Never Knowing

SESSION FIFTEEN

When I got home from our last appointment Evan told me he’d decided to stay for the weekend. I wondered if his decision was motivated more by concern about Billy than about John, but it was nice having him home for a change. Not that it helped me get anything done. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve picked up a tool and just set it back down. Most of the day I just sit at my computer.

Now I’m resorting to Googling things like “how to know if you’re being followed” or “self-defense moves that could save your life.” One article had suggestions for what to do if you’re attacked by a serial killer or rapist, like fighting back or screaming. It even listed what might trigger each one. But it seems like the only way of knowing for sure which kind you’ve got on your hands, or rather has his hands on you, is when you’ve messed up and he’s killing you.

I still printed everything out — just in case. Then I added the pages to the enormous file I’ve already got going for all my other John stuff. I’ve been keeping a logbook, back from when he first started calling. I make note of the time of day he calls, his moods, tone of voice, speech patterns, anything.

When I’m not Googling, I’m e-mailing Billy little How’s it going out there? messages. He always answers back. Sometimes just, Don’t worry. Or Hang in there, I’ll call later and touch base. Evan would freak if he knew how much we’re in contact. I don’t like doing it behind his back but I can’t explain why I need the reassurance, at least not in a way Evan would understand. He’s great at shaking me out of my funks and balancing the roller coaster of emotions I’m generally on. But that’s when I’m operating at a level five. Once I’ve hit ten, all his just-don’t-think-about-it advice pisses me off. Billy’s we’ve-got-it-under-control attitude is what I need.

Last Friday night was brutal. Even though Evan was home and I hadn’t heard from John since Monday, I didn’t feel any more relaxed. My cell phone was quiet, but my mind was loud. All the books say that serial killers can be super impulsive. If John gets an urge to talk he just might pick up the phone regardless of how angry he is, just to tell me how angry he is. Or he might decide to do it in person. But the thing is, people of John’s type—my type — are just as obsessive as they are impulsive. What kept me up all night was wondering what was keeping him up. Then on Saturday morning the calls started again.

My cell rang while we were making breakfast — well, Evan was making it, I was talking and getting in the way. The number was new, but the area code was still for BC.

Evan said, “Don’t answer it.”

“It’s a different number.”

He turned back to the stove. “If it’s not him, they’ll leave a message.” They didn’t. “They” called back three more times — always stopping after the fourth ring. Halfway through setting the table, I was frozen with a fork in my hand, waiting for the phone to ring again.

Evan glanced over his shoulder. “Just turn it off.”

Moments before, I’d been thinking how glad I was Sandy and Billy were gone so I could have Evan all to myself, but now I wished they were here so they could tell me what to do. All my tough talk — and resolve — about ignoring John was slipping away.

I said, “But what if he has another girl?”

Evan spun around with the spatula in his hand. “Turn off the phone, Sara.”

I stared at him as it rang again.

Eggs sizzled in the frying pan behind Evan as he said, “I thought you said you were done.”

“But what if he has someone or he’s at a campsite and—”

“If you don’t talk to him, he can’t manipulate you.”

Ally came around the corner. “What stinks?”

Evan spun back around. “Christ, the eggs.” As he moved the pan to another burner he looked back over his shoulder. “Do whatever you want, Sara. But you know exactly what’s going to happen.”

I turned off the phone and set it on the table.

Evan grabbed my hand. “It’s the only way you’re going to get your life back.” I sat down, pulling a squirming Ally into my lap and burying my face in her hair, feeling sick with dread — and guilt. Whose life had I just destroyed?

After we drove Ally to Meghan’s we came home and Evan did some work around the house. I finally finished the headboard I’d been struggling with, but it felt like climbing uphill with rocks tied to my ankles. Billy had phoned to tell me John called from a pay phone near Lillooet, about three hours south of his last call — and three hours from Vancouver. While I worked I kept wondering if while I was sanding something John was looking for his next victim.

The police have a patrol car cruising by Ally’s school at all her breaks. The teacher thinks I’m involved in a bitter custody battle with her real father — luckily I never told the teacher he’s dead — but I wondered if I should’ve kept Ally home. Evan and I had talked about it but decided we should keep things as normal as possible for her. The trick was keeping me as normal as possible. I’ve run an inch below manic for most of my life, revving into high gear at a moment’s notice, but now? I don’t even know what normal is anymore.

When Evan and I stopped for lunch, I tried to look interested as he told me how he’d reorganized the woodshed, but he noticed I was picking at my sandwich.

He said, “Why don’t you go see Lauren for a bit?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “We haven’t talked much lately because I feel like I’m lying all the time. And I haven’t told anyone you’re home. They’ll wonder why I didn’t mention it.”

“Just tell them I had a cancellation and wanted to spend some time with you so we could get some wedding stuff done.”

“God, the wedding. We still have to order the cake, the flowers, rent your tux, get the wine, make the labels.” I threw my hands into the air. “We still haven’t even sent invitations.”

“It’s going to be fine, Sara.”

“The wedding’s in three and a half months, Evan. How is that fine?”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Hey, Bridezilla, you might want to be a little nicer to the groom.”

I sighed. “Sorry.”

“What’s the biggest thing on your list?”

“I don’t know.… The invitations, I guess.”

He thought for a moment. “You go visit Lauren, and I’ll find a template for a cover e-mail and update the site. When you get back we’ll fine-tune it, then tomorrow we can go through our e-mail addresses and send the link out.”

“But…”

“But what?”

“Once the invites are out there … I don’t know, maybe you’re right. What if things get worse with John and —”

Evan said, “They’re not going to. He’s out of our lives. And you’re going to keep him out, right?” I nodded. “So unless you’re having second thoughts about marrying me?”

I tapped my chin. “Hmm … let me think.”

He grabbed my hair and pulled my face close for a kiss.

“I’m not letting you get away. Not when there’s a cop waiting to take my place.”

I smacked his shoulder. “Billy doesn’t like me that way. And right now he probably hates me for screwing their case up.”

Evan just grunted and said, “Good. Now go see your sister.”

When I got home — feeling a lot better about life after inhaling half a dozen of Lauren’s peanut butter cookies