Always Watching

hurt you?”
    “Aaron … he said he needed me, that we were a family now, and families don’t leave each other.” Her face took on a reflective expression. “I think about that sometimes, how beautiful he was when he smiled. He could make you believe anything. It was like I was high all the time, on everything he was teaching—meditating, the pot, the singing and chanting, the walks, all the sex and love, it was like walking around in a dream.”
    “Why did you finally leave?”
    “After Finn died, there was lots of police attention. Aaron didn’t like it. I told him I’d stay here to keep an eye on the situation. He forgot about me. I was just one of many of his women.” There was no tone of bitterness, just factual, with a hint of relief.
    “You haven’t heard from him since?”
    “No, and I want to keep it that way.” This time her tone was a clear warning. “That’s a time in my life I’d rather forget.”
    “I can understand that. I feel the same way, but I had a patient recently…” Without giving away too many details about Heather, I explained what had drawn me back into the past. “There are more young women at the commune, and I’m afraid that he’ll keep destroying lives unless we find a way to shut him down.”
    She didn’t say anything, but her face, from what I could see of it as she worked her way down the line, collecting the last of the eggs, was thoughtful. I wondered what her life was like since she had left the commune.
    I said, “Do you have any children?”
    She thrust her hand under a chicken, making it squawk in protest. “I have a son.” She said it protectively—no doubt concerned about what I was going to do with the information, but there was also pride. She loved her son.
    “Do you get to see him much?”
    “He travels, but we keep in touch. He doesn’t like me living out here by myself. I’ve done it for over forty years—told him I was leaving over my dead body, and he’s going to have to bury me in the manure pile.” A cheeky grin.
    “That’s nice, that he worries about you. I have a daughter, but we’re not close.” I heard the catch in my throat. Mary did as well.
    She studied my face, questioning.
    I said, “She lives on the streets in Victoria. I worry about her.” It was an understatement, but the best I could do with the sudden tightness in my throat.
    “Only time we have control over our babies is when they’re in our womb.” She looked at me with understanding. Two mothers who missed their children.
    “That’s one of the reasons I’m so concerned about the center. Aaron takes girls like her and preys on their emotions. I keep thinking about their mothers, how no one has any idea what he’s really like or what he might be doing. Like I said, I very much understand your concerns, but if you did tell the police about your finger, they might get more serious about the investigation.”
    She paused, her hands on an egg, holding the delicate shell in her rough hands as she rolled it around. “I’ll think about it.” I had a gut feeling that she didn’t plan on speaking to the police for one second, but I didn’t want to push her. Truth is, it would be hard pursuing any sort of assault case after all this time, and I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to go through the process.
    Before I left, she kindly gave me a carton of eggs. I drove slowly down her driveway and over the potholes until I was back on pavement. I was still thinking about Mary when I realized I was at the corner where my mother had had her accident. I pulled over and looked at the tree that had taken her life. It had grown, but the scar was still there.
    I stopped at Robbie’s on my way back to Victoria, so I could ask him about Willow, and whether he knew Mary lived nearby, but his truck was gone, and the house dark.

 
    CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
    On my way to the hospital Monday morning, I stopped at the organic coffee shop on the corner for my usual green tea infusion. As I turned to leave, paper cup in hand, I suddenly noticed Daniel sitting alone in the corner, his back to the wall as he read a paper. When he felt my gaze, he glanced up and with a small smile waved me over.
    I said, “Good morning.” I was pleased to see him. I’d been thinking about him, wondering how he was faring. “I didn’t know you lived in this part of town.”
    “I don’t.” He nodded in the direction of the hospital. “I had to sign some release forms.”
    He might have