Chevy Stevens - Always Watching

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?”