Chevy Stevens - Always Watching

“And then something could’ve tipped her back the other way.” He held my gaze. “You did your best.”

I stared down at my coffee, fiddled with the cup, avoiding the photo, and Heather’s blue eyes, which now seemed accusing and angry, her mouth saying all the things I was thinking. You should’ve saved me. You missed the signs.

Kevin leaned over the table. “Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

I searched his expression for any insincerity, found none.

He repeated, “You’re not responsible for her death.”

I gave him a smile. “Thanks. I really appreciate the support. This has hit me even harder than I realized at first.”

“We should—” He stopped as his pager went off and glanced down, made a disappointed face. “Duty calls.” He looked directly at me. “If you want to talk again, let me know.”

“I will.”

After he’d left, I sat there for a minute, looking at my reflection in the window, wondering what Kevin had been about to say. I tucked Heather’s wedding photo into my pocket, then picked up our cups, Kevin’s still warm from his hand.

Heather’s obituary was in the paper the next day, along with an announcement for her funeral, to be followed by a burial at the memorial gardens. The same place Paul was buried. A heavy pressure settled on my chest as I remembered the sound of each shovelful of dirt falling on his casket while I stood numb by his grave. Then I thought about Daniel and how hard it was going to be for him. I wanted to go to Heather’s funeral to pay my respects but wasn’t sure it was a good idea even though it’s appropriate for a doctor to attend a patient’s service. I didn’t want to add to Daniel’s distress. In the end, I decided to visit Paul’s grave the same day—I hadn’t been for a while—and if I could, watch Heather’s burial from a distance.

The afternoon of the funeral was sunny but cold enough to make the skin on my cheeks tighten and my hands ache. I wore my black trench coat, a gray-and-cream scarf Paul loved, and big sunglasses. I set some tiger lilies on Paul’s headstone and saw that someone had planted a small flowering shrub at the base of the stone. I knelt and spotted a tiny plastic dog nestled in the roots—white, like our beloved husky, Chinook, who’d passed away a year before Paul. My eyes welled up. Lisa must have left it for her father.

Then, in the distance, I saw a small procession moving toward Heather’s grave, which wasn’t far from Paul’s. There weren’t a lot of people, but I wasn’t surprised. Heather had mentioned that her parents didn’t have much family, and Daniel had told me she’d pushed her friends away.

When the ceremony was over, people said a few words to Daniel before drifting off. Daniel stood by the grave for a while, his head bowed, then turned and walked down the path toward the parking lot. I made my way down to Heather’s plot with my bouquet. I placed the white roses on her grave, remembering her sweet smile and sad blue eyes when she’d look sideways at me through the veil of her hair.

I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you.

Behind me, a man’s voice said, “What are you doing here?”

I spun around. It was Daniel.

“I just wanted to pay my respects. Sorry if I’ve intruded.” I brushed away tears and turned to go.

“Wait,” Daniel said.

I turned back, my body tense.

His eyes met mine, and this time there was no anger in them, just a tired sadness.

“I owe you an apology.”

My shoulders relaxed, and I loosened the grip on my shoulder bag. “You don’t owe me—”

“No, I do. The things I said to you in the parking lot.” He shook his head. “That wasn’t fair. It’s just seeing all her stuff in that box, our wedding photo…” He stared down at the flowers on the grave, swallowed a few times. “She tried to kill herself when she was living with me—and even before that. I’m not going to sue the hospital. It’s my fault anyway. I should’ve brought her back to the center sooner.”

“I don’t know if that would have helped, Daniel. They seemed to upset her.”

“She was doing great there—it’s when we left that she fell apart.”

“That may be so, but it seemed like Heather felt they were harassing her to come back. And they didn’t appear to respect her boundaries or wishes.”

“They weren’t harassing us—they just wanted to make sure we were okay.”

“Do you think it was just that? Or were they hoping you’d come back for another reason? Heather mentioned donating money.”

“But we wanted to donate. Is that why you came here today?” His voice sounded tight, defensive.

“No, it’s not. I apologize if I’ve upset you. I just wanted to pay my respects. Heather was a special woman. I’m sorry I couldn’t help her.”

Daniel took a breath and let it out in a sigh.

“You tried. You were the only doctor at the hospital who helped her at all. She liked you a lot.”

The only one …

An image of dark water, the smell of sand and earth, something familiar about the words. I focused in, grabbed at it. I was at the river with Aaron, cold rocks digging into my knees. You’re the only one, he whispered.

I was looking at Daniel, but my mind was elsewhere.

“You have to help me, or I won’t be able to heal her.” Aaron’s naked, and I’m kneeling before him. He takes my hand and puts it on his penis, then grabs the back of my head, pushing my face toward him. I say, “I don’t know how….”

“Dr. Lavoie? Are you okay?”

Daniel was staring at me. He looked worried.

I tried to think of something to say, but my head was spinning. It all made horrific sense now. Were there other victims? What about the women he took for private meditations, those long walks with other girls in the commune? He’d said something about being able to “heal her.” Who was he talking about?

Daniel. Focus on Daniel.

“Sorry, I was just thinking how much I liked Heather too.”

We held gazes for a moment. Our grief binding us.

Then he bowed his head again, covering his face with his hands while his body shook with the effort of holding in his sorrow.

I stood beside him, my hand on his shoulder.

I don’t know how I made it home. I only remember getting undressed and climbing in the shower. The water beat on my head as I stared down at my body, wondering at the secrets it still held. What else did Aaron do to me ? I stayed in the shower, scrubbing my skin over and over, until the water turned cold.

Sitting on my couch later, I tried to calm down and consider the facts. If Aaron had abused me, then it would explain why I’d been so uncomfortable around him, and it also probably explained my claustrophobia. But why did the memory finally surface now ? Was it real? It had felt real, but now, without any other supporting evidence, a time line, a sense of when it started or ended, and the memory already fading, I wasn’t so sure. It was possible that being immersed in memories of the commune for the last three weeks, then dealing with the strong emotions that Heather’s death had triggered, distorted my true memories. Like a dream that had no meaning and was simply a representation of other emotions. Could it be that my suspicion of Aaron and what he was doing at the center had manifested in this way? I viewed his actions as a betrayal of trust, even as a child, and so my psyche was portraying it as an even more intimate violation?

Some therapists, while using Recovered Memory Therapy, accidentally planted memories in their patients’ minds. One of the reasons it was eventually discredited. Is that what I had actually recovered? A long-buried manipulation?