Page 2 of The Redemption of Remy St. Claire

He yanked off his sunglasses and used a bandana to mop his face.

“Are you certain you’re okay? Do you need to see a doctor?”

He was awfully flushed.

“I’m fine, lady. Just a little riled up. I coulda killed you, and yeah, it woulda been your fault, but I woulda had to live with that, and I don’t need that shit on my conscience.” He mopped his brow again. The autumn day was cool, so he shouldn’t have been sweating so much.

Slowly backing up, Remy then reached into the passenger seat and snagged her wallet. Stepping forward, she withdrew a business card and held it out gingerly to the man. He snatched it from her hand, and she stepped back involuntarily. She didn’t want to appear weak, but she was still terrified of the large man.

He squinted at the card. “You shittin’ me?”

“Uh, no, sir.”

He shoved the card into his front shirt pocket. He pointed to the car. “You drive safe home and never toke and drive again.”

Part of her wanted to argue, but the rational part appreciated he was no longer demanding the police be called. A honking horn pulled her from her relief. Glancing over, three cars waited behind her. Since she was blocking the intersection, there was no way for them to get around.

Still flustered, Remy nodded to the truck driver and maneuvered herself back into her car. She turned the ignition and nothing happened. She tried again and nothing happened. Running a shaky hand through her hair, she tried to reason this out.

A tap on the window.

She rolled it down.

“Clutch, lady.” The driver didn’t wait for a response but headed back to the driver’s door of his cab.

Of course. She’d been driving stick since getting her license and had never once forgotten about the clutch. Depressing both the brake and the clutch, she twisted the ignition and the car purred to life. Taking a deep breath, she eased the car around the truck and continued on her way home.

Maybe her day would get better from here. God knew, it couldn’t get worse.

Three hours later and she decided she’d been wrong on that count.

Remy cringed. The end of a very long morning wasn’t the best time to make a decision.

It was only mid-autumn, but winter’d come early to coastal British Columbia. The rain started soon after she’d arrived home and continued to come down, steady and strong.

Inside, the walls of her mother’s kitchen were pristine white with pale-yellow accents. The normally bright room felt sterile, devoid of the warmth she always associated with her mother. There was no residual scent of baking cookies—no aroma of eggplant parmesan, spices, or marinara sauce.

Cold.

Adjusting the thermostat several times hadn’t provided the true warmth she associated with her childhood home. Bringing happiness back to the house was her responsibility.How do I do that?She could stare down the most hardened of criminals, but selecting a caretaker for her younger sister was proving to be the biggest challenge she’d faced in a long time.

As she sorted through the applications her spirits sagged.

One elderly woman moved so slowly, Calleigh’d run circles around her. The woman looked barely able to care for herself, let alone an active three-year-old.

The next applicant was a girl, really. She’d checked her cellphone three times during the interview and cared more about the time she would have off than the actual hours she’d have to work. It was tough to look past the lip piercing. How did the girl eat? Being young-at-heart was one thing, but a twenty-year-old too obsessed with likes and social media posts made Remy nervous.

The long hours she worked would allow her to pay a premium for a reliable, live-in sitter—someone she could count on. Someone who could bring joy back to her little sister whose sorrow came off in waves, engulfing both of them in palpable pain.

The most promising candidate had been a woman with more than twenty years’ experience. She’d raised the children of one family from birth to young adulthood. Great qualifications, right? Hah.

The woman must’ve been a drill sergeant in another life. She’d come prepared with a schedule including what and when to eat, precise nap times, as well as learning objectives for each stage of development.

Where were things like fun, play, and encouraging a level of self-determination? Their parents had nurtured Calleigh’s creativity, and the child thrived during playtime. Sure, some structure was good, but what child needed such a rigid schedule?

Pressing her fingers to her temples, Remy tried to relieve the perpetual ache. Surely more options existed. Her parents would want her to find someone kind and nurturing. Someone like themselves.

The pang of loss she was becoming accustomed to shot through her body like an unwanted shot of electricity.

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