Never Knowing

SESSION THIRTEEN

I’d like to say I’m doing better. Mostly because I love the way you smile when I tell you things worked out or that something you said helped. A lot of what you and I talk about does help. But lately stuff is coming at me so fast and furious I don’t have time to get over one thing before I’m thrown headfirst into the next.

Every day I Google Danielle’s name to see if there’s another article. Her family started a memorial Web site and I can’t stop looking at her photos and reading the little facts that made up her life. She was supposed to be a bridesmaid in her friend’s wedding this summer and they’d just had their dresses fitted. I cried, thinking of her dress hanging in a closet somewhere. You asked if I might be obsessing about the victims because I’m trying to come to terms with my own worst fears of losing my daughter, but I don’t think that’s it. I don’t know why I put myself into Danielle’s pain, why I conjure poignant images, each more painful than the last. Why I can’t stop wanting to know everything about her life.

You taught me years ago that we can’t choose how we feel about something; we can just choose how we deal with those feelings. But sometimes even when you have a choice, the things you’re choosing between are so horrible it doesn’t feel like much of a choice at all.

Saturday morning I was at the grocery store with Ally when my cell finally rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was BC. I answered with a cautious, “Hello?”

“You didn’t tell me you had a daughter.”

I stopped in the middle of the aisle as fear gripped tight around my chest. A few paces in front of me, Ally was pushing a small buggy, with her red purse slung over her shoulder. She stopped and examined a bag of pasta, her lips pursed.

I said, “No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

I thought about Danielle. If I didn’t say the right thing I might be next. My face felt hot and my vision blurred. I forced myself to take a breath. I had to sound calm — had to keep him calm.

“I was being cautious. You hurt people, and—”

“She’s my granddaughter!”

Ally wheeled her cart back toward me. I pressed the phone against my chest.

“Sweetie, why don’t you go to the end and pick out some cereal?” She loves examining all the boxes for their various prizes. Picks one, puts it back, picks another. Normally I hated it.

John said, “Is she with you right now?”

Crap. He heard me. “We’re grocery shopping.”

“What’s her name?”

Every fiber of my body wanted to lie, but he might already know.

“Ally.” She glanced up. I smiled and she went back to debating cereal options.

“How old is she?”

“Six.”

“You should have told me about her.”

I wanted to tell him he had no right to know anything about my life, but this was not the time to piss him off.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. But I was just protecting my daughter. Any mother would’ve done the same thing.”

He was silent. A woman walked down the aisle. I moved to the side, wondering what she’d think if she knew who I was talking to.

He said, “You don’t trust me.”

“I’m scared of you. I don’t understand why you killed Danielle.”

“I don’t either.” When we first started talking his voice was angry and tense, but now he seemed almost defeated. My heart rate slowed slightly.

“You have to stop hurting people.” It came out as a plea.

I held my breath, expecting him to flip out, but he just sounded defensive when he said, “Then you can’t lie to me again. And you have to keep talking to me when I need you to.”

“I won’t lie, okay? And I’ll try to talk to you when you call, but sometimes people are around me. If I can’t answer, you could just leave a message and I’ll call you—”

“That won’t work.”

I wondered if he still suspected the cops were tracing his calls.

“If you keep phoning a bunch of times in a row, my friends and family are going to start asking questions.”

“So tell them.”

“They won’t like me talking to you, and—”

“You mean the cops don’t want them to know we’re talking.” He said it causally, but I wasn’t fooled for a minute. He was testing me.

My pulse sped up again. He had his suspicions, but suspecting and knowing were two different things. I had to stick with my lie.

“No, I mean my family wouldn’t understand. And they’d tell the police—”

“You’ve already called the police.”

“I didn’t—I told you before. I didn’t believe who you were at first, then I was scared you’d come after my family. Evan would be worried and—”

“So leave Evan — you don’t need him.”

My body tensed. He sounded angry again. Had I just put Evan in danger? At the end of the aisle Ally had picked out a box of cereal and was now doing wheelies with her cart. If I didn’t distract her soon, she was likely to crash into one of the displays. I motioned for her to follow me to the vegetable section, trying desperately to think of something to say to calm John down.

“I’ll try to talk to you whenever you want. But I love Evan and we’re engaged. If you want to be part of my life you have to understand that.”

I held my breath at my daring. How would he take this?

“Fine, but if he gets in the—”

“He won’t.” I let out my breath, sagging against the cart. Ally was trying to get my attention. I handed her a plastic bag and motioned for her to pick out some apples.

John said, “I want to talk to Ally.”

I stood up straight.

“That’s not a good idea, John.”

“She’s my granddaughter.”

“But she might say something to someone, then it will raise questions like I told you, and—”

His voice was frustrated. “If I can’t talk to her, then I want to meet you.”

My blood roared in my ears. I never thought he’d want to meet, never believed he’d take that risk. I had to scare him off — and fast.

“But what if the police are watching me?”

“You said you didn’t tell them. I believe you — I’d know if you were lying.”

For a moment I wondered if he was the one lying. I shook off the thought. He had no way of knowing I was working with the police.

“But that stuff about you being my father was in the newspapers and on TV. What if they’re following me?”

“Have you seen someone following you?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean they—”

“I’ll phone you tomorrow.”