The officer got up, came back with some Kleenexes. I didn’t try to stop the tears. I gave in to them, allowing my grief. For the little girl who didn’t have anyone to protect her. I’d been taken advantage of in the worst way. Manipulated by fear and guilt, trapped and unable to say, No, this isn’t right, stop now. And there was no one who could save me, to even see what was happening. To care.
Finally I took a breath, blotted my tears, and blew my nose, feeling wrung out, the emotions still thick in my throat as I struggled to accept what he’d done to me. I now understood why I’d blocked out the events. It was common in sexual abuse cases where the victim had been threatened, but I was still having a hard time grasping that it had happened to me. I was also scared what else might have happened—I still couldn’t recall how the abuse stopped, or if it did.
The officer said, “Were there any other occasions? Did he ever take you anywhere else?”
I remembered my mother’s confusion. Don’t you remember the picnic? It came back now. He’d taken us to a lake that had an old fishing cabin. Everyone had fun, but I hated the place. I’d already been there, with Aaron and another girl, whose name I couldn’t recall, but she’d been about my age. He’d encouraged us to take off our clothes and go skinny-dipping in the cool lake water. I hadn’t wanted to, but the other girl had, so I followed. Later, he’d wanted us to play hide-and-seek, naked, while he watched. We’d balked, we were too old, but he said it would be fun. The person counting had to sit on his lap. I could still hear his voice in my mind, One, two, three … and feel his hand under my towel.
I shared the memory with the officer. “I think it was usually at the river, though, and maybe just a handful of times over the first few months.…” I paused, thought back. My mother was right, after Coyote had died that summer, I became deathly afraid of swimming. Aaron offered to teach me, but it had been a ruse so he could spend more time with me down at the river, with lessons every week. I had vague recollections of him starting off kind and friendly, showing me how to swim, encouraging me, but I’d be filled with dread, knowing how it would end.
I told her about the lessons. “Sometimes…” I took a breath, swallowed hard. “He, uh, he would make me touch myself. He liked watching. Then he’d always make me give him oral sex.” My mind filled with the image, his noises and grunts. My crying and my eyes closed, pretending I was somewhere else.
I wiped away some tears now. “That’s all I remember at the moment. There could be more, though. I don’t know if my claustrophobia was because of what he did to me or something else.”
The officer said, “It may still come back, now that you’ve opened up. You did a great job. I know that was very difficult.”
I let my breath out in a sigh, emotionally drained. I said, “Is anything going to happen to him? I’m sure now that there are more victims.” I explained some of my other fears regarding the commune’s tactics and belief systems.
“We’ll bring him in for an interview and take it from there.”
“Without any other evidence, what are the chances of you arresting him?”
“Our job is to gather information. Then we present the facts to the Crown, and they’ll decide if there’s enough evidence to lay charges.”
“But if he denies it, and I don’t have any witnesses…”
She looked down at her pen and paper, assessing the notes she’d made, like she was trying to decide something.
I added, “I understand how these things work.”
She met my eyes, her gaze kind. “Unfortunately, without any physical evidence, or additional statements by other victims or witnesses, the burden of proof won’t be met, and the likelihood of conviction is slim.”
“You mean nonexistent.”
“When we bring him in for an interview, he may reveal new information.”
“Will you tell him my name?”
“He has the right to know who his accuser is, and we can’t properly question him unless he knows what he’s supposed to have done. You’re not a minor, and unless he has directly threatened you…”
“No, not that I recall, but I’ve witnessed his brother being violent. I believe he might have a mental illness. I don’t know where he is now.…”
The policewoman made a note, said, “Can you tell me what happened?”
I explained about Joseph’s attacks on members who broke the rules. “Aaron had a temper as well, but he was better at hiding it. I don’t think many people picked up on it. There was also a teenage girl named Willow who left the commune.” I hesitated. Should I voice my fear that she might have met an untimely end? I didn’t want to sound like a lunatic. “Is it possible to find out if she was reported missing? I think she was from Alberta.” I hadn’t even remembered that until it came out of my mouth. I told her everything else I knew about Willow, adding that I thought it was odd how abruptly she’d left.
When I was finished, she said, “Back then, a lot of teenagers were transient. They’d stay with a group for a while, then move on to the next.”
“I understand. I’d just feel a lot better if we knew where she’d ended up.” I flashed again to the image of Aaron watching her when she fought with Robbie. Then a new memory clawed its way out of the dark. When Aaron had joined all of us at the river after our walk, he’d been sweaty and dirty. Was it from working in the barn, or a far worse possibility? What had he been doing?
She said, “We’ll look into it. But it might take a while to find the records because of the length of time that’s passed. Hopefully she’s alive and well and living in California.”
I hoped so too.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When I was done at the station, I drove out to our old home, around the west arm of the lake. We had a couple of acres that backed onto the old railway tracks. After our mother died, Dad lived there on his own for years. Robbie had checked on him every week until he’d found him dead one day, still sitting in his chair. Dad had some stocks and bonds, which went to me, and to my schooling, while Robbie took the place. I’d only been there a couple of times over the last few years, when Robbie and I would have awkward visits, trying to find things to talk about.
I hadn’t seen Robbie for at least a year now, only speaking to him briefly at Christmas, which he spent with friends—he’d been doing so for years. I always sent him a care package of meats and cheeses. When Lisa still lived at home, Robbie joined my family at Christmas and Thanksgiving. He’d wolf back his food, then eye up the door—but he loved Lisa. When she was little, she could only say “Unka Wobbie” as she followed him everywhere. He’d take her for rides on his mini excavator, their faces serious, neither of them saying a word.
Robbie had worked for a logging company most of his twenties, building roads, then he bought his own equipment. He now owned a backhoe and excavator business, and was doing fairly well, or as well as he wanted. He’d never been motivated by money. After Paul died, one fall day I’d found myself driving up to Shawnigan, just wanting to get away from my thoughts for a while. Robbie had been building a rock wall at the ranch—he’s torn down the old barn, and it’s now a two-bay shop. I stood in the cold, misty rain watching him, thinking how confident he looked running that machine, the bucket grabbing at boulders, then gently setting them down, his hands on the levers, sure and fast.
He’d said, “Hop on,” then showed me how to operate the foot pedals and levers. When I’d gotten the hang of it, he jumped off and watched me: awkward, jerking the levers, banging the bucket into the ground. He just laughed and made a motion with his hand, so I’d know how to correct myself. Then he’d shouted over the noise of the machine that he had to take care of something in the shop. He left me alone there for a while, digging a pile of dirt, lifting and pulling, feeling more in control of that machine in that moment than I did of anything in my life, while tears dripped down my face. I’d glanced over my shoulder and caught him watching from a distance. When I’d finally finished, my hands cold and cramping, and had destro
yed the bank, he’d shown me how to warm my hands over the exhaust pipe. We hadn’t talked about Paul or anything that was happening in our lives, but I drove home that day feeling more at peace than I had in months.
* * *
This time I found Robbie working in his shop. When I didn’t see him at the house, noticing that he’d fixed it up—new cedar-shake siding and aluminum roof, a large deck circling one side—I walked behind to his shop. A big German shepherd woofed deeply and trotted over to me. I held out a hand, let him sniff it. “Hi, buddy.” He bumped his cold nose into my palm.
Robbie came out from a door at the side of the shop, wearing red-strapped jeans, a two-tone green plaid Mack Jacket, which all loggers on the island wore, and a black baseball cap. “Hey, what are you doing out here?” He didn’t sound annoyed at my interruption, just confused.
“I had to take care of some business. Who’s this?” I pointed to the dog.
“Brew.” He took his hat off, rubbed sweaty hair from his brow. He was mostly silver now, like me, but his hair had never thinned like a lot of men his age. He was also lean and broad-shouldered, his forearms thick with muscles, and though his face was lined, he was still an attractive man. I used to hope that he’d meet a nice woman and settle down one day, but somehow my brother had become a confirmed bachelor.
“When did you get him?”
“Last year. Someone dumped him at one of the job sites.”
I felt a wave of sadness that I was so out of touch with my brother that I didn’t even know he had a dog now.
“I was hoping to talk to you about something. Got a minute?”
“Yeah. Come into the shop. It’s warmer.”
While I eyed a calendar with some half-naked pinup girls, Robbie grabbed a beer out of an old fridge, then held it up with a questioning look.
I said, “No, thanks.”
He spun the cap off, took a swallow, and poured a little bit into a bowl beside the workbench, which Brew lapped up instantly.
I laughed. “I see he comes by his name honestly.”
Robbie said, “He gets cranky if you don’t share.” He took a pack of gum out of his pocket and popped a piece into his mouth. Then I caught sight of the distinctive green label on the package and realized it was Nicorette.
“Did you quit smoking?”
I was shocked. After our father passed, I was so scared to lose my last family member, and any chance of us ever repairing our relationship, I used to nag him about it constantly, reciting various medical facts, which usually resulted in his face going cold and flat. This time he just looked defensive when he said, “It was bothering Brew’s eyes.”
I shoved a smile of amusement down into the back of my throat as Brew glanced up at me as though to say, That’s right, lady. I’m running the show now.
Robbie said, “So what did you want to talk about?”
I was not looking forward to this. “Well, remember years ago when I told you I was undergoing hypnosis so I could recall what happened at the commune?”
“What about it?” His voice was guarded, and his neck muscles taut as he took a long pull off his beer.
“I had a patient come into the ward recently. She’d been staying at a commune in Jordan River, near Sooke—it’s led by Aaron Quinn. It’s now called The River of Life Spiritual Center. It’s a much bigger organization than when they were here.”
“Mom said they moved down there.” He didn’t look surprised by my information, and I wondered if he’d kept track of them over the years.
“Right, she told me that too, but she wouldn’t say anything else.”
“She didn’t like it when you pushed her to talk about that crap.”
They had discussed me? It still stung all these years later, the feeling that he knew our mother better than I did, that they’d shared a closeness that we hadn’t.
“When did she say that?”
He shrugged. “Whenever you came up, you were always asking her stuff, or telling her things she should do with Dad, or the property.”
I tried to explain my thoughts. “I was just asking about my childhood, so I could better understand some things, and I gave her advice, but only to help.” I remembered how hard it had been to get my mom to talk about anything serious. How she would tell me it was better to leave the past in the past—her favorite line. But I don’t think my mother had found it so easy herself.
He gave a quick, impatient shake of his head. “It’s not the questions. It’s how you ask them—you pressured her. It got her all upset.”
Guilt spread through me when I thought about the conversation I’d had with her about the commune—two weeks before she smashed her car into the tree. Had I upset her that much? Had she told Robbie? Was that what he meant?
“I didn’t pressure her.” I caught the defensive tone in my voice, was surprised at how familiar this felt: my trying to prove myself to my brother.
He took another pull off his beer. “You do, even when you think you don’t. We’re not dumb-asses. We know what you’re getting at.” He leaned against the bench behind him.
Now I was frustrated—and hurt. I lived in a world where sharing your feelings was encouraged, but I came from a world where it was considered a weakness, an annoyance. My family was all about shutting things out.
But I hadn’t come here to argue with my brother. In fact, I hadn’t realized until that moment that I’d come for solace, then wondered why I still thought he’d be able to provide it when we hadn’t been close for decades. I mentally stepped back and refocused on my goal.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I know I come on a little strong sometimes. I just wanted to tell you something about Aaron.…” I braced for the next part, everything in my body recoiling in embarrassment about sharing this with my brother. It felt wrong, but it all felt wrong—what Aaron did, and having to talk about it. I used that anger to push the words out. “He sexually abused me.”
Robbie was just staring at me, his face stunned, the beer halfway to his lips. My own mouth was so dry I was tempted to rip it out of his hand. Then a red wave started to crawl up Robbie’s neck as he came off the bench he’d been leaning on, his body squared, like he was getting ready for a fight.
“That fucker. When did he do that?”
I’d expected him to deny that Aaron would’ve touched me, and had been mentally preparing an angry response. But he’d surprised me. I felt a surge of relief; now I realized that part of me had also wondered if he’d known. If that’s why he’d stopped looking me in the eye.
“Down at the river—when he said he was teaching me to swim, and there were some other times. I only remembered recently. That’s why I’m here. I made a police report.”
He said, “You sure that was a good idea? It’s been a long time, and things could get ugly. Might screw up your life.” His face was worried.
“I had to do it.” I said it firmly, daring him to tell me that I’d been wrong. “I’m also trying to find out if there might be more victims. Do you remember him being inappropriate with any other girls?” I thought of the girl in the cabin with me, where she was now, and if Aaron had done anything else to her.
“No.” He leaned back against the workbench, but he didn’t look relaxed, his limbs tense. “He was always screwing someone, but no kids that I know of.” His words were tight, clipped.
“Did you ever see him, you know, acting strange with me?”
Robbie looked down at the beer in his hand, rolled it around. “You spent a lot of time with him, but I thought you liked him.…”
My face flushed hot, knowing if anyone who lived at the commune back then testified that was probably what they would think too—that I’d liked him.
“I did when we first met him, but then he did things that he shouldn’t have. Do you know if anyone from the commune still lives in Shawnigan?”
He shook his head, took a gulp of beer. “Don’t think so. Most of them are from the city—they run away up here for the weekend.”
That reminded me of another runaway. “I also told the police about Willow. They’re going to check if she was ever reported missing.”
“Why would they think she was missing?” He looked surprised.
“I don’t know that they do. I just think it’s odd how she left so suddenly, so they said they’d see if they could find her.” I didn’t know how much of my suspicions I should share, still wondering if I was jumping to conclusions, and crazy ones at that, so I just said, “I’d like to talk to her, see what she remembers.”
Now there was an edge of concern to his voice. “I don’t think you should go talking to a bunch of people about Aaron. They were into some weird shit, and they’re probably still into weird shit. If I was you, I’d just stay out if it.” Brew whined. Robbie ruffled his head, trying to soothe. But his face was stressed.
Sounding calmer than I felt, I said, “The reason predators like him get away with things like this is because most people are too scared to say anything, they’re afraid of the public humiliation and being doubted. I feel the same way, but I also believe he’s destructive—and there are probably more victims.”
“If they’re this big organization now like you say, people aren’t going to like you going around making accusations.”
I was starting to get angry. He was my brother. I wanted his support, not warnings. “I appreciate your concern, but I understand the possible repercussions, and I’ve made my choice. I just wanted to know if you remembered anything.”
“No, and I’m not talking to the cops about anything—and don’t tell them fuck-all about me.”
That threw me. I’d never even suggested it as a possibility.
“I’m late,” he said. “I’ve gotta get to a job site.” At the words, Brew’s ears twitched, and he loped to my brother’s black Silverado, JAEGER EXCAVATING painted on the side in red. Brew circled at the passenger door, barking.
Robbie walked toward his truck. At the door, he turned and looked at me, his face serious. “Those guys are screwed up—you should just stay away from them. It’s shitty what he did, but you gotta move on with your life.”
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