Stevens Chevy - Never Knowing

On Monday another package arrived — same delivery driver, same address. When I saw it was from Hansel and Gretel I called Billy right away. He was over in Vancouver with Sandy, meeting with the rest of the task force, and told me not to open it. It was still sitting on my counter when John called later that afternoon.

“Did you get my present?”

“I haven’t had a chance to open it.” The package was larger and heavier than the last one, but I still asked, “Is it jewelry again?”

His voice was excited. “Open it now.”

“Right now?”

“I wish I could see your face.”

That was the last thing I wanted. “Hang on, I’ll open it.”

With John still on the phone, I pulled on a pair of garden gloves from my shop, then took a knife to the seal, feeling guilty about not waiting for Billy.

John said, “Is it open yet?”

“I’m just taking the paper out.” He’d packed whatever it was carefully. I lifted the object out and unwound the bubble wrap.

It was a brand-new jack plane.

“It’s beautiful.” And it was. The handle was hardwood and stained dark chocolate, the steel blades gleamed. My fingers itched to try it out, but I only allowed myself to pick it up, to feel the weight of it, to imagine it gliding over wood, shavings falling to the floor, lifting off years of— Stop. Put it back in the box.

“You really like it? I could get you a different one—”

“It’s perfect. That was thoughtful.” I remembered how Dad would watch Lauren and Melanie on Christmas morning, how he’d smile when they opened their presents, how he’d leave the room to refill his coffee when it was my turn.

We were both silent.

“John, you seem like such a nice guy.…” When you’re not killing people or threatening me. I gathered myself for the next part. “I just don’t understand why you hurt those people.”

No answer. I strained to hear his breathing. Was he mad? I eased forward.

“You don’t have to tell me today. But I’d like it if you were honest with me.”

“I am honest.” His voice was cold.

“I know, of course. I just meant that if I understand you, it will help me understand myself. Sometimes…” I imagined Sandy and Billy listening. Tuned them out. “Sometimes I have terrible thoughts.”

“Like what?”

“I lose my temper a lot. I’m working on it, but it’s hard.” I paused, but he didn’t say anything, so I kept going. “I feel this darkness come over me and I say awful things, or do really stupid stuff. It’s better now that I’m older, but I don’t like that side of myself. When I was younger I even got into drugs and alcohol for a while, just trying to block it all out. And I did some things I really regret, so I started seeing a psychiatrist.” “You still see one?” Would he think it was bad or would it encourage him to get help? As I continued to hesitate he said, “Sara?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you talk about me?”

The tone of his voice told me how to answer. “No, I wouldn’t do that unless you said it was okay.”

“It’s not.”

“No problem.” I tried to keep my voice casual. “So can you tell me anything about your parents? That’s one thing about growing up adopted — you never know your history.” Both sets of my grandparents are gone now, but I still remember Mom’s gruff German father and how her mom barely spoke English, just scurried around the kitchen like she was afraid to stop moving. Dad’s parents were blue-collar, his dad a carpenter and his mom a homemaker. They were nice to me, but too nice. They tried so hard to make me feel like part of the family, they made me feel different. My grandmother always watching me with concerned eyes, the extra hug and kiss at the door.

John said, “What do you want to know?”

“What was your dad like?”

“He was Scottish. When he spoke, you listened.” I pictured a large man with red hair yelling at John in a thick accent. “But I learned how to survive.”

“Survive?” He didn’t elaborate, so I said, “So what did he do for a living?”

“He worked in logging, a faller right up to the day he died. He was having a heart attack and still took down a hundred-and-fifty-foot Douglas fir.” He laughed and said, “He was a mean son of a bitch.” He laughed again and I wondered if it was something he did when he was uncomfortable.

“What about your mother? What’s she like?”

“She was a good woman. Things weren’t easy for her.”

“So they’ve both passed on, then?”

“Yes. What kind of movies do you like?” Thrown by the abrupt change of subject, I took a moment to answer.

“Movies … I like lots of different ones. They have to be fast-paced — I get bored easily.”

“Me too.” He was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “Enjoy the rest of your day, Sara. We’ll talk more soon.”

I phoned Billy immediately, but he wasn’t able to call back for ten minutes, which I spent pacing. He told me John was somewhere around Mackenzie now, which is northeast of Prince George. The area is all provincial parks and mountain ranges, so he’d disappeared again, but Billy said I handled the call perfectly and it seemed like John was really connecting with me. He didn’t give me a hard time about opening the package either, just said he understood John had put me on the spot and that they’d be over soon to pick it up. They think he probably shipped it from Prince George. Makes sense, it’s the largest city in the North, so there are more depots and less chance of him standing out. Then Billy reminded me to call them right away if John sent another one. Later Billy e-mailed me a cool quote: Know the enemy,Know yourself,And victoryIs never in doubt,Not in a hundred battles.

He must’ve been sitting right at his computer, because when I e-mailed him back, asking what the heck it meant, he responded in seconds. Means you did a great job today, kid. Now go to bed!

I laughed and sent him a quick You too! then turned off my computer. As I was heading to bed, the landline rang again. I thought it was Evan calling to say good night, but it was John.

“Hi, John. Everything okay?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice again before I shut down for the night.”

I cringed. But I said, “That’s nice.”

“I really enjoyed our talk today.”

“Me too. I liked it when you told me about your family.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well…” I hadn’t expected him to ask for details. “Other kids in school, my friends growing up, they all knew where they came from. But my past was just a black hole. It made me feel cut off from regular people, like I was different or weird. I guess finally hearing some stories made me feel normal.” “It’s nice getting to know you.” He paused for a moment, then said, “When I was having my dinner, I thought about what you told me earlier.”

“Which part’s that?”

“About losing your temper … I get angry too.”

Here we go. “What kinds of things make you angry?”

“It’s hard to explain. You might not understand.”

“I’d like to try. I want to get to know you better too.” I meant it. Not just because he might reveal something that would help the cops catch him, I also wanted to know just how much we had in common.

He didn’t say anything right away, so I continued.

“The other day when you called, you sounded like you were in pain?”

“I’m okay. Did I tell you we had a ranch when I was kid?”

Frustrated that he’d changed the subject on me again, I took a breath and said, “No, but that must’ve been a great way to grow up. How much land did you have?” I said, hoping he’d mention where he was from.