Chapter 9

They put Derek in the back of Marchetti’s cruiser first. The gaff hook came out of his thigh in the tank room with a wet sound I will hear for the rest of my life. He cursed me. He cursed Verne. He cursed Poppy. Then the cruiser door shut and the sound went away.

I sat on the floor by the minnow tanks because I couldn’t stand. The contractions were five minutes apart. The floor was cold and wet and smelled like bleach and fish. Verne brought me a towel. Poppy sat beside me and held my hand. Her fingers were small and sticky with minnow water.

“Is your baby coming?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Is it going to hurt?”

“Yes.”

She thought about that. “I’m sorry.”

I laughed. It hurt.

Marchetti came back in. He had a plastic evidence bag and a notepad. He looked at me, then at the SIM card in my bra strap.

“Ma’am, I need that card.”

I took it out. It was in the sandwich bag, still warm from my body. I dropped it into his palm.

“It has three contacts,” I said. “BO, D, and KYLE. The phone is in the lake. The texts are gone. But the numbers are real. Bo was the buyer. D is Danielle Toussaint-Roy. Kyle is her ex.”

Marchetti wrote it down. “We’ll run them.”

“Dani is in a motel in Colchester. She has a protection order against Kyle Bouchard. She gave Poppy to Derek on December twenty-seventh because she was scared.”

“How do you know that?”

“I called her. From the pay phone.”

He looked at the pay phone. Then at me. “You called her?”

“She’s alive.”

“Derek said she was dead.”

“Derek says a lot of things.”

The ambulance came. Two EMTs, a man and a woman, came in with a stretcher. They checked my vitals. They asked about the pregnancy. They wanted to know if I felt pressure. I felt everything.

“We need to transport,” the woman said.

“I’m not leaving her.”

“The child will be safe. We have an officer.”

Verne stepped forward. “I’ll take her. I’m her great-aunt.”

Poppy looked at Verne. Then at me.

“Can I stay with you?”

“I have to go to the hospital,” I said. “Verne will take care of you. She’s family.”

“You’re family,” Poppy said.

I kissed her forehead. “I’ll find you.”

They lifted me onto the stretcher. The shop tilted. The broken door, the truck, the minnows on the floor. Verne picked Poppy up. Poppy’s one sneaker dangled. Her face was white and small.

“Emmie,” she said.

“Yes?”

“My mama’s name is Dani.”

“I know.”

“Is she coming?”

“Yes.”

They carried me out. The cold hit my face. The snow was coming down in thick, wet flakes. The cruiser was dark, with Derek inside. He didn’t look at me. I didn’t look at him.

As they lifted me past the register, I reached out and set my wedding band on the counter by the till. It was thin and gold and pawn-shop cheap. I didn’t want it on my hand another second.

In the ambulance, the EMT put a mask on my face and an IV in my arm. I looked at the ceiling. The radio crackled. The driver said something about the causeway.

“Ma’am, I need your name and due date.”

“Emmie Rae Toussaint. Due January thirty-first.”

“And your husband’s name?”

“Derek Toussaint.”

“Is he the father?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to press charges?”

“Yes.”

The word felt small. It didn’t feel like enough. I thought about the ice, the shanty, the phone going into the Black Spring. I thought about Poppy counting steps. I thought about the baby inside me, rolling and kicking, and the fact that Derek had already promised it away.

“I’ll testify,” I said.

The EMT looked at me. “What?”

“I’ll testify. Write it down.”

She did. She wrote it on the clipboard. I said it again, louder, into the radio when the dispatcher asked for my statement. I said my name. I said my due date. I said I’ll testify.

Then the ambulance pulled out, and the shop lights went small behind us, and I closed my eyes.