Never Knowing (6 page)

Dad loved taking her to all his logging camps with him when she was growing up—he was convinced she was going to be an accountant and help run his business. But as soon as she hit her teens the only thing Melanie wanted to spend time counting was boyfriends. And she found plenty of them at the pub where she tends bar. It used to be Dad’s favorite hangout, but he hasn’t stepped foot in the place since she started working there when she turned nineteen.

Lauren said, “Kyle needed a place to rehearse so I let them use the garage.”

Melanie turned to me. “You book anyone for your wedding yet?”

“Evan and I are still talking about it.”

“Perfect, because Kyle wants to do it for your wedding gift.” She smiled big.

It was far from perfect. I’d heard Kyle’s band a few months ago and they were barely in tune. I glanced at Lauren. She was looking back and forth between Melanie and me.

“That’s an interesting suggestion, but I have to talk to Evan. I’m not sure what he has in mind.”

“Evan? He’s so easygoing, he won’t care.”

“Maybe, but I should still talk to him first.”

Melanie laughed. “Since when do you wait for Evan’s approval?” She paused, then her eyes narrowed. “Oh, I get it. You don’t
want
Kyle to do it.”

Here we go. Melanie was spoiled by all of us when she was a kid, but especially by Dad. If Mom was sick I was in charge and that’s when the problems really began. Lauren was easy, I could tell her to pick up her toys and she’d do it right away, but Melanie would just stand there with her hands on her hips, glaring at me. Lauren or I would just end up doing it for her.

“I didn’t say that, Melanie.”

“
Unfuckingbelievable
. Kyle’s band’s gotten really good and he’s willing to do this nice thing for you, but you’re going to say no?” Before I could respond, Melanie shook her head and said, “I told you she’d shut it down, Lauren.”

I said, “You’ve already talked about it?”

Lauren said, “No, well, just a little. Melanie mentioned last night that Kyle could use the exposure, and—”

“And you said he could probably meet some people at the wedding,” Melanie said. “You said it would be a good opportunity for him.”

My face felt hot and my pulse sped up. Melanie wanted to use my wedding as an audition for her boyfriend? And Lauren
gave
her the idea?

Lauren said, “But I didn’t know if Sara already had other plans.”

“She
doesn’t
,” Melanie said. “It’s just because she doesn’t like Kyle.”

Melanie stared at me, her chin out, daring me to deny it. I wanted to tell her exactly what I thought:
He’s not good enough for you and he sure as hell isn’t good enough to play at my wedding.
But I counted to ten, took a couple of deep breaths, and said, “I’ll think about it, okay?”

Melanie said, “Suuuure you will.”

“You will. Right, Sara?” Lauren’s face was pleading as she looked at me, worried there was going to be a fight. And there was going to be a big one if I didn’t get out of there fast.

“Right. I should get going.” I stood up.

Lauren said, “You can’t stay for a coffee?” I knew she wanted me to stay so we could work everything out, or at least pretend nothing was wrong, but if I heard one more thing out of Melanie’s mouth I was going to blow up. I forced a smile.

“Sorry, I have to get Ally. Next time, okay?”

I didn’t look at Melanie as I walked out.

*   *   *

That night I tossed and turned. Finally I got up and made notes—the only way I could calm down. First item was to call Lauren in the morning and apologize for leaving so abruptly. Then I wrote a letter to Melanie, saying all the things I’d wanted to tell her earlier but never would. Four years of therapy and I’d finally learned how to manage my anger—counting to ten, writing letters, leaving a room to cool off—but Melanie could push my buttons faster than anyone. I hated how quickly she could make me lose my temper. How out-of-control I felt when I did. But mostly I just felt sad. I’d loved her so much when she was little, loved how she looked up to me and followed me everywhere. Then I lost her in the mall when she was four.

We were Christmas shopping and Dad told me to watch her while he went into a store. Melanie wanted to walk around, but I knew Dad would be furious if we moved an inch, so I held on to the back of her coat. The tighter I gripped, the harder she fought, pulling and clawing at me, until she broke away and ran into a crowd of shoppers. The next twenty minutes were the most terrifying of my life. I started screaming her name frantically. Dad came running out of the store, his face white. When we finally found her—playing on a mechanical pony—Dad dragged me to the parking lot and spanked me behind his truck. I still remember trying to break away from him, crying so hard I could barely breathe, his hand coming down again and again.

Most of my worst childhood memories are of my getting into trouble because of Melanie. One Halloween Lauren and I were dressing up as cheerleaders. Melanie wanted the same costume, but we had only made two, so I told her she could be a princess. She grabbed my pom-poms and ran out of the room, saying she was going to throw them in the fire. I chased her, slipped in the hallway, knocked over a lamp, and broke the shade. When I told Dad, he was furious—not because of the lamp but because I should have included Melanie. I wasn’t allowed to go trick-or-treating, and he let Melanie wear my costume. The worst part was he made me walk with them from house to house. I still remember watching Melanie skip up to the door in the costume I’d spent weeks making, the little skirt swinging with each step, my heart breaking when people told her how cute she looked.

When we hit our twenties—and neither of us was living at home—we started getting along better. After I had Ally, Melanie would come over sometimes and hang out, watching movies with me, laughing and eating popcorn. It was great, like we were finally sisters. We still argued once in a while, but the only times we really fought were if I tried to give her advice about her friends or some of the guys she was seeing. When she started dating Kyle I told her I was worried he might be using her because she worked at a bar. She flipped out and we didn’t speak for a while. Then I met Evan and Dad began inviting us over for dinner—he only called when Evan was home—and arranging family brunches and barbecues.

Melanie missed a lot of these dinners because she was working, but when she did make it to one, she started taking shots at me—especially if her boyfriend was there. I didn’t know if she was just pissed off that Dad liked Evan more than Kyle, or because I didn’t like Kyle either, but she was hell-bent on making me look bad. And if I did lose my temper, Dad would come down hard on me and wouldn’t say squat to Melanie. The more I tried not to react, the harder she hit. Now anytime we talked about the wedding it felt like a setup for a fight.

Lauren always ended up in the middle and I knew she was probably feeling awful about what had happened earlier, which made
me
feel awful. But guilt still gnawed at me for another reason, and I made a note to remind her not to tell anyone about my birth father.

The next morning I slept late and ended up rushing around to get Ally off to school. Then a client called and needed an emergency repair on a hall stand that was going into an antique show. I never did get a chance to call Lauren, and I collapsed into bed swearing I’d deal with it the next day. But I didn’t, and as the days turned into a week I slid back into a depression.

The simplest task seemed insurmountable and my body ached all over. Even the idea of going to therapy was exhausting. So I slept too much, ate too much, and stayed on the couch all afternoon watching movies. I had to force myself out for walks with Moose, steering him away from his preferred path through the woods to the safer, more populated nearby park. Usually I love watching him chasing bunnies all over the fairgrounds, the earthy scent of hay and animals still lingering in the air. But now the buildings just looked old and abandoned as my feet slogged through puddles.

The only other times I dragged myself out were for Ally, using any energy I had left to hide what I was feeling. But I didn’t do a very good job. One day we were driving home in a downpour, not unusual for March, or any month on the coast, but it added to my already dismal mood. We stopped at a red light and I was staring out the windshield.

Ally said, “Why are you sad, Mommy?”

“Mommy’s not feeling well, honey.”

“I’ll take care of you,” she said. She was so sweet that night, trying to make me soup and telling Moose he had to be quiet. She also spent the night in my bed. We snuggled together as she read me stories, lending me her favorite Barbie for comfort, the rain pattering against the window. The next morning I finally called Lauren to apologize for leaving so fast, but she beat me to it.

“I’m sorry I said anything to Melanie about Kyle playing at the wedding, Sara. But you two are always fighting and it makes it hard to say anything to either of you.”

“Melanie drives me nuts.”

“I wish you two weren’t so jealous of each other.”

“I’m not
jealous
of her, I just hate that she gets away with everything.”

“Dad’s just as hard on her, you know.”

I laughed. “Yeah, right.”

“He is—you just don’t see it. He’s always on her case about her job, telling her how well your business is doing and how big your house is and how successful Evan is. I think sometimes you two clash because you’re so alike.”

“I’m nothing like Melanie.”

“You’re both really strong people, and—”

“
Nothing
, Lauren.”

She was silent.

I sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just going through a hard time.”

Her voice was gentle. “I know, hon. Call me anytime you want to talk.” But I didn’t, because as much as I loved my sister, there were some things she couldn’t help with, some things that would always separate us. She knew where she belonged.

*   *   *

When another week slipped by and I was still moping around, I decided it was time to make some changes. I stopped Googling the Campsite Killer ten times a day, stopped reading about genetics and deviant behavior, which only led to nightmares, and bought material for a birdhouse—something Ally had wanted to build for ages. We had so much fun working on it together, Ally giggling while she painted, waving the brush around and splattering paint all over her fingers and the table. And slowly the darkness started to lift. Evan and I even managed to have a nice dinner over at Lauren and Greg’s one weekend. Or at least it was nice until Dad showed up to go over some work stuff with Greg.

I felt terrible for Greg, listening to Dad berate him downstairs—when he knew we could hear in the kitchen. It was especially bad considering Dad came up after and told everyone he’d just hired a new foreman. Greg has been waiting years for Dad to promote him. Dad stayed for a beer and spent the entire time talking to Evan about fishing. It disgusts me that he plays favorites, but I was also disgusted at myself for feeling proud that he likes my fiancé.

By the first week of April, I finally felt like my depression was behind me. I was sleeping through the night and staying awake during the day. I was spending hours in my workshop again and getting caught up on projects. I’d been feeling so good I even got up early this morning and went on a shopping bender for Ally. I dropped a ton of money on craft supplies and a Netbook, telling myself it would help her learn. I love buying her things: costumes, books, games, paints, clothes, stuffed animals. If Ally’s happy, I’m happy. As I walked back into my house carrying all the bags, the phone rang.

“You better come over tonight.” It was my father. And his tone told me I was in trouble—big trouble.

“What did I do wrong?”

“I got a call.…”

Dad paused for an excruciating minute. I held my breath.

“It says on the Internet that your father’s the Campsite Killer.” His voice was tight with anger,
demanding
an explanation. I tried to make sense of what he’d just said, but it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.

“Did you know about this? Is it true?” His words hammered into me again, sending my pulse skyrocketing. This was the last way I wanted them to find out. I thought of Mom, of how hurt she was going to be. I dropped onto the hall bench, closed my eyes, and got it over with.

“I found my birth mother a couple of months ago.” I took a deep breath, then spat out the rest. “And it looks like my birth father is probably the Campsite Killer.”

Dad was silent.

I said, “Who called you?”

“Big Mike.”

Dad’s head foreman? How did he find out about this? The man is barely literate. Dad answered my questions for me.

“He said his daughter found it on
Nanaimo News for Now
.”

“You mean that gossip Web site?” I was already running upstairs to my computer.

Dad’s voice was hard. “You found your birth mother two months ago, but you didn’t say anything? Why didn’t you tell us you were looking for her?”

“I wanted to, but I just … Hang on, Dad.”

I typed in the Web site address and found the article.

Karen Christianson found in Victoria …

“Oh, no.”

I tried to read the article, but shock made the words jumble. I caught snippets.
Karen Christianson … Only survivor of the Campsite Killer … Julia Laroche … Professor at the University of Victoria. Thirty-three-year-old daughter Sara Gallagher … Family-run business Gallagher Logging in Nanaimo …

It was out, everything was out.

Dad said, “How did they know she was your mother?”

“I have no idea.” I stared at the screen as panicked thoughts careened through my head. How many people had seen the article?

Dad said, “I’ll call Melanie and Lauren. I want everyone here by six. We’ll talk about it then.”

“I’ll e-mail the site right away and tell them—”

“I’ve already called my lawyer. We’ll sue their asses off if they don’t take this article down right away.”