Page 24 of What You Never Knew

“Have you ever looked for your birth parents?” I ask, thinking he might actually have more than just his mom in the world.

He’s quick to shake his head. “No. I don’t think my mom would be able to deal with that. According to my neighbor Judy, who’s my mom’s best friend, my mom had a really hard time with the fact that she couldn’t have a child of her own. Adopting me was a huge deal for her, and she’s super possessive, to this day. Doesn’t even like me to mention that I’m adopted.”

“Makes sense,” I say, but deep down I’m thinking that his relationship with his mother sounds a tad suffocating.

I walk him down to the dock to say good-bye and thank him for bringing dinner. He says he’ll be away for a couple of days—he has to pick up a boat for one of his customers—but when he gets back, he wants to see me again.

“Too bad we can’t go for a nice dinner at Windset,” I say, nodding in the direction of the closed-down resort. “Whatever happened, anyway?”

“Poor management, mostly, and some scandals with senior staff members, or something like that.”

“It’s really too bad. As a kid I used to watch my mother get herself all done up for her evenings over there. I’d always thought I’d do the same when I grew up.” I sigh deeply, feeling sorry for myself. “Obviously, that was never meant to happen.”

“I may be able to arrange that night out for you.” There’s a hint of mischief to his voice.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, be ready and waiting on this dock at seven o’clock Wednesday, and you’ll find out.”

“I don’t like surprises,” I say flatly.

“Well, you should really get over that. Surprises are fun, and so am I.” He gives me a quick peck on the cheek and then steps into his boat. “See you Wednesday.” He starts the engine and reverses away from the dock without taking his eyes off me.

I stand there watching until the lights of his boat disappear into the darkness. He’s left me with that new-relationship sensation; life suddenly feels shiny and hopeful. I certainly wasn’t expecting this to happen when I came to Avril Island. Most of me wants to fall right into it, drown myself with the distraction of it all, but I can hear May’s voice in my head: it’s not the right time; you barely know him and there’s too much history; don’t use him as a way to escape your problems and pain.

They’re all things she would say if she were here right now, and I hear them as if she were. I look up into the night sky—a dome of blue black, dusted with Milky Way and heavy with glowing white stars.

A loon calls out in the distance—beautiful but sad at the same time. The lonely cry reverberates from one creature to another, like a radio signal of aloneness. I can feel the heavy weight of my own loneliness start to settle over me, so I turn and leave the dock, letting my mind wander over each bit of the evening I just had with Ezra.

The cottage glows warm from the lights we left on, and the music finds its way outside, beckoning me back as I make my way up the path. When I was a child, I’d come outside to stand on the path and look up at the bright cottage. The shadowy form of my mother would pass by several windows as she moved from room to room. My father’s shadow was a stationary silhouette as he sat in the living room, reading a book. My sister’s would often appear in an upstairs window, searching for me out in the night.

Back then I looked up at the cottage with a gratitude so deep I would not have been able to verbalize it. It was a refuge I saw before me, my favorite place in the world. A place where my mother hummed through her days in happiness. Where my father sat still and actually found a way to relax. Where my sister and I were free to roam and fill our days with sun, lake, and forest. Little did I know that secrets were being collected by those shadowy figures, secrets that would rip our family apart, extinguish those glowing lights, and keep me away from this island for almost thirty years.

MAY

June made it to her bed tonight, which is a good sign. To be honest, I’m surprised Ezra isn’t in there with her. It takes a strong man to refuse June.

I arrived when she was in the kitchen doing the dishes. I didn’t have to see Ezra to know he was there. I could feel the wound-up sense of attraction in June, the calm, contented focus she always gets when a man is around. It’s her brand of pheromones, and I know it well.

In the living room, Ezra was looking at some photos. I saw from the envelope that they were mine, the ones I’d kept hidden in the pocket of my suitcase. June must have taken it out from under the bed and gone through it. Can I be dead and still view this as a violation of my privacy? Does my life become everyone else’s property now that I’m gone?

Even dead, I was mad at June. It’s one thing to go through my things; it’s another to put it all out on display like some coffee-table book. It was an age-old battle with June—me wanting to keep some part of myself to myself, her taking personal offense when she wasn’t invited into everything in my life.

I can only imagine what she thought when she found those photos, the hurt and confusion she’s probably carrying around with her. For me, as I watched her, there was relief in the fact that I wouldn’t actually have to deal with it or answer her questions, but also desperate guilt. I would never get a chance to explain myself and make her feel better.

Although, seeing her with Ezra, it didn’t look like much was bothering her. Even when he asked her about her book, she took it in stride. That used to be a taboo subject. After the girls arrived on the scene, June just stopped writing. It was as though she couldn’t be both, mother and writer, and since she had no choice about the mother part, she had to let the writer part go.

I thought she’d given up too easily, but I would never have said that to her. I actually appreciated Ezra’s fury at June’s idea of being a failure. I could never have said it to her, so I’m glad he did.

Watching them dance earlier brought back a memory of my mother and West dancing to that very same song—“Blackbird” by the Beatles. I was around twelve. It was in the middle of the summer, when the heat held on through the day and night, refusing to budge even though the sun had disappeared. I couldn’t sleep and went looking for my mother to fix it for me. A mistake I’d never make again.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, I heard music playing softly and the murmur of voices. I stayed within the cover of the staircase and peeked around so I could see the living room. The song “Blackbird” was playing, and my mother was in West’s arms. They swayed back and forth and spoke in low voices, my mother looking up at him. While I was watching, West said something, and she threw her head back and laughed deeply, all of her white teeth on display. She was wearing a strapless sundress and he wore a tank top. In my child’s mind they might just as well have been naked with all that skin almost touching, shiny with sweat from the heat.

That night the seed of understanding about my mother and West was planted deep in my gut. It would take time to bloom. I’d need more evidence than two adults dancing together. I’d been to a wedding before and knew that sometimes adults danced without it meaning anything other than mutual enjoyment of the song. I denied to myself, as children do, that my mother had been doing anything wrong.

Seeing June and Ezra dancing in the same place to the same song made their coming together suddenly feel ominous. Was it just the incestuous nature of it—like mother, like daughter; like father, like son?

Oddly, I felt relief when Ezra pulled away, stopping the kiss, and relaxed even more when he told her he should go. I knew June wouldn’t let that happen easily. I could feel her surprise when he didn’t give in and actually did leave. I could feel her loneliness and disappointment as she walked back up the path to the cottage and got herself to bed.