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“No. My initial proposal was focused exclusively on a few rural Maine counties. I planned to do an analysis of public health programs, sociological factors, and health data. But I’ve hit a few roadblocks with the state government. I’ve been submitting public records requests every day, but the delays in response have been a challenge.”
“Oh no,” Alice said, pursing her lips in a frown. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. If anything, it’s giving me an opportunity to learn more from the local level. Right now, I’m interested in how communities can combat opioid abuse and trafficking. What kinds of outreach, programs, and education will actually make a difference in people’s lives.”
A hush settled over the table. Goldie was happily pushing mashed potatoes around her plate, but Tucker was slumped in his chair. I didn’t know the details, but I knew their mom was an addict, and I knew Tucker had seen more than a child his age should. And like Dylan, he’d spent his short life protecting his sister.
“Hazel is really smart,” I said softly, “and she’s gonna help a lot of people.”
“Some people don’t want to be helped,” Tucker muttered, his chin to his chest and his eyes locked on his uneaten food.
We continued to eat in silence, the adults around the table wearing frowns and probably feeling just as heartbroken as I was in that moment.
But Hazel, being the incredible, thoughtful woman she was, cleared her throat and broke the tension. “Since we’re family, I should probably tell you more about why I’m back in Lovewell. I grew up here, like you two, and like Henri and your Uncle Remy. My mom was an addict. She died several years ago, but I hadn’t seen her since I was twelve or thirteen. Addiction took her away from my brother and me, and ultimately, it took her life.”
Tucker’s haunted eyes shot up and locked on Hazel.
“A long time ago, I promised myself that not only would I avoid the same fate, but I would help. I would use the gifts that I have to make at least a small impact on this problem.” Her eyes welled with tears, but she didn’t look away from my nephew.
I took her hand and pulled it into my lap. I knew all of this. Hell, I’d had a front-row seat for it, but hearing her tell Tucker and Goldie gutted me.
“Can I help too?” Tucker asked.
She gave him a watery smile. “Of course you can.”
“I’m good at fixing things, and I know a lot about technology.”
Hazel nodded, one side of her mouth kicking up into a half grin. “Then you’re just the man I’m looking for. I can’t for the life of me sync my printer. And I have so many documents to scan.”
He sat a little straighter in his seat. “I can fix that for you.”
“If it’s okay with your parents, how about you come down to the cabin after school tomorrow? You can help me get everything networked.”
Tucker beamed and picked up his fork, going back to the dinner he’d abandoned and jumping into a story about troubleshooting the copy machine in the school’s office. From there, his mood lightened exponentially.
After dinner, Alice put the kids to bed, and Henri and I tackled the dishes. “I just wish we had found something,” he said.
I shook my head. “They didn’t exactly do much. After all the meetings and negotiation.”
Hazel dried a large platter with a kitchen towel. “I don’t want to pry, but it’s not a mystery how illegal opioids are coming into Maine.”
“Nope. From Canada. Usually on rural roads and through the backcountry. Logging roads, like the ones we own, are usually easy for traffickers.”
“Exactly. And that’s part of what my research is revealing.” She turned and propped a hip on the cabinet so she was facing us. “A disconnect between what we know about the problem and what’s being done to fix it.”
“You sound like our dad,” Henri said. “He was always asking these questions, fighting for more supervision and police support. Over the course of the last few decades, he watched how opioids hurt our communities, and he wanted to do something about it.”
“He was a good man,” she murmured, taking a clean dinner plate from me and wiping it dry.
“He was.” Henri cleared his throat. “And that’s why we need to do more, to figure this out. To get to the bottom of what happened to him.”
“I’m not a cop, but I know my way around research. I’ll keep you posted on what I’m learning.”
“Actually,” Henri said, his voice low and strained. “If it helps, I’ve got a bunch of documents I’ll pull for you. Maps, random musings, notebooks. All our dad’s old stuff. Haven’t been able to make much sense of it all, but you’re welcome to take a look.”
Her face lit up. “Really?”
“They’re a disorganized mess, but you’re welcome to everything.”
