Never Knowing (7 page)

“Dad, I can handle it.”

“I’m taking care of it.” His tone made it clear he didn’t think I could handle anything.

After he hung up I realized he’d said, “Your father’s the Campsite Killer.” Not your
birth
father, just your father.

*   *   *

Now you know why I’m so stressed out, Nadine. After I got off the phone with my dad I read the rest of the article, wanting to throw up the whole time. It had a ton of pictures of Karen Christianson—they even posted her staff photo from the university. I couldn’t believe how much detail was in it about me too, what I do for a living, stuff about Evan’s lodge. The only thing it didn’t mention was that I had a daughter—thank God.

Even though Dad had called his lawyer, I sent the Web site an e-mail asking them to remove the article and phoned every extension listed on the site, but no one called back. Yet again I was left feeling like an idiot who couldn’t do anything right. I tried to call Evan, but he was out on one of the boats with a group and wouldn’t be in until after dinner. Lauren wasn’t answering her phone, and she’s a stay-at-home mom. She was probably hiding out in her garden. I’m sure she’s dreading tonight’s meeting as much as me—Lauren hates it when people are upset.

Now I’m wondering if Melanie could’ve heard Lauren and me talking. But bitchy as Melanie can be, I just can’t see her doing something this mean. Of course, if she told Kyle … he looks like the kind of guy who’d sell his kid sister if he thought it would get him ahead. There’s no way Lauren or the PI would have said anything.

I haven’t been this scared about a family meeting since I had to tell my parents I was pregnant. Dad got up in the middle of that speech and left the room. I took Moose for a walk, hoping to get rid of all the nervous energy humming through my body, but I just ended up rushing back home to my computer. The article was still up when I had to leave for our appointment. I’m trying to calm down by reminding myself this can’t go anywhere if I don’t confirm anything. Dad’s lawyer works at one of the top firms in Nanaimo. He’ll have the article pulled off that site by the end of the day. People might gossip for a while, and then something else will take its place. I just have to wait things out.

But I have a feeling something worse is waiting for me.

SESSION FOUR

Thank God you can fit me in—I know I was here yesterday, but when I panic like this everything in my head just spins around and around. All I could think was that I had to come here. You have to help me calm down because if one more thing happens today I’m going to lose it completely.

*   *   *

By the time I left my house for the family powwow I was in an even worse mood. It didn’t help that I’d had a heated debate with a six-year-old who did
not
like the change of plans.

“You said we can make pancakes for dinner. In different shapes like Evan makes them.” Her voice was anxious. Ally has a methodical streak and all decisions require much deliberation, which is adorable when she sticks her little tongue out of her mouth and contemplates what to buy Moose with her birthday money but an absolute nightmare if we have to do anything in a hurry.

“I don’t have time tonight, Ally Cat. We’re going to have chicken soup.”

Fists balled on her hips. “You promised.” The second part of Ally’s orderly nature is that she needs to know our plans for each day and what she can expect in every situation. If I deviate off course, or God forbid rush through any step of the process, she’ll come unglued.

“I know. I’m sorry, but we can’t today.”

“You
promised
.” Her high-pitched whine set my teeth on edge.

I whirled around. “Not
today
.”

She ran back to her room with her dark curls bouncing around her head and slammed the door. I heard something thump against it. Moose sat outside her door looking at me reproachfully. I didn’t hear her crying, but Ally rarely cries—she’d throw something before she ever shed a tear. I once saw her stub her toe, then turn around and kick the offending table leg.

I tried the handle. It turned, but something was against the door. Ah. Evan taught her to brace her chair under the knob if there’s an intruder.

“Ally, I’d like you to come out so we can talk about this, please.”

Silence.

I took a deep breath.

“When you come out we can pick another night this week to make pancakes—I’ll teach you how to make the batter from scratch. But you have to come out at the count of three.”

Silence.

“One … two…”

Nothing.

“Ally if you don’t come out here
right now
you’re not watching Hannah Montana
for a week
.”

She opened the door, walked past me with her arms crossed and her head bowed, then tossed a sad look over her shoulder.

“Evan
never
yells at me.”

*   *   *

Things didn’t get any better at my parents’. When I pulled in front of their log house on the outskirts of Nanaimo, Melanie’s car and Lauren’s SUV were in the driveway. Ally was already out of the Cherokee, Moose at her heels. I marched up to the front door, armor in place, knowing it wasn’t going to help one bit.

They were all in the living room. Melanie didn’t look at me, but Lauren gave a tentative smile. Dad’s face was an iron mask. He was in his armchair in the middle of the room, dressed in his usual steel-toed work boots, black T-shirt, and red strap jeans that every self-respecting logger on the island lives in. Barrel-chested and brawny, full head of hair a snow-white crown, with his wife and daughters flanking him, he looked like a king.

“Nana!” Ally ran toward Mom and hugged her legs, her pink goose-down coat squishing up around her ears.

For a moment I wished I could run to Mom and hug her too. Everything about her is soft—her dark hair now threaded with silver, the powdery perfume she always wears, her voice, her skin. I searched her face for anger but just saw fatigue. I looked at her, my eyes pleading.
I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t want to hurt you.

She said, “Let’s go in the kitchen, Ally. I have a cinnamon bun for you. The boys are already in the back.” She took Ally’s hand and led her away.

As they passed me I said, “Hi, Mom.” She touched my hand and tried for a reassuring smile. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, that this wasn’t about her, but before I could gather the words she was gone.

I threw myself into a chair facing my father, chin up. We held gazes. I looked away first.

Finally he said, “You should’ve talked to us before you found your birth parents.”

Years of working in the sun have emphasized the deep grooves around his mouth, which was set in a hard line. Even though he’s over sixty, it was the first time I’d seen my dad look old, and shame washed over me. He was right. I should have told them. I was trying to avoid hurting their feelings—and this conversation. But I’d made the whole thing worse.

“I know. I’m sorry, Dad. It made sense at the time.”

He raised his left eyebrow in the way that always made me feel like a colossal failure. This time was no exception.

“I want to know how that Web site got this information.”

“I’d like to know that myself.” I stared at Melanie.

She said, “What are you looking at me for? I didn’t even know about it until Dad told me.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

Melanie twirled her finger by her temple and mouthed,
Crazy.

My blood surged with a hot rush of anger. “You know, Melanie, you can be a real—”

“
Enough
.” Dad’s voice boomed.

We were all quiet. I met Lauren’s eyes. I could tell by her expression—part guilt, part fear—that she’d told Dad she already knew about my birth parents.

I turned to Dad. “The only other people who know are Evan and the private investigator I hired—but he was a retired cop.”

“Did you check his credentials?”

“He gave me his card and—”

“What do you know about him?”

“I told you, he’s a retired cop.”

“Did you call the police and verify that?”

“No, but—”

“You didn’t check him out.” Dad shook his head and my face burned. “Give me his number.”

I wanted to tell him that he wasn’t the only person capable of doing something, but as usual he had me doubting myself.

“I’ll e-mail it to you.”

From the corner of my eye I noticed Mom standing in the doorway with a plate.

“Does anybody want a cinnamon bun?”

She sat on the couch and set the plate on the coffee table with some napkins. No one reached for a bun. Dad looked hard at Melanie and Lauren, who both took one. I followed suit even though there was no way I could choke anything down. Mom smiled, but her eyes were red-rimmed—she’d been crying. Crap.

She said, “Sara, we understand that you wanted to find your birth family, we’re just disappointed you didn’t tell us. It must have been very upsetting when you found out who your real father was.” Her pale cheeks told me she was still pretty upset herself.

“I’m sorry, Mom. It was just something I needed to do for myself. I was trying to work through it first before I talked to anyone.”

Mom said, “Your mother—the article said she’s a professor?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.” I looked away, blinking hard.

“It’s not personal, Sara.” Mom’s voice was gentle. “Any mother would be proud to have you as her daughter.”

Tears filled my eyes. “I’m
really
sorry, Mom. I should’ve told you, but I didn’t want you to think I was ungrateful or something. You’re an amazing mother.” It wasn’t lip service. Mom loved every art project we dragged home, every costume she had to make at the last minute, every pair of torn favorite blue jeans only she could fix. Mom loved being a mother. I’d never asked, but I was sure she was the one who wanted to adopt. I’d bet money Dad just did it for her.

I said, “You’ll always be my real parents—you raised me. I was just curious about my history. But when I found out about my biological father, I thought maybe you guys wouldn’t want to know.” I looked at my dad, then back at her. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

Mom said, “We’re worried and scared for you, but it would
never
change how we feel about you.” I looked at Dad again. He nodded, but his face was distant.

I said, “Evan’s out on the boat, but I’m going to tell him it’s on the Internet as soon as I get home.”

Dad said, “The article’s gone, but we’re still going to sue the bastards.”

I dropped my head to rest against the back of the chair and let out my breath. It was going to be okay. For a moment I felt protected—Dad was actually sticking up for me—but then he said, “The dumbasses never should’ve used my company name,” and I knew what he was really protecting.

I felt another stab of guilt when I saw Mom’s hand press against her belly as she grimaced. Dad also noticed and his eyes turned hard as they locked on to mine. He didn’t have to say the words. He’s said them many times, many ways. But the silent ones always hit the hardest.
Look what you did to your mother.

Mom started talking about the wedding, but the conversation felt forced. Melanie and I steadfastly ignored each other.

Finally I said, “I should get Ally home to bed.” When I went outside to call her in, Lauren followed and closed the door behind us.

“Sorry I told Dad, but he asked if I knew and I didn’t want to lie to him.”

“It’s okay. Was he mad at you for keeping it a secret?”

She shook her head. “I think he’s just worried.”

“Is that why you ignored my call today?”

“I didn’t want to get caught in the middle.” She looked miserable. “I’m sorry.”

I didn’t want her caught in the middle either. I wanted her to take my side, but that was never going to happen. When we were kids and Dad went on a tirade against me, Lauren hid in her room. Later she’d come out and help me with my chores, but somehow I just felt more alone.

“You didn’t tell Melanie about my real father, did you?”

“Of course not!”

So Melanie had overheard and probably told Kyle, and then he told God only knows who. Nothing I could do about it now.

*   *   *

On the drive home, I was feeling a little calmer but still worried about how many people saw the article before it got pulled off. Then I remembered Mom saying they were worried and
scared
for me. I stopped at a red light, focusing in on that moment. Dad’s tense face, the concern in Mom’s eyes, something they were both thinking but didn’t say. What had I missed? Then it hit me.

The Campsite Killer could have read the article.

I didn’t know I was still sitting at the light until a car honked behind me and Ally said, “Mommy, go!” I drove the rest of the way in a daze. I’d been so caught up in defending myself, so terrified of my father’s anger, I’d missed the thing I should be most afraid of. If the Campsite Killer found that article, he not only knew I lived in Nanaimo, he knew my name.

As soon as we got home Ally had a bath, then I read her a story, but I kept stumbling over words and losing my spot on the page. I had to talk to Evan. After Ally fell asleep I tried to call him, but he wasn’t answering his cell. I bundled up in a blanket on the couch, watching mindless TV and waiting for Evan to call back. Just as I was about to give up and go to bed, the phone rang. Before he could ask what I’d been up to, I asked him how his day was.

“We found a pod of humpbacks, so the group was happy.” Evan built his lodge on the remote west coast of the island, so it offers guided kayak tours and whale watching not just fishing charters.

“That’s awesome.”

“Sure looking forward to coming home this weekend, though.…” He growled and I tried to join in but couldn’t pull it off. So I took a deep breath and spit it out. First I told him about leaving Julia a message and her awful call back, then about telling Lauren, and finally that it hit the Internet. He took it better than I thought, a lot better than I would—no surprise there.

“It won’t go anywhere,” he said.