Tumbled Graves. Brenda Chapman

don’t know. Let me think about it.”

      “Sure, but it would be a chance for her to maybe get inspired again.”

      “I’ll think about it. I promise.”

      “Great. Well, see you tomorrow.”

      “Yeah. Bright and early.”

      He climbed down the steps and whistled for Minny and then disappeared into the darkness. She waited a few moments before calling for Taiku. She’d just decided that she’d have to go in search of him when he appeared at the bottom of the steps, tail wagging.

      “Time to call it a night, boy,” she said. “Get in the house and let’s get to bed.” She waited while Taiku had one last sniff around the lawn below the deck before he climbed the steps and padded past her into the house.

      A half hour later, lying in bed staring out the open window, Gundersund’s words replayed in her head. Losing a brother so young would leave a pain that time would ease, but never completely erase. Sharing his story with Dawn had been an act of empathy. This challenged the opinion she’d built up of him over the past few months. Some of distancing herself from Gundersund had been an act of self-preservation. The rest had been to keep her life simple. Even if he said that he and his wife were separated, Fiona was still very much involved with him at work and not going anywhere. Gundersund’s life was a mess and she didn’t want to be pulled any further into his world.

      Kala rolled onto her back. On the other hand, what harm could it do to go with him to the art exhibit? Maybe Gundersund was right about reaching Dawn through art. God knows, nothing else had worked. She and Dawn were as far apart as the day she’d picked her up at the station. Hobnobbing with artists for an evening might be worth the pain, especially since she couldn’t get past the feeling that she and Dawn were running out of time. She’d raise the idea of an outing with Gundersund to Dawn in the morning.

      Chapter Eight

      Walter Knight reached for the can of Red Bull and took a long swallow. He glanced over at Jed, his head bobbing up and down to whatever new wave, crazy rap music it was the kid listened to through ear buds hooked up to his iPad. Jed. His oldest and only son: skater boy with frizzy blond hair and skinny as a whip — seventeen with nothing deeper on his mind than what he wanted to eat for supper.

      When he’d agreed to take Jed along for the Maritime run, he’d hoped they’d get a father-son bond going. He’d imagined forging one often enough, especially those times when the loneliness of his job got to him. He spent many nights a thousand miles from Windsor, and his family became the star he pinned his dreams on. Never mind that after a few weeks at home he couldn’t wait to get back out on the road. So far on this trip, the longest conversation he’d managed to have with Jed had been about whether to order the apple or the lemon meringue pie. Not exactly the deep connection he’d envisioned.

      He checked his watch before looking back at the road. Kingston was another twenty minutes on the 401. They’d made decent time and should hit Montreal just after five a.m., usually the best time of day to cut through that city. After making it to the other side, he’d keep going and pull into Rivière-du-Loup to catch a few hours sleep. Not that Jed would care. The kid was pretty much sleeping his way across Ontario as it was.

      Walter checked his side mirror. Some asshole in a dark-coloured truck had been riding his ass since Trenton. The number of idiot drivers was on the rise. Time was, he might have had some fun with the driver on his tail, but now he just wanted to get through his run without a hassle. He slowed down to let the guy pass. The Ford pickup pulled alongside when the driver put his foot into it and sped off. Walter had just had time to glimpse a good old boy wearing a ball cap behind the wheel. No accounting for the games drivers played to ease the boredom. He’d seen the gambit from annoying to downright dangerous.

      The rain started the other side of Napanee; a hard slanting rain that drummed down on the roof of the cab like going through a car wash. The noise was loud enough to wake Jed from a sound sleep. He pulled the ear buds out and yawned.

      “When did the rain start, Dad?”

      “A few minutes ago.”

      “Sounds like bullets on the roof.”

      “It’s one nasty storm. Looks to be coming off the lake.”

      “Where are we, anyway?” Jed leaned forward and squinted through the front windshield. The wipers were on high, snapping across the glass like they were on steroids.

      “We’ll be in Kingston in about fifteen minutes. That would be Lake Ontario off to our right. If this keeps up, I’ll find a place to pull over so we can get a coffee and have a break.”

      “I could eat something.”

      Walter drained the last of the Red Bull and turned his full concentration on the road. The 401 was a four-lane highway — two lanes in each direction — and straight for the most part. He was glad that he wasn’t on one of the smaller highways with visibility down to almost nothing. The load of produce in the trailer was heavy enough to keep the wind from battering the truck around too much. The darkness combined with the rain was unnerving. Every so often, red brake lights flashed ahead of him, giving him an idea of curves in the road.

      Even Jed appeared to sense that this was a dangerous situation. He put away his iPad and kept his eyes on the road. A bell sounded in his pocket and he reached for his phone.

      “Mom just sent a text. She’s asking if we’re caught in the storm.” Jed grinned at his dad. “She watches the weather channel when she can’t sleep.”

      “I know. It’s not the first time she’s called me in the middle of the night.”

      “What should I tell her?”

      “That we’re fine and pulling into the next rest stop to wait this out.”

      Thunder rumbled overhead as Jed’s thumbs worked away on the screen. A jagged streak of lightning cracked the sky. A few seconds after Jed finished typing, the bell rang again. Jed looked down and then up. “She says to let her know when we get there.”

      “Tell her ten-four.”

      They passed the first of the off ramps into Kingston. Walter was reluctant to get off the highway. He wanted to be through Montreal before morning and any long delay would be a problem. He passed the second exit.

      Walter chanced a quick glance at his son. Jed’s face was pale and worried in the glow from the dashboard.

      “Dad, this is really bad. Where are we going to stop?”

      “Nothing’s open this time of night except the rest stops on the highway. I was thinking we could make the one at Mallorytown. I’ll even treat you to a hamburger and fries.”

      “How far?”

      “An hour, maybe.”

      “You’re okay to drive that far in this storm?”

      “It’s letting up.”

      A crack of thunder made a liar of him. The last exit into Kingston slid past on their right. Now they were committed to keep going until at least Gananoque, another thirty minutes with the storm. He could pull off the road there if the rain was still coming down in torrents. The Mallorytown rest stop was going to be more than an hour the speed they were forced to travel.

      “Mom’s not going to like this.”

      “She’ll never know. I just don’t want to stop in the middle of nowhere. We have to make Montreal before daybreak.” He took Jed’s silence for agreement, knowing it wasn’t. “Send her a text and tell her we’re hunkering down.”

      “But that’s a lie.”

      “Not really. We will hunker down. Just not yet. No need to have her worry.”

      Jed’s thumbs got busy again. After he sent the message, he crossed his arms and slumped deeper into the seat. He turned