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Stella, a young Métis mother, lives with her family by the Break, an isolated strip of land on the edge of their small Canadian town. Glancing out of her window one winter's evening Stella spots someone in trouble; horrified, she calls the police. But when they arrive, no one is there, scuff marks in the compacted snow the only sign anything may have happened.
What follows is a heartbreaking and powerful tale of a community in crisis as the people connected to the victim, a young girl on the edge of a precipice, begin to lay bare their stories leading up to that fateful night. From Lou, a social worker grappling with the end of a relationship, to Cheryl, an artist mourning the premature death of her sister. And from Phoenix, a homeless teenager released from a youth detention centre with no one to turn to, to Officer Scott, a Métis policeman caught between two worlds.
Through the prism of one extended, intergenerational family, Vermette's urgent story shines a light on the power, violence and love shared between women of all cultures, creeds and ages.
288 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 17, 2016
I've always loved the place my girl calls the Break. I used to walk through it in the summer. There is a path you can go along all the way to the edge of the city, and if you just look down at the grass, you might think you were in the country the whole way. Old people plant gardens there, big ones with tidy rows of corn and tomatoes, all nice and clean. You can't walk through it in the winter though. No one clears a way. In the winter, the Break is just a lake of wind and white, a field of cold and biting snow that blows up with the slightest gust. And when snow touches those raw Hydro wires they make this intrusive buzzing sound. It's constant and just quiet enough that you can ignore it, like a whisper you know is a voice but you can't hear the words. And even though they are more than three stories high, when it snows those wires feel close, low, and buzz a sound that is almost like music, just not as smooth. You can ignore it, it's just white noise, and some people can ignore things like that. Some people hear it and just get used to it.
The bar. The hospital. The street. The back lane. It wasn't a night out anymore. It was a timeline. Her mom wasn't a person anymore. She was a story. And it all didn't matter anyway. When Stella knew everything she knew the details weren't even all that important – it was what it meant that mattered. It meant that it was all her mom's fault. All her mom's fault. Her mom was dead and it was all her own fault. For a long time, that was all that really mattered.