Chapter 1When you work at a motel, you expect your first suicide. And you remember it.
Mine was a woman I had checked in at seven PM on one of my first full night shifts. I was working the front desk of the Sleep Eaze Motel, located just off the Canadian 401 highway, in between the larger city of Kingston where I attended university during the day, and the small town of Roblin, where my grandparents had lived up until their deaths when I was twelve and fourteen. I was used to the area, including the trains that ran in the middle of the night and the lack of cell phone service. I was used to the older people who lived in squat houses and seemed to have no children, no extended family, and only the mega church that had opened on the other side of the Canadian highway for company. I was even
