SHE HAD TO SWALLOW HARD before she found her voice.
“Garry, how did you get this number?” On her lawyer’s advice, she’d had it changed so he couldn’t contact her.
Tone playful, he said, “Now is that any way to greet your husband? I’m just calling to say hi, how are you. No reason for you to be so snarky, Jordie. And phone numbers, hell, I’m a lawyer. I know how to find numbers—and missing persons, too. You can run but you can’t hide, babe.” His laughter spiraled out of control, and Jordan knew he was high.
It was unlikely that he knew exactly where she was, but her stomach began to churn, and it was tough to keep her voice even.
“What do you want, Garry?” Dumb question. There were only two possibilities. One was drugs, and the other money.
“That matrimonial hotshot you hired just served me with divorce papers, honey pie. You really think I’m going to sit back and let you dump me like a bag of garbage?”
Jordan was shivering, but her hand clutching the phone was damp with sweat. There was no point in trying to reason with him. Instead, she waited for whatever he’d say next.
“I don’t want a divorce. If you do, it’s gonna cost you, Jordie. Any judge I know is going to be sympathetic to a guy who was seriously injured in an accident only to get dumped by his rich doctor wife.”
“I’m far from rich, Garry.”
“You have medical insurance, and you owe me, bitch.”
So that’s what this was about. But how had Garry lost his own insurance coverage? Jordan didn’t want to know.
“I don’t think I do owe you, and neither does my lawyer,” she said in as cool a voice as she could manage. “So from now on, call Marcy instead of me. You and I no longer have anything to say to each other.” She disconnected, and didn’t answer when the phone rang again almost immediately.
It rang consistently for the next hour, and Jordan finally shoved the phone under a pillow on the sofa and closed herself in the bathroom to run hot water in the tub.
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll just get a new number again,” she promised herself as she lowered her body into the steaming water. And when he found that number, she’d do it again. And again. Panic began to settle over her, and she struggled with it. She’d moved beyond these feelings, she didn’t want to go back there.
And the afternoon she’d so enjoyed now seemed to have taken place a very long time ago.
SILAS DIALED JORDAN’S cell number for the third time, and for the third time her recorded voice asked him to leave a number, which wasn’t possible. He was calling from a pay phone in the hospital. He could have left a message, but he wanted her, not a machine.
Frustrated, he gave up and went back to Patwin’s room. The doctors had finally finished their testing, and the results were exactly what Jordan had predicted. Physically, Patwin would recover. Emotionally, the jury was still out. With all the activity, there hadn’t been a chance to talk to Patwin alone.
His brother lay immobile on the high hospital bed, eyes shut, throat swollen and bruised an ugly purple. On oxygen support, his breathing was easier. Silas had heard him whisper a response to a nurse’s question, so his vocal cords were beginning to recover.
The doctors told Silas exactly the same thing Jordan had—that Patwin could either be transferred to the psych ward in Nanaimo or, with the consent of the psychiatrist who’d see Patwin the following day, he could go home with Silas.
They’d agreed to let Silas stay in the room for the night. A pretty blond nurse had even wheeled in an oversize chair that made a makeshift bed and found pillows and a blanket to make him comfortable.
It was time to find out whether his hunch was right.
“You awake, bro?”
Patwin’s eyes opened, bloodshot, with huge black bags under them.
“Did you do this—” Silas touched Patwin’s neck with a featherlight forefinger “—because Mary told you she was pregnant?”
Patwin’s eyes revealed his torture. He started to shrug only to grimace in pain. “Partly,” he whispered, his eyes watering with the effort the simple word caused. He picked up the paper and pen beside him on the bed.
I’m a total fuck up, he scribbled, pen digging into paper. How can I take care of a kid? I can’t get own shit together. Wanted to run, but if I leave… Can’t go to prison again, rather die!!
Silas nodded. “Did Mary mention marriage when she told you she was pregnant?”
Patwin shook his head. But I knocked her up, I marry her, right?
“No point in getting married if it’s not what you want, not what you can handle. But hanging yourself isn’t the answer, either.”
So what is? Patwin bore down so hard the pen tore the paper. You and Chris—different, know what you want. He tore off the sheet and began another one, his writing erratic. All I’ve done is drive Mom and Dad crazy, fuck everything up. Now a kid.
Silas read the note and started to laugh.
Patwin threw the pen at him, and it hit Silas on the side of the head.
“Ouch.” He rubbed the spot and then laid a hand on his brother’s arm. “Calm down, Patwin, I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because I can’t believe you actually think you’re the only one who’s ever felt like that. I don’t know about Christina, but I’ve spent most of my life wondering who the hell I was and where I belonged. I spent years so jealous of you I used to fantasize about drowning you in the chuck.”
The astonishment on Patwin’s face made Silas laugh all over again.
“Think about it, little brother. You had parents who lived in the same place, a family the same color as you, a home where you belonged, where you lived all year round. I spent most of my time in boarding school and summers feeling like a stranger in a very strange land. But I’m not the one with the sore neck. How are we going to make sure you never feel so alone and desperate you have to do something like this again?”
Patwin waited.
“I asked you this before, when you were doing drugs, and you wouldn’t make a commitment. I’m going to ask you again. I want to hold a gathering, with everyone in our family present, plus friends and neighbors, all of Mary’s relatives, as well, and any elders who want to come. Everyone gets a chance to say how they feel, what’s made them feel that way. No blame. Together, we’ll come up with a plan that supports you and Mary and the baby. I’ll hold a healing ceremony. Lots of the elders have been hooked on drugs, too, you know. They’ll understand, and maybe give you some guidance.”
Patwin didn’t look convinced.
“Or you can be transferred to the psych ward at the hospital in Nanaimo.” Silas hated using that as a lever, but his kid brother was one tough nut.
NO, Patwin scribbled. I want to go home!
“Then you agree to work with me?”
Patwin glared up at him. OKAY. Tired now, want to sleep.
Maybe almost dying would make Patwin more willing to change.
Silas could only hope.
“Sleep now.” He took hold of Patwin’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be here.”
He waited until Patwin was snoring softly, and then he went down the hall to the telephone again. He dialed and waited while it rang, hoping she’d pick up. At last, her service came on with the now familiar words. “Jordan here, leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
“It’s Silas,” he said. “Hey, pretty lady, I know you’ve heard Patwin’s doing okay—the doc said he called you. He’s agreed to a healing. I’ll explain more about that when I see you.” He paused for an instant, wondering what it was he really wanted to say. “I enjoyed our time at the springs. I appreciate your efforts on my family’s behalf.”
And then, surprising himself, he added, “I miss you tonight, Jordan Burke. I wish we were together.”
AFTER A FITFUL NIGHT, Jordan forced herself to listen to her messages. There were four increasingly nasty ones from Garry, and one from Silas, which she played three times.
I miss you, Jordan Burke. The fact was, she missed him too.
Then she called the telephone service and requested a change of number, effective immediately.
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” Garry had sneered. With all her heart, she hoped he was wrong.
Two days later, Jordan was in a round-robin discussion with a group of pregnant women about the effects of cigarette smoke when she glanced out the window and saw Silas walking toward the medical center.
Her heart leaped. She apologized to the women and excused herself, heading out to the reception area to talk to him. Adrenaline pumped through her blood, and she realized she’d been waiting all day to see him.
“Hello, Jordan.” He didn’t touch her, but the warmth and low pitch of his voice felt like an intimate caress. “I know you’re busy, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to see you for a minute.”
“Silas, I’m glad you’re back. How’s Patwin? Where is he?”
“At my mother’s place, she’s caring for him. He’s still pretty weak and sore, but he’s agreed to a healing circle tonight. Do you want to come?”
“I wouldn’t be intruding?” She felt suddenly shy with him.
“Everybody concerned about Patwin will be there.”
“Then absolutely.” She had no idea what a healing circle was. “Do I need to bring anything?”
“Only good intentions.”
“Where and when?”
“At the school gym, after dinner.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good.” He looked at her for several moments, and then in a soft voice that she had to strain to hear, he added, “Afterward, will you come to my cabin with me? All I can think of is making love to you again.”
She had to clench her fists to keep from reaching out and touching him. He was so stable, so strong yet gentle. She had the urge to tell him about Garry’s phone call, how it had frightened her, and how she hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind the past few days.
Instead, she settled for a quiet “I think that could be arranged.”
“Phew.” His smile was wide. “I was afraid you were still thinking about it. See you tonight, then.”
JORDAN FELT NERVOUS as she approached the gym door. She had no idea what to expect, or what might be expected of her. She was also on edge about being either too early or too late; she still didn’t understand what Christina called “Indian time.”
Maybe she was getting the hang of it, after all, she decided as she came through the door. Several dozen people were sitting on folding chairs set in a circle in the middle of the room. The chairs were arranged around a large ceremonial drum where a woman Jordan didn’t recognize was tapping out a repetitive rhythm. Everyone was swaying slightly in time with the hypnotic beat, but nothing else was happening yet.
Jordan was conscious of being the only non-native in the room. Feeling more than a little shy, she took a folding chair from a stack and set it up beside one of the village elders, an ancient man whom she knew only as Leroy. He nodded to her.
She was directly across from Silas. He smiled at her, and his eyes held hers for a heartbeat. Those clear green eyes were filled with warmth and welcome, and she suddenly felt more at ease.
Patwin was beside Silas, his neck and face still grotesquely swollen. Rose Marie and Christina and Peter flanked him, and they all nodded and smiled at her. Jordan recognized Mary John, sitting beside an elder.
Jordan had just confirmed the girl’s pregnancy, but Mary had refused to name the father. Could it be Patwin?
The drummer changed the beat, and Leroy began singing. Soon everyone except Jordan was also singing. She hummed along, expecting Silas to be the one to lead the proceedings. She wondered when he was going to take control and call the meeting to order, or whatever the equivalent was here.
The song tapered off, and one of the elders, a woman called Linculla, got to her feet. She lit a taper of sweet-grass, blew it out and walked around the circle, using her hand to wave smoke at each person while murmuring what sounded like an incantation. When she reached her seat again she sat, and the drumming restarted, quieter now.
Still tense, Jordan waited for the format of the meeting to present itself, and for a pattern to emerge.
She felt a surge of relief when Peter Crow got to his feet. It was fitting that Patwin’s father be in charge.
But Peter stood wordless for so long Jordan began to have an anxiety attack on his behalf. He must have forgotten his speech, she agonized, her stomach twisting into sympathetic knots.
“My son Patwin is in trouble,” he finally said in a voice so soft Jordan had to lean forward to hear him. “I want him to know he is not alone in what he feels. When I was a boy,” Peter went on in the same soft voice, “I was taken from my family and sent to residential school. It was a hard time, and I tried many times to run away. I was always punished, and I always ran again, because I longed to come home to my people.”
Nods of understanding and murmurs of agreement came from the listeners. “A time came when I lost hope. I stole a boat late one night and went far out into the water where the waves were high and jumped in. But I was young and strong, and it was too damned hard to drown.”
Everyone laughed quietly.
“Thank you for letting me speak.”
There was a long silence, and without another word, Peter sat.
There was nothing but drumming for some time, and then the older man beside Peter got to his feet.
“I am Mary John’s grandfather. I love my granddaughter and I want her to be happy, so I want to help Patwin. As a young man, I, too, was sent away to school. It was painful, and afterward I wandered far from the teachings of my childhood,” Leroy said. “I drank and twice I went to jail for stealing. I was angry, and I wanted to make someone pay. Drinking took away some of the pain, but it made me do bad things. I beat my wife when I was drunk, and my son watched. When he grew up and I saw him doing the things I had done, I wanted to die for shame of what I had taught him. Instead, I asked for a healing, and I stopped drinking. If I can help Patwin, I would be glad.”
He sat, and eventually, the young woman next to him stood. She’d been an addict and a prostitute, and she described her feelings of shame and hopelessness and the pressures young people were under wherever they went. “I know where you’re coming from, Patwin,” she said. “Because I’ve been there.”
Jordan realized that the speakers were proceeding in order, clockwise from Peter Crow. Not everyone in the circle spoke when their turn came, but most did. They spoke from their hearts, and their wrenching honesty often had Jordan brushing away tears.
Then Leroy rose to tell about his grandson, who’d died from a drug overdose, and Jordan realized that if she chose to speak, it would be her turn next.
Her heart began to hammer, and she felt perspiration trickle down between her breasts. She wanted to talk of her breakdown, how Garry’s addiction had hurt her. She knew Helen would encourage her to stand and speak, to share her story.
When her turn came she drew in a deep breath and rubbed her sweating palms together. She started to get to her feet—but then shook her head and slid back into her chair. She just couldn’t do it. The old habits of silence and secrecy were too strong.
The woman on her left stood, and Jordan felt relief, mixed with harsh disappointment and shame. Why wasn’t she brave? Why couldn’t she be open? These people were pouring out their hearts to help Patwin. She should have done the same.
She felt Silas’s eyes on her, and knew that part of the reason she couldn’t bare her soul here was because she didn’t want him to feel sorry for her, to see her as a victim. She wanted intimacy, but wasn’t ready to share her deepest, most shameful secrets with anyone.
So why did she feel she’d failed an important lesson?