Secrets from Myself

by Christine Hart

  I look at the locket in my mind, assessing the edges, the pattern etched onto the cover. I open my eyes and recreate the shape on my page. I try to add details, but the charcoal is too messy. I draw the shape again. I draw it once more with the middle piece open. I draw until I have half a dozen egg-shaped lockets on my page. I still can’t capture enough detail.

  I tear the page away and pull my number two pencil from my case. I start another version of the locket. This time I add detail. Even in the dimmed light, I add details I feel I know like the back of my hand. The more I draw the pendant, the more I feel like I’ve run my fingers over its subtle shape and felt the texture of each carved mark. Suddenly the overhead light comes on.

  “That’s all the time we have today. I hope everyone found the project very ‘illuminating’ in terms of how we see light and shadow,” says Reese.

  “Ha ha. I see what you did there,” says the round grandmother I’ve sat next to twice now.

  “My son tells me he loves my ‘dad jokes,’ so I thought I’d share one with you,” says Reese. “Now, everyone, please turn in your best work from this afternoon’s session. And I’ll see you again after the weekend.”

  I leave my classmate shaking her head and I tear away a corner square of my top sketch sheet. I gently slip the pencil drawing of Akasha’s locket into my pencil case. I select a charcoal sketch and hand it in. Mom is waiting for me outside; I run to her car like the end of a normal school day and I feel a small sliver of normality return.

  Patty ordered pizza for us shortly after we got back. I wish we were all enjoying a vacation and not some distorted visit brought about by my fascination with a suspected past life. It might not be “suspected” in my own mind — I know what I know — but it’s obvious that what I know doesn’t mean anything outside my own head.

  After a few slices, I excuse myself for a bath. I was never allowed to have one at Arbutus House. They had a somewhat morbid “No Baths” policy that also banned shaving and sharp objects. Patty’s bathroom is just a normal one, so I can bring my diary along and try to write. I’d like to add something normal to the mess of the last few months. Especially if I’m going to be com-menting on a head scan soon.

  Once I’m lying back in the tub, I’m just not interested in writing. It’s hard to pass on the chance for guaranteed privacy, so I pick up my diary anyway. And before I know it, the involuntary swoops of my ballpoint pen have started again.

  Earlier today, Mr. Calhoun took me back to the shop where Sanjay works. He could have told me and I would have believed him, but instead he chose to show me. At first, I thought we were going on another of our outings. Mr. Calhoun has taken to bringing me for walks and small errands. I expect he believes he is endearing himself to me.

  We returned to Sanjay’s place of work for a special reason. Mr. Hasan was not there. Whether he simply no longer works there or has returned to India, I could not say. For a few short minutes, I thought Mr. Calhoun was relenting in his insistence that I sell my body in his house. I thought there was a chance he had brought me to Sanjay to reunite us. I tried to step off the sidewalk to cross the street and Mr. Calhoun grabbed my arm. And then I saw that Sanjay had a different co-worker. She could be called pretty, if not a bit plain. She was about my age. She wore a light blue sari and had a braid longer than mine. I could hear the tinkle of the gold bells on her scarf. Had it been a wedding present? Probably.

  I knew this woman was Sanjay’s bride from the way they looked at each other. He looked at her the way he used to look at me. How it was possible, I can’t say. I will never look at another man the way I looked at Sanjay. Yet, there he stood, admiring the other girl as though I had never existed. And to him, I have been dead for months. He believes me to be at the bottom of Vancouver Harbor.

  While I watched, they worked moving boxes and pack-ets around the shop, looking up to smile at each other intermittently. Sanjay walked past her, pausing to take her hand and kiss her lightly on the lips. There could be no question. The match he came to Canada for had certainly taken place. I could reveal myself and it would make no difference. Sanjay was far too honorable to abandon a woman he had married. I would only bring him more sadness and regret.

  My grief today knows no bounds. Nothing can happen to me now to make me more miserable than I am at this moment. I have lost my love. I can only now wonder what horrible deed of a past life I am now atoning for in this one.

  Chapter 28

  I finally feel the lazy days of summer vacation now that I’m at Patty’s house. I can get up when I want to. I don’t have a schedule or rigid rules to follow. If it weren’t for Akasha’s sad news about Sanjay’s marriage, I would be in great spirits this morning.

  In Patty’s spare room, I have some privacy, so I decide to write to Akasha. If Jane suggested it, maybe writing to her really is good for me, although I’m sure an ongoing conversation isn’t what Jane had in mind.

  Akasha,

  To say that this has been a strange summer is a wild understatement. I have never been more on edge or more determined. I think this adventure has brought out good qualities in me. That’s bizarre, isn’t it? Which is saying something, coming from me.

  I’m supposed to be finding closure for you, but I haven’t been as successful as I’d hoped. I’ve done everything I can, but I have to move on. It’s time for me to go home and that might mean I can’t uncover more about what happened to you. I’m so sorry. I know you reached out to me to get some kind of justice and I failed you.

  I wish your life had been happier. I wish you’d gotten the life you deserved. I know this will be too little, too late, but if it brings you any comfort, know that I’m never going to stop believing and I’ll never stop trying to prove you were real or that you were murdered. There may not be consequences left for Mr. Calhoun in this life, but I hope wherever you are, you’re with Sanjay. If it works like that. Or are you trapped in my head with me? I guess I may never understand how this works.

  Goodbye, for now.

  While Patty is at work, Mom and I spend the day watching tv and meandering around the neighborhood. There is a corner grocery and a small playground nearby. I feel like I’m getting too old for playgrounds, but until the term “teen” is in my official age, I feel like I can get away with a bag of gummy bears and a leisurely swing session.

  Mom lies back on the grass and watches the few fluffy clouds in the sky. She seems to have relaxed, almost as though she’s been on vacation.

  We’re back in the house watching yet another movie when Patty gets home from work. I stay lazy on the couch while Mom and Patty spend over an hour cover-ing the tiny table in homemade Mexican food. We’re having tacos and enchiladas alongside generous portions of guacamole, bean dip, fresh salsa, and warm tortilla chips. Normally, Mom would insist I help, on principle alone, but Patty’s small kitchen makes this principle hard to enforce.

  I watch the small table fill quickly and it occurs to me this is a table for one, occasionally two people. I wonder, would Patty have been happier with a family of her own? Even Mom and I have each other.

  “I think we’re going to have to eat in the living room tonight. We made too much food!” says Mom.

  “It’s just this table. I’ve toyed around with getting something bigger, but it’s a small house and an even smaller kitchen,” says Patty.

  “I think it’s great. And the food looks great too,” I say with genuine energy.

  “Well then, dig in, ladies!” says Patty.

  Mom and I are both making plates, but Patty hangs back.

  “Before we get too full to think, I have something I need to tell you both,” says Patty. Tingles run from my tailbone to the back of my neck. Instinct tells me this is bad news.

  “Patty, I hear sheepishness in your voice,” says Mom.

  “There’s a reason for that. I don’t want you to get angry, but I took a libert
y I think is best for everyone,” says Patty.

  “God, Patty, what have you done?” says Mom.

  I am no longer dishing food on my plate. Steam passes up from it through my peripheral vision. I won’t take my eyes off Patty.

  “I called the Manns yesterday while you were at the hospital.”

  “What would possess you to do that?” Mom is both angry and shocked. I’m curious.

  “When you told me what Professor Mann said to Katelyn, I couldn’t get over it. Who speaks to a child that way? And with so little provocation! I thought everyone involved deserved a little closure before you go back to the Kootenays.”

  “So, what exactly is happening?” I chime in.

  “The Manns are coming over tomorrow afternoon to clear the air. Bryce’s mother agrees with me that the kids should have a chance to stay friends, regardless of what his father is so worked up over.” Patty’s confidence is less than convincing. Mom’s glare isn’t helping.

  “Is Professor Mann coming with them?” I ask quickly.

  “I really don’t think this is going to help anyone,” says Mom.

  “But will Katelyn be any worse off? There’s no chance she’ll be alone with that man. If anything, she’ll get the apology she richly deserves. Bryce’s mother was mortified at the whole thing. She didn’t really know the extent of what happened until I told her. What kind of communication that marriage has, I can only imagine,” says Patty.

  “It’s none of our business!” says Mom, loudly.

  “I never want to see Professor Mann again for the rest of my life. He scared the hell out me.” I pause, choosing my words. “But I really miss Bryce. He’s still my best friend. We didn’t do anything wrong anyway. I didn’t deserve to get told off, or to have my friend taken away. Maybe I should take my chances with an angry father rather than lose my friend forever.”

  “It’s your call, sweetie. We can cancel whatever arrangements Patty made and nobody will think less of you.”

  “Thanks, Mom, but I want to give it a try. And thanks, Patty. I know you’re doing this because you care.” I take a decisive bite of my enchilada and give them both a goofy full-mouth smile. Mom shakes her head and gives one last hard look to Patty, but we’re all finally eating in peace.

  I’m tired after dinner, so I excuse myself and go to bed early. My second night on this cot is not proving more enjoyable than the first. No wonder Mom didn’t want the spare room. Privacy is less valuable when you’re uncom-fortable. Still, I feel sleep creeping up like a thick fog.

  I awake in a strange room with a towering ceiling and a light murmur of voices around me. My chest is heavy and tight. I try to lift my head to look around, but I am too weak. I catch sight of Mr. Calhoun speaking with a woman in a white dress with a white cap. I must be in a hospital. Have I been beaten? I lift my hand to my face and touch gingerly. Nothing is tender.

  “Her treatment and progress are of no interest to me. She is not in my care, nor is she any relation or concern of mine. She was a guest in my home and at the first sign of consumption, I brought her here,” says Mr. Calhoun. He is not attempting to lower his voice for my benefit.

  “Sir, please, if she has no relations nearby, that is rea-son to continue your interest in her care,” says the nurse. She is speaking quietly, but I can just make out her words.

  “Be clear on this; if you require funds to treat her, you will not receive a penny from me. Throw her back on the street. That’s where I found her and likely where she belongs. I’ll not have her spreading this sickness in my house.”

  “I can see the girl is awake. If you’d like to say good bye, now might be the time.” The nurse is looking at Mr. Calhoun with pleading eyes. He looks at me with disgust, and then back at the nurse with the same expression. He turns and leaves without another word. The nurse approaches me.

  “Hello, dear, how are you feeling?”

  “I feel like a load of bricks fell on my chest. What hap-pened to —” a fit of coughing suddenly hits me and the nurse passes me a cotton handkerchief. I take my hand away to receive the cloth. My palm is covered in blood.

  “You have tuberculosis. It is a condition of the lungs. You’ll need to rest if you’re to make a recovery.”

  “What —” I stop again, feeling the urge to cough. I cover my mouth with the stained cloth.

  “Rest now, dear.”

  I lie back on the bed and close my eyes. A few moments pass and I hear the nurse’s hushed voice again.

  “Yes, doctor?” His first response is inaudible, but then he adds, “No, her case is quite advanced. She may have contracted the disease before leaving India. Or on the steamship you mentioned.” The nurse mutters something about “time” and the doctor speaks again. “Two weeks, maybe three.”

  I’m horrified. This doctor is talking about how much time I have left to live.

  Chapter 29

  My alarm clock tells me it is nine-fifteen in the morning. My windowless room is lit only by ambient daylight from the hallway. The house is quiet. I know Patty will have left over an hour ago, so the clatter and clink sounds in the distance must be Mom.

  I retrieve my hair elastic from my end table nightstand and tie back my messy hair. I want to stay in my room to decompress, but I need the bathroom. And I’m hungry. It will be hard not to tell Mom about last night’s dream, but I’ll have to try.

  Akasha died of natural causes — more specifically, a disease. So what am I doing chasing some kind of justice or closure for her? What could Akasha possibly want from me? A locket? My former self must have been a sentimental drama queen to go to so much trouble over recovering a piece of jewelry. It has to be something else. But what?

  “Katelyn, it’s time to get ready. We need to be back at the hospital by ten-fifteen. They need to prep you for the ten-thirty scan,” says Mom, calling down the hall from the kitchen.

  I’m dressed with my hair in a loose ponytail moments later. Mom shoves a dry bowl of cereal at me and points out a milk carton on the counter. We’re in the car before nine-thirty.

  Re-entering the BC Children’s Hospital feels routine today. We know where we’re going; Mom scouted out the Department of Radiology before.

  We check in and I’m ushered to an examination room where I change into a white gown covered in pink teddy bears. I really am in a children’s hospital. I sneak a quick glance in the mirror while I retie my ponytail. My baby blue eyes look darker for a moment. I blink and my irises are normal again.

  Dr. Werdiger is nowhere in sight, but a nurse is waiting to take me to a dark room with a long shell-like bed with a huge white ring behind it. A small cupped pillow marks where I’ll rest my head. She asks me to lie down and helps me into the right position. Now I’m scared.

  “Try not to move while we’re doing the scan. Lie as still as you can. Don’t worry about the odd finger twitch or your breathing, but if you shift or move your body, the head will move as well and we won’t get a clear picture,” says the nurse.

  “Don’t worry. I’m scared stiff. There’s no danger of me moving.”

  “It’ll be over before you know it.” The nurse touches my arm and smiles before retreating to a desk in the corner.

  I hear a long beep. And then nothing. Then the bed lifts a few inches and slides backward, inserting me into the white ring. I open my eyes for a moment and it feels like I’m inside a huge donut. The bed moves again gently and I try not to flinch, snapping my eyes shut instead. I am moved back again, forward again, and then the lights come on.

  “We’re all done. You can chat with your doctor to get the results,” says the nurse.

  She leads me back to the examination room and tells me to dress. As soon as I’m back in my t-shirt and jeans, a knock on the door startles me. The nurse comes in before I can answer.

  “Dr. Werdiger would like you to wait here for the results.”


  “What about my mom? Where is she?”

  “I’ll send her in.” The nurse is gone as quickly as she barged in.

  Mom replaces her a few minutes later.

  “I thought we weren’t going to get these results until we got home to Nelson,” says Mom.

  “I guess he’s got time for us today,” I say, just as confused.

  As we wait in silence, thoughts start to bubble up through my brain. Maybe Dr. Werdiger wants to talk to us right away because something bad came up on the scan. Something bad and urgent. What could be so important he can’t wait to talk to us?

  “Mom, do you think we’d get in trouble if we just left anyway?”

  “I don’t think we’d get in trouble, but we’d probably have to come back. Doctors don’t usually give test results over the phone.”

  “Maybe he got sidetracked somewhere,” she adds. I can see she’s getting nervous too. We scroll away on our phones for a while. I close the blog I was reading and check the time. It’s past noon. We’ve been waiting for almost an hour.

  A knock at the door finally comes.

  “Sorry for the wait, ladies. Okay, I’ve got good news and bad news,” Dr. Werdiger says casually as he steps into our fear-filled closet of an exam room.

  “What?” Mom clamps her hand over her mouth. I can see from Dr. Werdiger’s demeanor that it’s not that grim, but “bad news” is all Mom heard him say.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Medena, I shouldn’t have put it like that. What I meant to say is that Katelyn’s scan is normal. The bad news is that we don’t have fresh insight as to what might be troubling her. I’m going to recommend continued appointments with your original psychiatrist in Nelson. And if you see any other indications of fugue states or otherwise not lucid waking incidents, please contact a medical professional immediately.”

  “But she’s okay?”

  “He just said that, Mom.” She shoots me a glare but there’s more relief in her eyes than anger.