Tumbled Graves by Brenda Chapman

anything,” Kala said. “Ivo Delaney seemed genuinely in shock when he identified her raincoat and mitten.”
    â€œMaybe. Hell of a shame when a mother takes that way out. Better to just end her own life and leave the kid.”
    â€œShe must have been in awful pain.”
    â€œIt’s hard to understand.” Gundersund hesitated. “Say, I wonder if I could take Dawn to an art show a friend of mine is having on Wednesday night. I know it’s a school night, but I’d get her back early. You could come too, if you like.”
    â€œI don’t know. Let me think about it.”
    â€œSure, but it would be a chance for her to maybe get inspired again.”
    â€œI’ll think about it. I promise.”
    â€œGreat. Well, see you tomorrow.”
    â€œYeah. 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.
    â€œTime 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
    W alter 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 Rivi è re-du-Loup to catch a few hours sleep. Not that Jed would care. The