Never Knowing (18 page)

We both paused. He said, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.” I fought the urge to cry.

“You don’t sound fine.” His voice was concerned.

I said, “It’s just work stuff.”

“What are you working on?”

“Just a lamp table right now.”

“What kind of wood is that made from?”

“This one’s cherry.”

“Cherry’s beautiful. Nice rich tones.”

Surprised at his insight I said, “Yeah, it really is.”

“What kind of tools do you use?”

“Mostly smaller tools, planes, sanding clamps, drills. But for work like this it’s usually done with brushes.” I eyed mine. “I have to get some new ones soon. They’re getting kind of ratty, but I want a new jack plane too.”

“Evan should get you what you need.”

“I can buy things myself. I just get distracted.”

“I saw his Web site—he’s one of the guides, so he’s away all the time. A husband should be there for you.” Great, one father thinks my fiancé is too good for me and the other one thinks he’s not good enough

“He makes it home often.” Except for the next couple of weeks, when he has back-to-back bookings.

“Is he home now?”

My eyes flicked to the door. Had I locked it when Dad left?

“He’s coming home soon.” I sprinted to the alarm and made sure it was set. “And my brother-in-law stops in all the time.” Greg had never stopped over once.

“But Evan leaves you alone and unprotected?”

I caught my breath. “Do I need protection?”

“Not anymore. I have to go, but I’ll call soon.”

*   *   *

When Evan called that night he apologized for getting pissed off earlier and said he was glad Billy was helping me. I knew he was just saying that so we could move on, but I was more than happy to go along with it. I didn’t tell him I’d just gotten off the phone with Billy, who told me John had called from somewhere between Prince George and Mackenzie. They still didn’t get there in time, but I was happy he was at least heading in the opposite direction of me.

Later, when I was lying in bed, I thought about my phone call with John, about how concerned he sounded when he thought I was upset. Then I realized I’d never heard that tone in my dad’s voice. Not once. If John wasn’t the Campsite Killer, I probably would’ve been happy I finally had a father. I didn’t know which thought was worse, but they both made me cry.

*   *   *

On Monday another package arrived—same delivery driver, same address. When I saw it was from Hansel and Gretel I called Billy right away. He was over in Vancouver with Sandy, meeting with the rest of the task force, and told me not to open it. It was still sitting on my counter when John called later that afternoon.

“Did you get my present?”

“I haven’t had a chance to open it.” The package was larger and heavier than the last one, but I still asked, “Is it jewelry again?”

His voice was excited. “Open it now.”

“Right now?”

“I wish I could see your face.”

That was the last thing I wanted. “Hang on, I’ll open it.”

With John still on the phone, I pulled on a pair of garden gloves from my shop, then took a knife to the seal, feeling guilty about not waiting for Billy.

John said, “Is it open yet?”

“I’m just taking the paper out.” He’d packed whatever it was carefully. I lifted the object out and unwound the bubble wrap.

It was a brand-new jack plane.

“It’s beautiful.” And it was. The handle was hardwood and stained dark chocolate, the steel blades gleamed. My fingers itched to try it out, but I only allowed myself to pick it up, to feel the weight of it, to imagine it gliding over wood, shavings falling to the floor, lifting off years of— Stop. Put it back in the box.

“You
really
like it? I could get you a different one—”

“It’s perfect. That was thoughtful.” I remembered how Dad would watch Lauren and Melanie on Christmas morning, how he’d smile when they opened their presents, how he’d leave the room to refill his coffee when it was my turn.

We were both silent.

“John, you seem like such a nice guy.…”
When you’re not killing people or threatening me.
I gathered myself for the next part. “I just don’t understand why you hurt those people.”

No answer. I strained to hear his breathing. Was he mad? I eased forward.

“You don’t have to tell me today. But I’d like it if you were honest with me.”

“I am honest.” His voice was cold.

“I know, of course. I just meant that if I understand you, it will help me understand myself. Sometimes…” I imagined Sandy and Billy listening. Tuned them out. “Sometimes I have terrible thoughts.”

“Like what?”

“I lose my temper a lot. I’m working on it, but it’s hard.” I paused, but he didn’t say anything, so I kept going. “I feel this darkness come over me and I say awful things, or do really stupid stuff. It’s better now that I’m older, but I don’t like that side of myself. When I was younger I even got into drugs and alcohol for a while, just trying to block it all out. And I did some things I really regret, so I started seeing a psychiatrist.”

“You still see one?” Would he think it was bad or would it encourage him to get help? As I continued to hesitate he said, “Sara?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you talk about me?”

The tone of his voice told me how to answer. “No, I wouldn’t do that unless you said it was okay.”

“It’s not.”

“No problem.” I tried to keep my voice casual. “So can you tell me anything about your parents? That’s one thing about growing up adopted—you never know your history.” Both sets of my grandparents are gone now, but I still remember Mom’s gruff German father and how her mom barely spoke English, just scurried around the kitchen like she was afraid to stop moving. Dad’s parents were blue-collar, his dad a carpenter and his mom a homemaker. They were nice to me, but
too
nice. They tried so hard to make me feel like part of the family, they made me feel different. My grandmother always watching me with concerned eyes, the extra hug and kiss at the door.

John said, “What do you want to know?”

“What was your dad like?”

“He was Scottish. When he spoke, you listened.” I pictured a large man with red hair yelling at John in a thick accent. “But I learned how to survive.”

“Survive?” He didn’t elaborate, so I said, “So what did he do for a living?”

“He worked in logging, a faller right up to the day he died. He was having a heart attack and still took down a hundred-and-fifty-foot Douglas fir.” He laughed and said, “He was a mean son of a bitch.” He laughed again and I wondered if it was something he did when he was uncomfortable.

“What about your mother? What’s she like?”

“She was a good woman. Things weren’t easy for her.”

“So they’ve both passed on, then?”

“Yes. What kind of movies do you like?” Thrown by the abrupt change of subject, I took a moment to answer.

“Movies … I like lots of different ones. They have to be fast-paced—I get bored easily.”

“Me too.” He was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “Enjoy the rest of your day, Sara. We’ll talk more soon.”

*   *   *

I phoned Billy immediately, but he wasn’t able to call back for ten minutes, which I spent pacing. He told me John was somewhere around Mackenzie now, which is northeast of Prince George. The area is all provincial parks and mountain ranges, so he’d disappeared again, but Billy said I handled the call perfectly and it seemed like John was really connecting with me. He didn’t give me a hard time about opening the package either, just said he understood John had put me on the spot and that they’d be over soon to pick it up. They think he probably shipped it from Prince George. Makes sense, it’s the largest city in the North, so there are more depots and less chance of him standing out. Then Billy reminded me to call them right away if John sent another one. Later Billy e-mailed me a cool quote:

Know the enemy,

Know yourself,

And victory

Is never in doubt,

Not in a hundred battles.

He must’ve been sitting right at his computer, because when I e-mailed him back, asking what the heck it meant, he responded in seconds.
Means you did a great job today, kid. Now go to bed!

I laughed and sent him a quick
You too!
then turned off my computer. As I was heading to bed, the landline rang again. I thought it was Evan calling to say good night, but it was John.

“Hi, John. Everything okay?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice again before I shut down for the night.”

I cringed. But I said, “That’s nice.”

“I really enjoyed our talk today.”

“Me too. I liked it when you told me about your family.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well…” I hadn’t expected him to ask for details. “Other kids in school, my friends growing up, they all knew where they came from. But my past was just a black hole. It made me feel cut off from regular people, like I was different or weird. I guess finally hearing some stories made me feel normal.”

“It’s nice getting to know you.” He paused for a moment, then said, “When I was having my dinner, I thought about what you told me earlier.”

“Which part’s that?”

“About losing your temper … I get angry too.”

Here we go.
“What kinds of things make you angry?”

“It’s hard to explain. You might not understand.”

“I’d like to try. I want to get to know you better too.” I meant it. Not just because he might reveal something that would help the cops catch him, I also wanted to know just how much we had in common.

He didn’t say anything right away, so I continued.

“The other day when you called, you sounded like you were in pain?”

“I’m okay. Did I tell you we had a ranch when I was kid?”

Frustrated that he’d changed the subject on me again, I took a breath and said, “No, but that must’ve been a great way to grow up. How much land did you have?” I said, hoping he’d mention where he was from.

“We had about ten acres at the base of a mountain.” His voice sounded excited. “Neighbors would bring sick animals to my mom all the time. She only used natural medicines, comfrey for coughs, things like that. She’d keep chicks and kittens in her shirt to keep them warm and she could almost bring them back from the dead.” He gave a happy laugh. “We had a lot of farm dogs when I was growing up, they were always having puppies. The smallest one, Angel, was mine. She was part husky and part wolf—I hand-reared her with a bottle. She went everywhere with me.…” His voice turned flat. “But she ran away. My mother said it was in her nature. I tried to find her but never could.”

“I’m … I’m sorry.”

“I’m glad I found you, Sara. Good night.”

I stayed awake for hours.

*   *   *

I hoped I’d feel better after talking to you. But I’m beginning to think nothing is going to do that. I’m also beginning to think they’re never going to catch John. The second call came from north of Mackenzie, near Chetwynd, which is in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. They thought they had something when a local rancher reported a truck on the side of the road, but it turned out to be just a couple of hunters. I marked a map with all the spots John had called from, each one taking him farther away from me physically but deeper into my mind, skewing my perceptions, like someone was turning me sideways and making everything look different, feel different.

I’m sure it makes sense to you that I’d be off-kilter, all things considered, but it feels deeper than that. More of a core upheaval. Like those volcanoes that have been brewing for years, then one day they just
explode
. I’m not saying I’m going to explode, although it’s possible, just that it feels like something big has burst inside. Maybe because for so many years I’ve used the fact that I had real parents out there somewhere in the world as a way of comforting myself over anything I didn’t like about my family.

It’s like thinking you were handed the wrong life and you just had to get to the
right
one and everything would be okay, then finding out that there isn’t a right one. Or the right one was actually the wrong one after all, or—never mind, you know what I mean. But then I think about my temper, my urges to lash out with tongue or fist, I think about Ally’s tantrums, the line we both cross sometimes when we lose control, and I wonder if we do belong in that other life, with that other family.

When I first told you I found my mother, I said it was like standing on cracking ice. This is like falling straight through into the freezing water. You struggle back to the surface, your lungs burning, everything focused on that patch of light above you. And you finally make it there, but the hole’s frozen over.

SESSION TEN

I’ve never been so scared in my life. I still can’t believe I actually thought I was in the driver’s seat with John. I’m such an
idiot
. You warned me about getting overconfident. Did I really think just because he asked me about my tools and my work, because he told me about his
dog,
that I had any control over him? He has all the power, and do you know why he has the power? Because I’m terrified of him and he knows it.

*   *   *

The day after our last session another box was delivered. I knew I should wait until Sandy and Billy opened it, but I wanted to know if he’d sent me another tool, wondering for a moment why it mattered, then brushing off the thought. This box was smaller and lighter than the one the jack plane had arrived in. I gave it a little shake but didn’t hear anything. After I found some gloves, I carefully sliced open the package and lifted out a smaller box from inside. What if it was another victim’s jewelry? I debated for half a second about calling Billy, then lifted the lid off the box.

A small rustic metal doll, maybe four inches tall and a couple of inches wide at the shoulders, lay nestled in cotton batting. The body seemed to be made from some sort of dark, heavy metal, like iron or steel. Its arms and legs were thick and straight down like a toy soldier’s. The feet and hands were just round metal balls. It was wearing a little denim skirt and a yellow T-shirt. The clothes were delicate, the stitching intricate. The head of the doll was also a round ball of metal. But it had no face. No mouth or eyes.