They came that night. No. They came early the next morning. When Linda arrived, Constable Packer was outside Dad’s study window beside his OPP car flashing red, red, red.
“I didn’t want to leave her alone,” I heard him say to Linda through the window screen. Alone. That word in me now. Feet up, knees to my chest, tight like a container. I rocked on the pullout couch in a room filled with his things. Be careful tonight, Dad. The unsaid words. And now he was dead.
“What happened, officer?” said Linda.
“Vehicle skidded and flipped – landed upturned in the ditch, east side going north on Stonemill Road.”
“Stonemill … One road from here.”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
“Don never wore his seat belt. It hurt his back.”
“It hurt more than his back now, ma’am.”
A foot shuffled the gravel.
“Wha
