”
Eva speaks slowly. “He… spent… his… summers… here. Is there a bad connection?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“By ‘a bad connection’? It’s when the telephone–”
I roll my eyes. “By ‘spent his summers’ there.”
“Um, I feel like that’s self-explanatory, but okay. Every summer, he and Debbie would stay in our house with us from about a week after school let out to the week before it went back. I don’t remember Debbie very well because she died when I was four, but even after she died, Pete came every summer, sometimes winter breaks too.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because Debbie and Dad were friends, and even after they died, Mom said that Pete could still visit, so he did. I think he needed to stay away from his father, who is a very bad man.” There’s a short hesitation. “You didn’t find it strange that you never saw Pete during the summer?”
“I never really thought about it,” I say.
“Oh, well… now you know I guess.”
“So, you basically grew up around Pete?”
“Maybe, but I really just think of him like a Dill.”
“‘A Dill’?”
“From To Kill a Mockingbird?”
“Right.”
Eva hesitates, then softens her voice. “Ra'Shelle, is Pete going to jail?”
“Yes.”
“For a long time?”
“Somewhere between eight and twenty-nine years.”
Eva sighs heavily. “That information is going to require a lot of emotions.”
“For me too, Eva.” I pause, listening closely. “Eva, is your mom singing?”
“Constantly. Our kitchen is always filled with humming and singing.”
“What’s she singing right now?”
“Hang on.” There’s a long silence. “It’s ‘But Not for Me’ by Ella Fitzgerald. Do you know that one? She sings Ella a lot. I’ve memorized most of her albums. Most of The Ink Spots, too, which my friends find very weird.”
I bite my lip. “I like ‘We Three’.”
“Me too. I need to go. Once you read everything in the box, call me back. And, Ra'Shelle, I overheard Mom invite you down here; don’t do that. Hopefully at some point, but not now. It’s too risky.”
“We’ll talk after I look through the box,” I say.
“Sure. Later days and better lays.”