Redeemed Read online

  * * * *

  Adam continued to grip the receiver. Man, if not for the recovery meeting starting in a half hour, he’d give Bridget a taste of his temper. Anger management class told him to assess what he’d contributed in the past or present to escalate their dispute. The twelve steps told him to concentrate on his reaction to Bridget’s behavior and not take inventory of her flaws, because this was his life and his program to work.

  Taking responsibility for his own actions sucked bullshit. He slammed down the phone.

  “We gonna book?” Logan stood in the entranceway of the lounge.

  “Yeah.” The heat burning behind Adam’s eyes should have dried up his natural tear production.

  Never mind his rage. Logan needed help. If agitated, the program had taught Adam to turn his thoughts to aiding others. Shit, he’d rather wallow in anger. Swaddle himself in a blanket of hate. Bathe in a tub of resentment. But he couldn’t, or he’d be picking up the bottle again. Those days were done.

  “Let’s go.” Adam tucked the cigarettes and lighter into his shirt pocket.

  Once he went to his meeting, he’d be in a better mind to confront Bridget about the phone call and what had provoked her temper. Maybe this was the perfect opportunity to complete his ninth step? He still hadn’t made amends to Bridget. When he returned to the halfway house, he’d call.

  The thick heat of August stuck to Adam’s skin. He pulled at his t-shirt, tearing away the cotton fabric damp from sweat. At the start of the meeting, the air conditioner had broken down, leaving everyone drowning in perspiration.

  Outside the brick building, there was a light breeze, not cool enough to dispel the heat.

  He puffed on the cigarette, doing what everyone did after a meeting—talking, smoking, and visiting. Six of them were present. Two old guys who’d probably been sober longer than Bill W., and two guys around his age who’d been attending meetings for a couple of years.

  “Good to have you back.” Hank spoke in a voice grittier than the curl of smoke wafting down Adam’s throat.

  Adam nodded. They’d remembered him from when he’d previously faithfully attended meetings—before he’d gone back out drinking and fucked up his life. “Here to stay this time.”

  “That’s the attitude.” Jimmy, the other old-timer, patted Adam’s shoulder. “You gone and done ninety meetings in ninety days before, you’ll do it again.”

  “That’s what I’m doing.” Logan scratched at his face. “Hey... um, I know we’re not s’posed to go to slippery places. Uh, what if you have no choice?”

  “No choice?” Hank rubbed his chin.

  “Yeah. I gotta try get some info. It’s really important.”

  “Information at a bar?”

  “Uh-huh.” Logan wet his lips. “I gotta—”

  “We got a bus to catch.” Why Adam had bothered to intervene was beyond him. It wasn’t his business Logan wanted to go to slippery places. But as a member of the program, Adam had a responsibility to help other members.

  “Yeah. Uh-huh. ‘Kay. Catch you guys later,” Logan said.

  After bidding everyone goodnight, Adam steered them away from the front entrance of the Kitchi-Gaming Friendship Center to the sidewalk.

  “You didn’t let me finish talking.” Logan’s voice was whinier than a bottle of the most expensive grapes.

  “Y’know the slogans of the program. Getting ahead of yourself. Nobody has proof the girl pulled from the river’s Sheena.”

  “I feel it here.” Logan banged his fist against his chest. “I know it’s her.”

  “Patience.” Adam puffed on the cigarette and kept walking.

  “But what if it is?”

  “What if it isn’t?”

  “That’s why I gotta go to The Gator. People’ll know. They can pass me info—”

  “You’re not long enough in the program to go there. You go there, you’ll end up using.”

  Logan’s sharp intake of breath scattered on the breeze. “You telling me what I can and can’t do?”

  “I’m telling you from experience.” Damned punk-ass kid. Dragging Bridget into this mess wasn’t a good idea, but Adam had no choice. Although she hated his guts, his ex-fiancée was the only person who could help them, otherwise Logan would do something stupid.

  “Lemme make a call. I know someone who can check it out.”

  “Who?”

  “It don’t matter.”

  Was Adam being selfish by asking Bridget for help? The children at risk and in foster care were near and dear to her heart. She volunteered a lot of her time enlightening the public about the tragedy.

  What if she accused him of using the children to get close to her? No, Bridget wasn’t stuck on herself. As far as she was concerned, her love had died for him when he’d started boozing and fucked up their engagement.

  Aww hell, he might as well admit he wanted an excuse to call. Wanted to hear her voice again. Waiting a full week for his next supervised visit was seven days too long. Bridget was the only connection to his son.

  What were they doing right now? Maybe curled up on the sofa watching a movie? It was quarter to nine. Kyle was probably in bed. As for Bridget, what did she do while the boy slept?

  Adam halted at the bus stop. When he got back to the halfway house, he’d call.

  * * * *

  After almost four years, Bridget should have gotten used to the quiet nights while Kyle slept. Alone, in the living room, glass of wine on the end table, a good book in her lap, the TV on low, she should savor these moments after a busy day.

  Before Adam had screwed up not only his life but that of those who loved him, they’d cuddled on the couch and watched a movie. Afterwards, they’d retire to her bedroom.

  The landline rang. She reached over and grabbed the cordless. “Hello.”

  “Hey. How are you?”

  Bridget stiffened. They’d already spoken earlier this evening. If Adam thought to barge into her life just because she was fostering his son, he could think again. “I’m winding down for the evening. It’s late.”

  “It’s only nine-thirty.”

  “I have responsibilities.” Unlike you. “You know I get up at five-thirty.”

  “Yeah... responsibilities. You told me a hundred times when we were engaged.” He muttered the words.

  Bridget clenched the stem of the wine glass. “What do you want?”

  “You watch the news?”

  “Yes.”

  “They pulled a body from the McIntyre.”

  “I heard about it.”

  “My old cell mate thinks it’s his daughter.”

  Old cell mate? Adam wasn’t supposed to contact convicts or ex-convicts during parole. This man would never change if he was already breaking the rules. “And why are you telling me this?”

  “I owe him.”

  “You owe him what?”

  The light sound of the TV hummed in Bridget’s hot ear. Adam was thinking instead of speaking. He was probably calling her ten different expletives in his thoughts.

  “I owe him my early release.” His words crunched like footsteps beneath bitter, broken glass.

  “What does this have to do with me?” She had better things to do, like watch time erode her olive-colored walls.

  “There’s a kid here. Just got out of ‘hab. His girlfriend was Sheena Keesha.”

  The wine trembled in Bridget’s hand, and she set aside the glass. For goodness sake. “How old is he?”

  “Eighteen.”

  Bridget would have to pry more information from Adam. Why couldn’t he elaborate like everyone else on planet earth? “Sheena was sixteen, the radio said. He was seeing a minor?”

  “Had his birthday a few months ago.”

  “They began dating when he was a minor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was he also in the foster care system?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And Sheena couldn’t go to rehab unless her caregiver consented?”

  “Yeah
.”

  “The caregiver didn’t consent?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Dunno. Lemme get the kid. Hang on.”

  “Wait...” Yes, Bridget was concerned about Sheena Keesha, but the police had never confirmed whose body had been pulled from the river.

  “Hi... It’s me. Logan. You wanted to talk?” The boy’s introduction bubbled with excitement.

  Bridget sank into the couch. This was all Mom and Dad’s fault for raising her to help others. “Hello. I’m Bridget.”

  “Adam said you have some questions for me. He said I could trust you.”

  “You can. What we talk about will stay between us.” Bridget used her most compassionate voice. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “Uh... yeah, sure. What’d you wanna know?”

  “For starters, how did you end up in care?”

  “My parents are wastes of space. Y’know? Been in care, like, forever. I left when I turned the big one-eight.”

  “Are you aboriginal?”

  “Métis. My dad is. My mom’s white.”

  “Sheena Keesha is your girlfriend?”

  “Yeah. We’ve been hanging for a couple of years. We met in high school.”

  “And Sheena went missing while you were in rehab?”

  “Yeah. I told her to wait for me. I told her I’d figure everything out, y’know?”

  “Figure out what, exactly?”

  “Get clean. Get a job. Get a place for us to have the baby.”

  “The baby?” A boulder formed in Bridget’s stomach, and her lungs teetered on collapsing. She managed to choke out, “Sheena’s pregnant?”

  “Yeah. It’s why she told me to go to rehab. She wanted to stop using, too.”

  “Was she still involved in drugs when you last talked to her?”

  “Not sure. We had it all worked out. I was gonna get her clean once I got clean. Y’know, in ‘hab I’d get all the answers to get us off... stuff. Make us better. She said I’d be able to get her clean then.”

  The two were so young and naïve. They had no idea of the odds stacked against them. “Thank you for sharing, Logan. What you said will stay with me. Could I speak to Adam?”

  “Uh-huh. Hang on.”

  “Hey.”

  “Hello.” Bridget rubbed her brow. “You have to let Logan know we can’t do anything until the police release the news.”

  “We could do something while we’re waiting.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Check The Gator.”

  Bridget sputtered. “You can’t go there. It’s against the condition of your parole.”

  “Neither can Logan.”

  Did Adam mean Bridget was supposed to patronize the most notorious bar in the city? He was out of his mind. “I’m responsible for your son. If the caseworker finds out I went to a place like The Gator, this could put my care in jeopardy.”

  “It’s just a bar.”

  “It’s more than a bar. It’s where drug dealers go. It’s where criminals gather. It’s a dangerous place. You have to think of Kyle.”

  “The program says to put everything in Creator’s hands.”

  The familiar heat crept beneath Bridget’s skin—how dare he spout his twelve-step rhetoric. “How long have you been sober?”

  “First week in the iron house. After they shanked my uncle in the shower.”

  Bridget’s blood froze. Adam had never elaborated before when answering a question. She and Jude had guessed correctly about the uncle’s death impacting Adam’s decision to walk a straight path if he’d stayed sober in prison and while on day parole in Winnipeg.

  “You want me to go to this bar and ask around about Sheena?”

  “You’ll be fine. Tell the bouncer Adam sent you. Ed’ll make sure nobody gives you lip.”

  “What am I supposed to say?” Bridget shifted on the couch, squirming.

  “Ed’ll point you to who’s in the know. He’ll handle it.”

  “Have you contacted this Ed already?”

  “Nope. He’ll know. We served time in the iron house before. He’s clean now.”

  Clean? And bouncing at the most notorious bar in the city?

  “I’ll be nearby, kwe. I wouldn’t send you into a dangerous place without my protection.”

  Bridget leaned against the back of the sofa. No, Adam wouldn’t. He was a lot of things, but he’d always looked after women properly. “It’s late. I need to think about this. Can I call you once I have an answer?”

  “Yeah. Don’t think too long, kwe. Later.”

  The line went dead.

  Chapter Five: Lost Woman Blues

  Bridget set the other suitcase at the door. They were ready for the weekend at Mom and Dad’s. Kyle deserved to see his grandparents. Her days of working weekends to hide from problems had stopped when she’d become a foster mother.

  “I’m ready. I’m ready.” Kyle tore down the hall, the backpack bouncing against his back.

  His big smile, missing front tooth he’d lost the other night, and dancing dark eyes reaffirmed Bridget had made the right decision to get away for the weekend, even if she’d spend two days dodging Dad’s questions.

  Bridget had asked Jude to make the trip, but he’d begged off, stating Charlene was too busy. Lately, Charlene was always busy, which was strange, because church activities ceased during the summer months. Perhaps her job as a nurse practitioner had become demanding, although she worked for a private clinic that operated from Monday to Friday, nine-to-five.

  Kyle would have enjoyed playing with his cousins for the weekend. The children loved swimming out in front of the house.

  When Bridget returned to Thunder Bay, she’d have her decision for Adam.

  Bridget held Kyle’s hand and helped him off the plane. They’d taken the caravan, a comfy nine-seater not as stable as the thirty-seven-passenger beacon. She didn’t mind, because the caravan offered a better view of the reserve with its lush beaches, spruce-covered forest, steep cliffs, and the rolling, grassy district.

  Mom and Dad stood in front of the airport’s big window. Finger-digging tension gripped Bridget’s shoulders.

  Kyle snatched his hand free and dashed for the door.

  Sand swirled around Bridget. She waved away the blanket of dust generated from the plane’s touchdown on the gravel runway. She’d better get used to the constant haze of grit, since none of the roads at the reserve were paved.

  When she opened the door, Mom hurried forward. Not the mandatory hug. After enduring Adam’s return, obligatory hugs and kisses didn’t sit well in Bridget’s pit-filled stomach. She needed a moment to paste on a cheery smile so her parents wouldn’t fire a million questions.

  She stepped behind Kyle, a shameful, cowardly move, and he barreled to his grandmother for a kiss, giving Bridget a moment to breathe and pep-talk herself into enjoying a weekend at the reserve.

  “How was your trip?” Mom asked in her dainty voice. She shifted to her haunches and hugged a squealing Kyle.

  “I loved it, Grandma! I talked to the pilots. They told me all about the plane. I’m gonna be one. I’m gonna drive planes.”

  “That’s my boy. You keep talking to them.” Mom continued to embrace a still-squealing Kyle. “Uncle Emery and Uncle Darryl are joining us for dinner.”

  Bridget could use some alone time with her little brother, a man too wise, compassionate, and patient for his twenty-seven years. “Awesome. I haven’t talked to him since last week.”

  She hadn’t talked to any of her family except for Jude.

  Kyle dashed off to get a hug from his grandpa.

  Bridget cringed at the forthcoming questions.

  “How’re you holding up? I got your text.” Mom motioned at the attendants unloading the luggage.

  “I’m fine.”

  “What about Kyle? How was his visit?”

  “We can talk about that later.” Bridget pulled up the suitcase’s handle.

  Mom retri
eved the carry-all.

  Dad herded a prancing and dancing Kyle to the truck.

  Once they stored the luggage in the bed of the vehicle, and with Kyle buckled in the back beside Bridget, and Mom and Dad riding up front, they headed away from the airport, straight for the main part of the reserve.

  Box-shaped houses lined the road. Much had changed since Bridget had first started coming up to the reserve. The airport was one of them. In the past, she’d traveled on the float plane. Mom and Dad’s house now had indoor plumbing. No more trips to the outhouse to use the bathroom.

  Kyle stretched upward and peered out his window at two dogs trotting along the side of the road.

  Bridget patted his leg. Even the dogs were free up here, something not found in the city. On the reserve, Kyle could skip down to the church to visit Father Bennie, or join the other children to play in the ditches or on the road.

  If not for her job and Adam’s visitations, living at the reserve proved tempting. The conveniences found in the city weren’t available, and if they were, Bridget would almost have to take out a bank loan, but being in the community was cozier than being snuggled in a blanket beside the woodstove at Mom and Dad’s house during the dead of winter.

  “Look! Look!” Kyle thrust his finger at the deer leaping from the ditch. “Uncle Emery said he’d teach me how to hunt.”

  Dad’s booming laugh filled the truck. “In time. In time.”

  “They’re so pretty. I don’t know if I want to hunt them.” Kyle set his finger against his lip.

  The deer disappeared into the bush.

  “That’s a decision you can make when you’re older.” Bridget rubbed his prickly hair.

  “I wanna go on Uncle’s trap line this year. Where does the line go? Is it made of rope?”

  Bridget stifled her laugh. She could imagine this line her son had visualized. “Sweetie, a line is an area where your uncle sets his traps. He walks and decides where he’ll place them.”

  “They’re going to scout the line in the fall.” Dad gazed in the rearview mirror. “The old one they previously used.”