Secrets from Myself

by Christine Hart

  “I will! Absolutely!” I say with genuine enthusiasm.

  “You’ve been making great progress, Katelyn. If we have no other slips, we can re-evaluate your release in a few weeks,” says Dr. Werdiger.

  “Thank you. You won’t be disappointed,” I say.

  I leave my session with optimistic energy. Things have worked out in my favor; I have more time in Vancouver. I don’t want to wait until the evening to write in my diary.

  July 28, Arbutus House

  Akasha, I’m supposed to say goodbye to you today. You should know by now that I’m still on your side. No matter what anyone says; even if Jane goes back on her word and reads this, I’ll keep searching. I’ll find out what happened to you. I’ll find a way to help you, I promise. I still don’t understand why you reached out to me — or even if you are me — but I promise to stay on your side and fight for you. You deserve as much.

  Yours Always,

  Katelyn Medena

  I close my diary, ready to return it to my nightstand drawer. Instinct tells me to open it again and find a fresh page. I pick up my pen, close my eyes, and picture Akasha’s face. The familiar feeling of thick fog flows over me, but I don’t sleep. I can feel my hand moving across the page; I can hear the faint scratches of my ballpoint pen marking the paper. I wait patiently until the scratching stops.

  Sanjay, once you are off the boat, I will share this letter with you. I’m not sure what day it is. I can’t see you or your father from here, but I know you must still be onboard. People have gathered to watch another ship arrive, a British ship. I do not know whether this will be good or bad. The men chattering around me seem to be amused that no one is coming off the boat. I think they want to see a battle. It makes me sad. I will pray for you again tonight, but I must also pray for myself. I may not survive sleeping out on the street much longer.

  I wish Akasha would share something useful! A date. A location. What was the name of the British ship? Something I can look for! After I finish reading, I hastily hide my diary under my mattress. I caress my day pass. Suddenly, Melody’s words from the barbeque pop into my mind. Should my next outing be to find a psychic?

  I pick up my phone and launch the Google app. A search for “Vancouver psychic” brings up a few business listings. One, Madame Carolina’s, is on Commercial Drive, not far from Bryce’s house. I start tapping, Can I trouble you for one more outing on the Drive?

  My phone stays silent for a few minutes, so I put it back on my nightstand. I’m almost asleep when it chimes for an incoming text.

  Sure, how can we help?

  Do you think we could ditch Mitchell again?

  Probably. He was fine with it last time.

  That’s good. Because I want to go see a psychic.

  My phone is silent again for another excruciating few minutes.

  I forgot how much you like to live dangerously. What’s the address :-)

  Bryce rarely uses emoticons; he thinks they’re tacky. He must really want me to know he’s okay with humoring me. I’ll take it.

  I’m sending you the map link now.

  Saturday arrives with bright sunshine; Mariah and my fellow housemates are all cheerful. After breakfast Bryce texts me that he and Mitchell are on their way over. I am sliding into the back seat of Mitchell’s car before the noon sun is overhead.

  “It’s going to be a hot one today. Make sure you drink some water while you’re walking,” says Mitchell. He’s already in the loop on giving me and Bryce time to ourselves.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you with coming all the way over to Kits. Thank you very much for doing this again.” I hope my sincerity is evident, because I really am grateful to both Mitchell and Bryce.

  “Don’t worry about it. We’re happy to help,” says Mitchell.

  “Mitchell doesn’t think you need babysitting either, so we’re good to go on our own,” says Bryce.

  We turn off Broadway onto Commercial Drive and reach the cross street just before the storefront. I didn’t have the guts to make an appointment. I didn’t want to be overheard on the phone and I’m just plain shy. Today, I will be brave. Bryce is with me and I won’t fool around with my one chance to do this.

  The front door of Madame Carolina’s is a glass win-dow with a multicolored metallic tapestry behind it. A bell hanging overhead jingles as I walk through.

  The space inside looks like a cross between a bookshop and a gift shop. Jewelry and crystals are displayed under a glass case. A sofa in the back corner is flanked by bookshelves. For a few moments, the shop remains empty apart from Bryce and me. A figure appears behind a beaded curtain next to the sofa and a woman with dreadlocks tied with a bandana pushes her way through.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Madame Carolina. How can I help you?” she says softly. She seems friendly and wel-coming, which makes me relax.

  “I would like a reading,” I say as boldly as I can manage while still feeling a bit silly. Bryce looks like he’s biting his tongue.

  “All right. I’m available. My table is in the back room. Your friend can wait out here, if he’s so inclined.” She eyes Bryce, a little suspiciously.

  “Um, I need to ask: how much do you charge?”

  “I charge fifty dollars per thirty minutes and seventy-five dollars per hour.” Bryce lets out a sigh.

  “I think just a half hour should do,” I say. “Do you take debit?” If Mom knew what her recent transfer to my bank account was being used for, she would hit the ceiling.

  “I accept debit, credit, and cash.” Madame Carolina flashes a kind smile.

  “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Bryce flops down on the couch and picks up a magazine from the table in front of him while I follow Madame Carolina through the beaded curtain.

  The back room is much cozier than the front. A single round table with two chairs occupies the center of the space. A sheer light purple scarf is draped over the single window, giving the room a violet hue while more tapestries hang on the walls. I look at a poster of a star chart on the wall opposite me as I sit down. Madame Carolina takes the seat across from me and places her arms palm up on the table between us.

  “Take my hands. Say nothing unless I ask a question.” I feel awkward as I reach out and place my hands in hers. She doesn’t know what I want; maybe it’s best if I don’t give her any hints.

  She looks me squarely in the eyes, and then she closes hers.

  We sit in silence for what feels like a long time. She grips my hands and releases them. She groans softly.

  “You are searching for a lost friend. She has run away from home, yes?”

  “Yes,” I say nervously.

  “She came to Vancouver. She traveled a long way. So sad. So desperate. She is dead, yes?”

  “Um, yes, for a long time.”

  “Shhh, no more. Only yes or no.” I shift in my seat as I stare at the woman’s lined face. She frowns with her eyes still closed.

  “She is here with you. She follows you closely always. She has stories to tell you, but she cannot break through easily. The veil is thick.”

  “What’s her name?” I ask bluntly. Rules be damned, I want a sign this is real.

  “Shhhh, no.” We sit in an uncomfortable silence. Madame Carolina grunts quietly. Bryce was right. I am getting ripped off again.

  “Your friend has another name to give you. Eddie is the man.” Prickles cover my entire body. My breath catches in my throat.

  “Eddie. Can you find him? You must find him.”

  “Yes! I mean, I’ll try. I don’t know. I don’t know how.” My stomach lurches. Akasha must be giving me the name of her captor!

  “We are done now, my dear,” says Madame Carolina.

  “But I need more.”

  “I work in half-hour blocks. Do you want to stay for the hour at seventy-five?”

&nb
sp; I’m torn. I shouldn’t be spending the fifty, let alone seventy-five. My bank account had ninety some-odd dollars last time I checked. If I’m wrong and seventy-five doesn’t go through, I’ll have to ask Bryce to pay her the balance. After taking his money for the (ultimately useless) Ouija board, I cannot do that again. What if we sat here for another half hour and nothing new comes through? It’s time to cut my losses.

  “No, we should stop here. Thanks, though.”

  Madame Carolina rises and gestures for me to follow her. We go back out front through the beads to find Bryce browsing book spines along the wall near the register. He looks restless and ready to leave. I pull my wallet out of my backpack.

  “Please feel free to come back and visit me again,” says Madame Carolina as I am punching buttons on her debit machine.

  Chapter 15

  The drive back to Arbutus House is a blur after Madame Carolina. My head spins the whole time with thoughts of Eddie Calhoun. I am certain the first name goes with the last. I spend the rest of the weekend racking my brain, thinking of resources and research methods that might verify his existence. Maybe a trail of bread crumbs will lead from there to justice for Akasha. I think about texting Patty to share my lead with her, but if Mom sees the message, she’ll lose it. I will tell Patty in person as soon as I can. I hope she is still my best ally.

  Monday morning arrives and I can barely concentrate on getting ready for my first shift at Visions Vintage. Jane is sending me on a city bus; this is a special exception as normally I’d have to be fifteen to go on transit without supervision. Neither Jane nor Mariah can come with me, so she’s willing to settle for hand-delivering me to the bus and telling the driver where to drop me off. I’m not allowed to get off before or after Davie and Burrard.

  The shop is not exactly downtown, as I pictured. I am back in the West End, temptingly close to the heritage home that teased me with possibility before. I force myself to concentrate on the task at hand as I reach for the door handle.

  A digital bell chimes overhead as I walk in. The shop is not what I expected, surrounded by glass towers and expensive cars. Worn-out clothes, old books, grand-motherly jewelry, weathered paintings; Visions Vintage is a time capsule in the heart of BC’s contemporary urban culture.

  “Hello? Is anyone here?”

  “Coming!” yells an irritated female voice. I am instantly on edge.

  A short stocky woman with olive skin and a thick black braid flowing down her back bustles through a curtain next to the cash register. She is carrying a plump dark green garbage bag that she can’t quite get her arms around.

  “You the new girl?” she says, out of breath. She has a strong French accent. She doesn’t wait for my reply. “You’re late. Bad start.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought I was supposed to be here for ten a.m.”

  “Nine. We open at ten.”

  My pulse quickens as I realize I have forgotten the shopkeeper’s name. Mariah and Jane both told me, along with the address and start time. The only information I have with me is a sticky note of the street number and time. Should I show her the note in Jane’s writing? How could I be so stupid as to not write her name down? I have to tell her. I can’t go on all day not using her name. I search her colorful tunic for a nametag. There is nothing.

  “I’m so sorry …,” I pause, thinking hard. “I will be here at nine for any other morning shifts, I promise. It was just a misunderstanding.”

  My new boss has recovered her composure and clears a space on one of her display tables. She upends the garbage bag and clothing tumbles out.

  “What’s your name again?” says my new boss.

  “Katelyn. Katelyn Medena.” My pulse is still racing and my stomach hurts.

  “All right, Katelyn, I’m Noémi. I’m the owner, manager, one-woman-band, so to speak.” A rush of relief cascades from my forehead to my feet. Noémi.

  “Where should I start? Would you like me to sort these clothes?”

  Noémi sizes me up, considering me carefully. “Yes. You give me three piles. One for throwaway, one for keep-but-cheap, and one for high-end or brand-name.”

  “I can absolutely do that.”

  “Good. I am in back until post carrier comes.”

  “What about customers? Should I help customers?”

  “Yes, help customers! Any sales, you call me for the cash register,” says Noémi. She abruptly turns and marches back through the curtain into the back room.

  I am grateful to be alone so I can recover my calm. I look around the shop again and back to the pile of clothing. Motion outside the front window and the glass door catches my peripheral vision. A couple has paused to look at the window display. The woman points at something and moves on. I relax further. I turn my attention to the pile of clothing and begin the task.

  Piles for throwaway and keep-cheap build up quickly, but I can find very few high-end or brand-name options. A GAP shirt and a pair of Levi’s jeans are all I have as I get to the bottom. The digital doorbell sounds and I look up to see Patty walk in.

  “There’s my little shopgirl,” says Patty with a beaming smile. She looks so proud, but I want her to leave immediately.

  “Hi Patty! I’m glad to see you, but I don’t think I should have visitors here. It’s my first day and I got here late by accident.” I steal a glance back to the curtain.

  “I won’t stay long; I’m on my lunch break. I just wanted to check on you. Jane called to tell me she had set you up at Visions and I was delighted. This shop has a great reputation in the social work community.” Maybe my visitor wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  “Really? That’s great. I’m sure Noémi will be pleased to hear that. Do you know her?”

  “Not personally, but I’d love to meet her. Can you introduce me?”

  “Before we do that, I have a new lead I wanted to tell you about. I went to see a psychic. Bryce took me. I got a first name for the brothel owner I saw in my dream. His name is Eddie.”

  “Are you kidding? That’s amazing! How did that name come up?” I can tell from the tone of her voice that Patty is not convinced.

  “She said my friend had a name for me, and the name was Eddie. It makes sense, it was the missing piece of the puzzle.”

  “Did she specifically mention Akasha?”

  “Well, no, but she said my friend was there with us and needed to give me a name. It just has to fit.”

  “You were there. If you believe, then I believe you.” It’s tough to tell if Patty’s encouraging me or humoring me.

  “That means so much to me. You have no idea. Would you come back to the library with me? I want to go back to Special Collections and see if they have his name anywhere. If I can’t find Akasha, I might be able to find Eddie Calhoun.”

  “Absolutely, we’ll go. Should I pick you up at the house after I get off work tonight?”

  “I’m not sure how this works with my day passes. I should probably ask Mariah first. Can I text you tonight to make plans?”

  “You bet,” says Patty as Noémi re-enters the front of the shop.

  “Good morning, Madame!” says Noémi with a warm smile. “Are you being served?”

  “Actually, I came in to say hello to Katelyn. I’m a social worker with the Province and I’m a family friend.” Patty extends her hand to Noémi. The cheer drains from Noémi’s face as she realizes she’s not talking to a customer.

  “She was late this morning,” says Noémi as she takes Patty’s hand.

  “I heard about the misunderstanding. Katelyn has a great work ethic. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”

  “I’ll keep her busy and we’ll see.” Noémi smiles for the first time and I feel hopeful.

  The rest of my first shift passes slowly. Noémi is not actually able to keep me busy. There are no more clothes to sort. A few customers wander through
the store — a university-aged girl, a businesswoman, a group of vacationing retirees — but each time I offer assistance the customers decline. Noémi spends most of her time on her computer at the desk behind her curtain. Or this is what I picture her doing, based on the one time I poked my head back there and she snapped at me to get back out front.

  I have time to think. About what it would be like to work in a shop as a real full-time job. About what might have shaped Noémi’s gruff personality. About how soon Patty and I might get back to the Special Collections desk at the Central branch of the Greater Vancouver Public Library. Two o’clock arrives and my shift is over.

  I manage to hold on to the thought of my library trip with Patty until I get back to Arbutus House. Mariah agrees to let me use a day pass that weekend. I have morning shifts at Visions Vintage for the rest of the week and she doesn’t want me using a pass on a work day until further notice.

  Saturday morning takes a long time to arrive, but when it does, I spring into action. I wolf down my peanut butter toast and rush out to the sidewalk to sit and wait for Patty to arrive. Our cover story for my mom is that I’m shopping for her birthday present and want a guide for downtown. Mom’s birthday is a few weeks away, so the timing is perfect.

  I still marvel at my luck in having Patty on my side, so much so that she’s willing to lie to Mom. Whether she believes me or not, she’s helping me, contradicting Arbutus House, and Dr. Werdiger. Even Bryce isn’t that supportive.

  Patty’s car turns the corner and I am already running across the street while she parks.

  The trip downtown feels familiar now. Morning traffic is light. We reach the concrete spiral of the library and park alongside it.

  The library opens at ten. We make our way to the core of the spiral and up the escalators, back to the desk where photos and records might vindicate me. What I’ll do with proof, once I finally get it, I’m not sure. I need to stay focused on finding proof before I let myself daydream about what to do with it.

  A short, middle-aged woman stands behind the Special Collections desk today. Patty has agreed to take the lead this time.