Before I Wake (13 page)

“Simon, you can talk to me.”

“There's nothing—”

Then he looked at me and sighed.

“Yeah, I should have talked to you. I had a big fight with Karen the last time I visited Sherry. It got pretty loud…”

“And that's why you haven't been going over there?” I didn't dare allow myself to feel relief. It was Karen; it wasn't me.

He nodded, but didn't meet my eyes.

“Well, why didn't you say something?”

He was silent. “It was about me, wasn't it? That's why you didn't say anything.”

“I told her about our trip next weekend.”

I waited silently, expecting some revelation. When it didn't come, I asked, “And?”

“And she just lost it. Screaming. Cursing me out. It got pretty ugly.” He paused, as if to shape the words before speaking them. “Right over Sherry's bed.” He shook his head, as if he was having difficulty understanding the situation.

I was stunned. “That's it?”

“What?” He seemed surprised by my response.

“You kept me in the dark, you made me worry, because you had a fight with your wife?”

“Well…”

“Because she's pissed off that we're going away for the weekend?”

He shrugged.

“Damn it, Simon. I thought you were mad at me for something. Of course Karen's pissed off we're going away for the weekend.” I shook my head. “Try to put yourself in her shoes.”

“Oh, Mary,” he finally said. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…”

“I thought I had done something wrong.”

His chin dropped. “That's exactly what I didn't want you to think. That's why I didn't say anything. It's just…This is all so hard.”

“Of course it is. Did you think it would be easy? What you have to remember, though, is to communicate, okay?”

I made eye contact with him, and waited until he nodded.

“Good. Now go shower.” I messed his hair. “We're going for brunch.”

He leaned in and kissed me gently, then he lingered for a moment, his face almost touching my own. I could feel a crackling of energy in the air between us. “You're going to be a very wise woman when you grow up,” he said, his eyes dancing.

I smiled. “Maybe. But by the time that happens I'll be too busy caring for you in your old age to enjoy it.”

 

On the nights that he hunted, the stranger did not wear the collar. There were things best done in the shadows, and times when the objects of the light were best left behind.

Victoria, he discovered, was a small town masquerading as a city. Within weeks, he was familiar with everyone he would need. He recognized them going to work and coming home, he followed their routines and sought out the secret habits they were convinced no one knew save themselves.

Secrets. He always knew where to find the people he needed, the people whose vulnerabilities he could turn into his strengths, his power. The power of secrets and lies.

Everyone had secrets, which, if confronted, they tried to explain away as mistakes, momentary lapses of judgment.

If confronted.

But secrets, the stranger knew, had their own power. Those things people hide could be used to reveal the truth, in time. Untold stories could bring other stories to the light.

The weakness of others would become his strength.

KAREN

“You probably just needed to vent.” Jamie said when we met for lunch.

“Maybe.”

“I mean, look at the facts: your daughter's in this horrible accident, she comes home from the hospital requiring
extraordinary
amounts of care, and within a couple of weeks Simon's up and gone, moving in with his secretary or whatever she is, who it turns out he's been sleeping with for months. I think you're entitled to vent.”

“But it was so stupid.”

I had wanted to call him ever since. I don't know how many times I had dialed his cell phone, hanging up before it could connect.

“I should apologize.”

“Why? For calling him on his bullshit?”

“He was just trying to be polite.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake, Karen. How much more of this are you going to take?”

She handed me a business card. I vaguely recognized the name. “She's one of the best,” Jamie volunteered, taking a bite of her linguine. “I talked to her for a feature I was doing on the state of marriage in the 1990s. Very pro-woman. Very smart. I think you'll like her.”

I stared at the name and realized that I had been introduced to her at a party with Simon at some point. For the opera, maybe? A fundraiser? One of the firm functions, whatever it was. She hadn't seemed very cutthroat, drinking a champagne cocktail.

“You're starting to sound like my mother. I'm not looking for a lawyer.”

“Well, you probably should be. I mean, if Simon's behavior should prove anything to you, it's that he's moved on. You're not his priority anymore. Don't think he hasn't been talking to someone already.”

I shook my head. “It's not like that. He comes to visit Sherry every day—”

“Which is exactly the sort of thing a lawyer would tell him to do. It looks good in court if he seems to be a devoted father.”

“God, you're hard, Jamie.”

“Someone has to be realistic.”

I tucked the card into my purse, trying to forget that it was there, trying to ignore the sound of Jamie's voice in my head.

This wasn't supposed to happen to us. Not after all the lean years—the studying, the macaroni and cheese, the thin soup,
the shitty basement suites and scrounging change for the bus. Everything was supposed to be smooth sailing now. We had our house, our daughter…

What had happened to my life?

What could I do? Simon wasn't coming back—I knew that. So what did that leave me? Fighting? Bitching? I couldn't just accept things the way they were: Stop thinking of Simon as my husband and reimagine him just as Sherry's father? Accept that he was gone, that his life was with someone else now? I couldn't. But what other choice did I have? How much could I give, could I fight, for something that wasn't going to change?

 

“Hello?”

“Is this Sarah?”

“Yes…”

“What did that little girl do to me?”

“Pam?”

“I was just at the doctor. He wants me to come in for more tests. He says he's never seen such a remission.”

“Pam, slow down.”

“He says it's a miracle. He actually used the word. He says that after my appointment on Friday he wasn't expecting to see me again. He thought that I would probably die over the weekend.”

“Pam, what—”

“He thought I was going to die. And now the cancer's gone. All gone.”

“Pam, what did you tell the doctor?”

“About what?”

“About Sherry. The little girl. What did you tell him about Sherry Barrett?”

“Nothing.”

“Thank God. Pam—”

“But we have to tell someone.”

“No. I promised Ruth—”

“Sarah, listen to what you're saying. This little girl cures cancer. Do you know what that means?”

“We can't—”

“People are suffering. How can we keep this a secret?”

“We have to.”

“Why?”

“I promised Ruth.”

“People are dying, Sarah.”

“Let me talk to Ruth.”

“We have to tell people.”

“Let me talk to Ruth first. She took a big risk letting us…helping us. I can't go back on my word. Just let me talk to her. Please?”

“Okay.”

“Promise me you won't say anything before I call you back?”

“All right. I promise. But get back to me soon.”

“I will.”

“No, I mean it. People are dying every minute.”

“City desk. Todd Herbert.”

“Is this the
Sentinel
?”

“Yes ma'am. City desk.”

“I need to speak to someone.”

“Is this a delivery question? I can transfer you to circulation. Hold on.”

“No. I have a story you might be interested in.”

“What sort of story, ma'am?”

“It's about that little girl. The one who was in the accident.”

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Jamie—

Bit of a situation here. Woman calls me up, says she's got a story for me about a little girl who was in an accident. I figure it has to be Karen's daughter, so I let her talk. Long story short, she claims Sherry has miraculous powers, that she cured her of terminal cancer. Normally, I'd just blow this off, but the lady seems to have some pretty solid information, so I figured I'd run it past you, get your read on it before we take it any further. Have you heard anything like that? Could be guesswork, but she gave what sounded to me like a pretty solid description of Casa Barrett—right down to white carnations on the table in the room the daughter's in.

Any thoughts,

th

 

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Sorry, Todd—talked to Karen. I don't think there's any news here. Good human interest, maybe a short feature: followup the accident, etc. As far as miracles go, Simon and Karen wish. Apparently the woman you spoke to is the nurse's sister. They're pretty close and she's been over to visit at the house a few times. Yes, there were carnations in the room with Sherry. Don't get excited, though: according to the nurse, her sister's never been sick a day in her life. Approaching senility, apparently. I've met her myself and she's no sicker than I am. Thanks for the reminder though. I think maybe I'll
do a followup for the Life pages next Thursday. What do you think?

Jamie

Oh—Karen says hello.

 

“Uh, hello. This is a message for Simon. Simon, it's Karen. Listen, I just wanted to let you know that Jamie's working on an article for the paper, for next Thursday. Sort of a, you know, a human interest, ‘where are they now' kinda thing…I know you'll be out of town, but I thought you might want to get a copy.”

SIMON

I woke to the sound of thunder, a throaty rumbling that rattled the bed. No, not thunder. The roar of waves, mere feet from my head. For a moment, I was completely disconcerted. Nothing about the room was familiar—the pale walls, the honey-colored trim, the chair, the beige carpet stretching to meet the sliding door onto the balcony. Then it came to me: Tofino. The Wickaninnish.

We had driven up the night before, stopping in Nanaimo for dinner before addressing three hours of winding wilderness roads, the headlights illuminating only trees and undergrowth until we emerged on the west coast of the island. We had checked into the hotel long after dark, the clerk at the front desk the only person in the firelit lobby.

Arriving at the room, we had fallen into bed, absolutely exhausted. The promised view was nothing more than a reflection of the inside of the room on the clean, slick glass.

I rose from the bed, careful not to disturb Mary, who was still asleep, facing away from me, away from the view, huddled under the white quilt. The room wasn't at all cold, but
with a single flick I ignited the gas fireplace, which purred to life.

“Oh my God.”

“What?” Mary asked groggily, rustling as she turned to face me. “Oh, wow.”

The hotel was built on a rocky outcropping along the water's edge, the waves crashing against the slate-black, barnacle-encrusted rocks right before our eyes. The balcony seemed to dangle precariously over the waves. The sky was cloud white, and there was nothing in the distance save a thin line of silver where the waves met the sky. Out there somewhere: Japan.

Every crashing wave spewed foam skyward, toward where we stood, always falling just short of the balcony.

Writers and painters have been attracted to this coast for almost a hundred years, and now I understood why. The sensation as I looked out at the ocean reminded me of church, the tiny Anglican chapel my mother dragged us to when I was a boy, and the breathtaking cathedrals in Europe that Karen and I had visited during our backpacking trip in university. I felt awe, wonder and fear in the face of the sublime, and a limitlessness akin to weightlessness, as if some sort of internal gravity had been lifted away. Even behind the glass, I felt tiny, nearly overwhelmed by the roar and the spray.

I could hear Mary's footsteps on the carpet as she came up behind me, sliding her arms around my waist, the softness of her bare breasts and warm belly against my back. “This is amazing,” she said, looking out around me at the view.

“Yeah.” I entwined my hands with hers.

She kissed me just inside my shoulder blade, resting her face there for a moment. “I'm happy we're here,” she said, her voice muffled.

“I am too.”

After a moment, she asked, “Do you want to go for a walk on the beach?”

“Actually, I'd like to get some breakfast.” As if prompted, my stomach growled.

“Always thinking with your stomach,” she said slyly. “I'll call room service.”

“No, let's go out, find a little café.”

“You do like going out for breakfast, don't you?”

“Best meal of the day.”

“Do I have time for a quick shower?”

“No rush at all.”

“Good. I'll see you in a sec.”

She was just closing the bathroom door when I decided I needed a shower myself.

“Jamie? Are you there? If you're there, pick up. Shit. It's Karen. Have you seen the paper? What the hell is this? Jesus Christ, the phone's ringing off the hook, I don't know what to say. What the hell happened? Where are you? Listen, give me a call. No, never mind, you won't be able to get through—just get over here.”

 

SIMON

It was cool outside; not cold, but the moisture in the air and the wind chilled us right through as we hurried to the car. The air was heavy with the smell of the ocean. We drove the few minutes into Tofino along the winding coast road, and parked the car in front of a little restaurant called the Cranberry Café, weathered wood with white curtains in the front windows.