“He travels, but we keep in touch. He doesn’t like me living out here by myself. I’ve done it for over forty years—told him I was leaving over my dead body, and he’s going to have to bury me in the manure pile.” A cheeky grin.
“That’s nice, that he worries about you. I have a daughter, but we’re not close.” I heard the catch in my throat. Mary did as well.
She studied my face, questioning.
I said, “She lives on the streets in Victoria. I worry about her.” It was an understatement, but the best I could do with the sudden tightness in my throat.
“Only time we have control over our babies is when they’re in our womb.” She looked at me with understanding. Two mothers who missed their children.
“That’s one of the reasons I’m so concerned about the center. Aaron takes girls like her and preys on their emotions. I keep thinking about their mothers, how no one has any idea what he’s really like or what he might be doing. Like I said, I very much understand your concerns, but if you did tell the police about your finger, they might get more serious about the investigation.”
She paused, her hands on an egg, holding the delicate shell in her rough hands as she rolled it around. “I’ll think about it.” I had a gut feeling that she didn’t plan on speaking to the police for one second, but I didn’t want to push her. Truth is, it would be hard pursuing any sort of assault case after all this time, and I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to go through the process.
Before I left, she kindly gave me a carton of eggs. I drove slowly down her driveway and over the potholes until I was back on pavement. I was still thinking about Mary when I realized I was at the corner where my mother had had her accident. I pulled over and looked at the tree that had taken her life. It had grown, but the scar was still there.
I stopped at Robbie’s on my way back to Victoria, so I could ask him about Willow, and whether he knew Mary lived nearby, but his truck was gone, and the house dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
On my way to the hospital Monday morning, I stopped at the organic coffee shop on the corner for my usual green tea infusion. As I turned to leave, paper cup in hand, I suddenly noticed Daniel sitting alone in the corner, his back to the wall as he read a paper. When he felt my gaze, he glanced up and with a small smile waved me over.
I said, “Good morning.” I was pleased to see him. I’d been thinking about him, wondering how he was faring. “I didn’t know you lived in this part of town.”
“I don’t.” He nodded in the direction of the hospital. “I had to sign some release forms.”
He might have released the hospital from responsibility for Heather’s death, but I still wished we’d been able to help her. Daniel looked like he needed some help himself. He’d lost weight since the funeral, his skin was pale, with dark shadows under his eyes, and it was clear he hadn’t shaved for days.
I said, “How are you doing, Daniel? You holding up okay?”
He shrugged, a sad, defeated motion.
I gestured to the chair across from him. “Would you like to talk for a moment?” He wasn’t my patient, and it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to treat him, but I didn’t feel right about walking away without offering some solace.
“Please.” There was a look of confusion in his eyes that I’ve often seen in the grief-stricken in the weeks that follow a death. When someone first passes, there’s the business of notifying people and planning a funeral, a focused activity.
Then there are no more distractions, only silence and loss.
After I sat, he said, “I’m back at work, and I make myself go for runs, but I just miss Heather so much.… I haven’t been able to pack up any of her things.”
I thought about Paul, how it took me months to give away his clothes, how I slept in his pajamas for years.
Daniel shook his head. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with any of that stuff. You probably have to go and do your rounds or whatever.”
“It’s okay. But I would suggest you speak to someone if you’re having a hard time. What about a grief-support group? There’s one that meets at the hospital. I can e-mail you a contact name.”
“No, I’m just finishing up this last job, then I’m going back to the center.”
It made sense that Daniel was being drawn to the comfort of the familiar, but I was still alarmed to hear his plan.
“You remember being happy at the center,” I said, “so you think going back there will help you escape the pain. Unfortunately, there are no shortcuts with this kind of loss. I wouldn’t want to see you carry this with you for the rest of your life. It’s hard to find true happiness when you have unresolved grief.”
Daniel said, “Everything just made sense in there, but out here…” He shook his head. “In there, I had a purpose. I was helping people.”
“Daniel, I understand that right now you’re searching for answers, and you’re in pain. But sometimes people who are experiencing grief try to replace the loss, without processing their feelings—”
“I’m not trying to replace her. I just have nothing out here. But I have friends in the center, people who care about me, and they want me to come back.”
“What they want from you and what you might need may be two different things. I know you did a lot of work for them, and—”
“That’s not why they want me back.” He frowned. “Why do you hate the center so much?”
I paused, thinking how best to answer. “I don’t hate the center, Daniel. I’m just concerned that Aaron’s beliefs are dressed up to be spiritual but are really self-serving and might just cause more pain for you and others.”
“What do you mean?” He set down his cup.
It wasn’t the ideal time to open up a subject that would anger him, and upset me, but I also felt he needed to know the truth. I took a sip of tea, composed myself. “The center, Aaron, he’s not what you think. In the past…” I hesitated, thinking of how to put it. “He sexually abused a young girl. There may be other victims.”
“That’s impossible.” His face was angry, shocked. “Aaron would never do something like that.”
“It’s true. I wish it wasn’t, but it is.”
“If there’s a victim, why haven’t we heard anything? He’s never been arrested. It sounds like someone is lying.” He shook his head. “It can’t be true.”
“There’s been a report made with the police.” I wondered why he was still so loyal to Aaron, whether in his grief he just couldn’t deal with another loss.
Now his face was confused, his brows pulling down as he tried to take in the information. “Have they arrested him?”
“Not yet, there’s not enough evidence, but I’ve been talking to some people in Shawnigan.” I gave him the basics, about the girls who’d recanted, and Mary, leaving out Willow. “I’m confident that more information will come out.”
“Are any of them pressing charges?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
His face was earnest. “So it could be lies.”
As I looked across the table at him, I realized again how this would be many people’s reactions, Not Aaron, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. But I know he did. I considered sharing my story but didn’t feel right about it, not given our history and his connection with the commune.
“I doubt it, Daniel. I know for a fact that he has molested at least one young girl.” I held his gaze.
He sat back in his chair, pushing his cup forward as though to block my words. “No way. I still don’t believe it.”
He didn’t want to believe it. I sat back in my own chair, suddenly very tired. Since I’d seen the green truck outside my home the week before, I’d woken up several times throughout the night, listening to every vehicle as it drove past, holding my breath until it was gone. The previous evening, I’d gotten two more calls from a private number, and each time they hung up when I answered. In case it was related to my attack in Nanaimo, I talked to the police up there, but they had no new lead
s. They told me that I could start marking the calls by pressing *57, and then my phone provider would release the information to them. But they could only do something if the person started to verbally harass me when I answered. They couldn’t do anything about hang-ups.
“There was a reason you left,” I said, gently. “I think if you’d really wanted to stay, you would have found a way to convince Heather. Is it possible that you’ve had your own doubts about some of their methods and beliefs?”
Daniel flinched, his face pulling as he wrestled with his emotions.
I said, “I know you’re hurting, Daniel, and you want to be part of something that brings meaning to your life, to all of this, but the center isn’t it.”
He was already shaking his head before I was finished speaking, refusing to hear me or the doubt-filled thoughts that were creeping into his mind.
“You don’t understand. The whole point is to trust the process, to have faith you’re on the path to enlightenment, or it doesn’t work. Questions are just fear, trying to distract you from your path.” He got up, and before he walked away, he paused by my chair, not looking down, as he said, “I’m going back.”
* * *
The next evening after work, I looked for Lisa again. I was encouraged when a homeless woman told me about an abandoned house downtown where she might be staying, but when I got there, the place was empty. I thought about trying to find the commune store, but I needed a break from thinking about that place. I stopped by a store window, seeing an angora scarf in a blue that would look wonderful with Lisa’s eyes. I went in, fingered the soft material, wishing I could buy it for her birthday, which was the following weekend, but realized it would probably get stolen on the street if she didn’t sell it first. I opened a bottle of perfume, inhaled the woodsy aroma, and remembered how excited she was the first year I’d given her a perfume set. Did she still like the sweeter scents, or would something stronger appeal to her now?
While I browsed the store, I reminisced about how I’d tried to make every one of her birthdays a celebration when she was growing up, baking special cakes and decorating the house top to bottom, singing to her at the top of my lungs. Then I remembered that we hadn’t celebrated birthdays at the commune—Aaron said that we were ageless. I felt a sudden surge of anger at my parents, at the choices they made, how they’d let us down. Then I wondered if Lisa also felt that way. What did she blame me for? Her drug addiction? Her father’s death?
On my way out, I spotted a stuffed husky who looked just like Chinook. Lisa was long past toy animals. I bought it anyway.
* * *
In the morning, Steve Phillips called me at the hospital. When I dialed him back, my hand kept pressing the wrong buttons. I had to slow down and start again a couple of times. I was nervous, in hope and in fear of what I might learn.
He said, “I got those names for you.”
“That was fast. I really appreciate this.”
“My friend’s been hoping for a break in this case for a long time. The girls are Tammy and Nicole Gelsinki. He talked to Tammy. She’s living in Victoria, and she’s willing to speak to you, but she’s pretty edgy. Got a pen?”
I wrote down Tammy’s number, and he filled me in on what Mark had told her about me, and that Tammy wouldn’t reveal where Nicole was living. I wondered if she might feel more comfortable telling me than the police.
When he finished, I said, “Did you take a walk out by the commune?”
“Sure did, and had a look around the barn.” My stomach contracted at the memory of my own recent visit there. “And at that spot you mentioned, but I couldn’t see much visually. We’d need a cadaver dog to take a sniff around.”
The words “cadaver dog” hit hard. It was one thing to go from speculating about what happened to Willow to honestly considering that her body might be on the commune grounds. I took a second to gather my thoughts again. Then I said, “Well, there’s no way the RCMP are going to get involved with that.”
“If you get me more information, I might be able to call in a few favors. Let me know what you find out.” He clipped out the last words, still a sergeant.
I said, “I’ll try my best.”
“Be careful.”
My nerves came alive, remembering the sound of that truck slowing down, then speeding away. “Of anything in particular?”
“Just make sure anyone you’re talking to about the commune tells you more than you tell them. If they’re still connected to anyone, you don’t want it getting back to Aaron.”
“He’s already aware I made a report.”
“Right now he knows you can’t go anywhere with it, but if he finds out that you’re talking to previous members, and you get too close, he might take off. He owns communes all over the world, which means he’s a flight risk.”
“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Don’t say anything about Willow either—I’d like to keep that one under wraps for now. Let’s see what other information they produce on their own.”
His reasoning seemed sound, so I said, “Got it.” But as I hung up the phone, I heard Willow’s voice in my head. If there’s anything you ever want to talk about … I tried to think back to that moment, wondered why those words haunted me, and realized it was because when she’d asked, I had wanted to tell her what Aaron had been doing, but I’d been too scared. Now I wondered how different things might have turned out, for her and for me, if I’d spoken up.
* * *
After I finished my rounds, I called the number that Steve gave me and was greeted by a cheerful female voice, “Hello?”
“Hi, my name’s Nadine Lavoie, and I was hoping—” I broke off as I heard a loud crash in the background, then the wailing of a child.
“Oh, jeez, hang on.” The clatter of the phone being put down, then shushing sounds. She came back. “Sorry about that. My little guy had a fall.”
“Hope he’s okay.”
“He’s fine.” Talking quick, wanting me to get to the point, a busy mother.
“I was hoping I could speak with you about a personal matter.”
Her voice turned cautious. “Who’s this?”
“I believe the RCMP told you I might be calling. I’m a psychiatrist in Victoria, and I’m looking into something that happened when I was a child.…”
“Oh, right.” Now she sounded more curious.
Steve’s friend had already told her that I’d lived at the commune and was trying to find former members, but until we were face-to-face, I didn’t want to give more details. I just said, “I was really hoping we could speak in person.”
She was silent again, her baby starting to fuss in the background. “I’m not sure. My husband’s away right now.…” There was nervousness in the words. Insecurity, but also something else. She had given her number, so she obviously wanted to talk. Maybe she was uncomfortable meeting in public.
“I can come to your house.”
“Is there a way I can, like, verify who you are?” Embarrassment now.
“Of course.” I gave her my number, then told her to call me back at the hospital. But she didn’t. After ten minutes I started to wonder if I’d lost her. I was almost ready to give up and head to my appointment when the phone rang.
“Sorry about that. My son needed his bottle. Can you come over later? My husband has hockey practice on Wednesday nights.”
It was interesting that she mentioned her husband not being home that night, and I wondered if he knew about her former life. “Absolutely.”
I took down her address, then hung up the phone. I cautioned myself to remember that she’d recanted before and that this was a sensitive subject, laden with shameful emotions she still might not be ready to face, but I was hopeful that she might share her story with me.
I was still struggling with the memories of my own abuse. It had made me look at my life differently, made me question everything. Like the fact that I’d never been comfortable alone with a strange man and how lon
g it took me to trust someone. Paul and I had worked together for a year before we started dating—our friendship had turned to love one night when we both snuck in to check on a dog who’d just had surgery. We’d ended up staying at the clinic for hours, talking in the quiet, our hands accidentally touching as we patted the soft fur of the sleeping animal. Even then, it took a while before I was willing to be intimate with Paul.
Was I just a person who liked to take her time? Or was it a symptom of the abuse? Everything that I had taken for granted, my reactions, my dislikes, things that I had just accepted as quirks of my personality were all a question mark now.
* * *
At lunch, I grabbed some soup in the cafeteria and was just setting it on a table when I noticed Kevin in line with his tray. He was looking around for a seat in the busy room. I caught his eye and motioned to the chair in front of me.
He sat down with a smile. “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”
“From the big bad wolf?”
“I think I might be treating him.” We both laughed, and he said, “So how’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around much.”
“I’ve been busy, looking into some things happening at River of Life.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
I hadn’t planned on telling him—or anyone at the hospital—what was happening in my personal life, but he seemed genuinely interested, and he’d been very helpful before. I shared what I’d been going through since I’d first met Heather, still leaving out big portions, like about my brother and Lisa. I also said that I’d been having flashbacks of being abused by Aaron and was concerned that there might be more victims, using my clinical voice, trying to detach from the emotions of the words.
While I spoke, he mostly just listened, only occasionally paraphrasing something I’d said, asking if he’d understood correctly. At the end, he sat back and took a swig of coffee, his eyes warm and compassionate.
His face was serious as he said, “Do you think you should be digging into this by yourself? It might be better if you leave it to the police from now on.”
I thought about what he’d said. “It’s certainly the easier approach, but I’m concerned that the case will be dropped. And then Aaron will keep on abusing girls. The police don’t really have the time to do this kind of legwork. If I find enough evidence that something’s not right, then I can push them harder.”
Always Watching Page 18
