Never Knowing

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.

“But people are obsessed with serial killers — half the books and movies made are about them. If they find out I’m his daughter…”

“You know where the shotgun is and the key for the trigger lock—”

“The shotgun!”

“You’ll be fine. That site can’t have that many readers.”

“What if he reads it?”

“The Campsite Killer?” He paused for a moment. “Nah, there’s no way he’s reading a Nanaimo blog.”

“You really think it’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, I do. Let your dad’s lawyer handle it.”

“I’m just freaked out.”

He softened his voice. “I’ll be home soon.”

Before I dove into bed last night I couldn’t help peeking at the Web site and was happy to see the article was still gone. I also did a quick Google search and nothing came up. I went to sleep convinced Evan was right — it wasn’t going to go anywhere. In fact, it was good this happened because it forced things out in the open with my family — keeping things under wraps is not exactly a talent of mine.

This morning Ally sang Moose a song in between bites of toast and peanut butter. Ally and I are both peanut butter fiends, you wouldn’t believe how many jars we go through. After I dropped her off at school I grabbed a coffee and headed out to the shop to attack a new armoire. I was in the zone within minutes and didn’t stop for lunch. Finally, in the afternoon, I decided to grab a snack and refill my coffee. Before I headed back out to my shop, I snuck upstairs for another peek at the Nanaimo News for Now site. The article was still down. For peace of mind I did another Google search for Karen Christianson. This time a bunch of new hits popped up.

I set my cup down so fast coffee sloshed over the rim, and clicked on the first link. It was for a serial killer fan club in the States. In the forum someone named “Dahmersdinner” had posted that Karen Christianson was hiding in Victoria and using the name Julia Laroche. Her daughter, a woman named Sara Gallagher, lived in Nanaimo. I stared at the screen, my heart thumping loudly in my ear. There was nothing I could do, no way to delete it. Then I noticed there were comments — lots of them. I clicked on the tab and expanded the page. First they were along the lines of “I wonder if it’s true” and “Can you imagine what his kid looks like?” But then more members joined in.

Someone had gone to the university site and found Julia’s office information. Then they linked to articles