Chapter 27

Patty has hauled half her spare room into the back hallway by the time Mom and I are finishing our breakfast cereal.

“We’re heading off to Children’s Hospital now, Patty,” Mom calls back into the dense tunnel of cardboard boxes.

Patty’s head pops into the opening she left to get back to the rest of the house.

“I’d say have fun, but that’s probably not the right thing. How about, good luck?”

“I’m going to drop Katelyn off at that art class afterwards and putter around Main Street while she’s there. We’ll be home for dinner.”

“Thanks again for the classes, Patty,” I add. I thanked Patty before, but Mom hadn’t heard me. I need every extra brownie point I can get right now.

BC Children’s Hospital is quiet this afternoon. Since I don’t have a room for Dr. Werdiger to visit me in, I’m in a waiting room sitting under large letters that spell Pediatric Psychiatry.

“Katelyn Medena, the doctor is ready to see you now,” says a slim, short girl who doesn’t look much older than me.

“Hello, Katelyn!” says Dr. Werdiger brightly as we enter the consultation room.

“Uh, hi,” I say awkwardly. His happiness confuses me. Mom stays silent.

“I have some great news. I’ve been able to get Katelyn in for a ct scan. It took some doing, but I think we may get some information we can finally act on.”

“What’s a ct scan?” I ask. I have a feeling I’m not going to like his answer.

“It’s nothing to be afraid of. Think of a lot of very accurate x-rays being compiled by a computer with state-of-the-art precision.”

“Why do you want to scan my daughter’s head? What are you looking for?”

“Mom, isn’t this what you wanted from the beginning?”

“Katelyn!” Mom looks at me with a mixture of hurt and worry in her mossy eyes.

“At this point, I’m ready to rule out mental health issues, a bit of bad behavior aside. I’ve reviewed Jane’s notes and I’ve met with Katelyn myself. Becky, I think you might have been right all along in suspecting a physical issue here.”

Mom and I are both looking at Dr. Werdiger with amazement. He’s speaking as though my brain holds a passing curiosity for him.

“What physical issues are you going to find with a scan?” I can see the anxiety building behind Mom’s wide eyes.

“I won’t speculate needlessly. As I said, there’s no reason to be afraid. This is just one last point on a check-list so we can all know we’ve been thorough.” Dr. Werdiger has gone into damage control mode, pushing down an invisible barrier to calm Mom.

“How long do we have to wait? I’m hoping to take Katelyn home to Nelson as soon as possible,” says Mom. She is using her breath to calm herself, I can see it.

“Wednesday. The day after tomorrow. Normally the wait could be a few weeks to a few months depending on other health variables. But I pushed the urgency, knowing how long you’ve already been away from home.”

“Thank you, we appreciate that. I think another couple of days will be fine.”

“Katelyn, do you have any objections?” says Dr. Werdiger.

“Nope. Scan me. Poke me. Prod me. I’m good, as long as I get to go home afterwards.” I look at Mom and smile to show her I’m not afraid. She smiles back and puts her arm around me. I think she’s supporting herself more than me. I don’t blame her, though.

Mom takes me to art class as promised. Today’s session is an assignment on positive and negative space. Mr. Macpherson (aka Reese) has dimmed the lights. On the table, he’s placed a plastic ball with holes all over it under a spotlight lamp. We are supposed to represent the light areas with charcoal, leaving the dark shadows blank on the page. We will end up with abstract drawings that don’t look like anything, but I don’t mind. The scene at the center of the room isn’t interesting enough to inspire a project I’d want to keep.

I draw the light shapes over and over and over. I am bored after the third attempt, so under the cover of dark, I try something for myself. I close my eyes and picture the locket I saw when hypnotically visualizing my treasure.

I look at the locket in my mind, assessing the edges, the pattern etched onto the cover. I open my eyes and recreate the shape on my page. I try to add details, but the charcoal is too messy. I draw the shape again. I draw it once more with the middle piece open. I draw until I have half a dozen egg-shaped lockets on my page. I still can’t capture enough detail.

I tear the page away and pull my number two pencil from my case. I start another version of the locket. This time I add detail. Even in the dimmed light, I add details I feel I know like the back of my hand. The more I draw the pendant, the more I feel like I’ve run my fingers over its subtle shape and felt the texture of each carved mark. Suddenly the overhead light comes on.

“That’s all the time we have today. I hope everyone found the project very ‘illuminating’ in terms of how we see light and shadow,” says Reese.

“Ha ha. I see what you did there,” says the round grandmother I’ve sat next to twice now.

“My son tells me he loves my ‘dad jokes,’ so I thought I’d share one with you,” says Reese. “Now, everyone, please turn in your best work from this afternoon’s session. And I’ll see you again after the weekend.”

I leave my classmate shaking her head and I tear away a corner square of my top sketch sheet. I gently slip the pencil drawing of Akasha’s locket into my pencil case. I select a charcoal sketch and hand it in. Mom is waiting for me outside; I run to her car like the end of a normal school day and I feel a small sliver of normality return.

Patty ordered pizza for us shortly after we got back. I wish we were all enjoying a vacation and not some distorted visit brought about by my fascination with a suspected past life. It might not be “suspected” in my own mind — I know what I know — but it’s obvious that what I know doesn’t mean anything outside my own head.

After a few slices, I excuse myself for a bath. I was never allowed to have one at Arbutus House. They had a somewhat morbid “No Baths” policy that also banned shaving and sharp objects. Patty’s bathroom is just a normal one, so I can bring my diary along and try to write. I’d like to add something normal to the mess of the last few months. Especially if I’m going to be com-menting on a head scan soon.

Once I’m lying back in the tub, I’m just not interested in writing. It’s hard to pass on the chance for guaranteed privacy, so I pick up my diary anyway. And before I know it, the involuntary swoops of my ballpoint pen have started again.

Earlier today, Mr. Calhoun took me back to the shop where Sanjay works. He could have told me and I would have believed him, but instead he chose to show me. At first, I thought we were going on another of our outings. Mr. Calhoun has taken to bringing me for walks and small errands. I expect he believes he is endearing himself to me.

We returned to Sanjay’s place of work for a special reason. Mr. Hasan was not there. Whether he simply no longer works there or has returned to India, I could not say. For a few short minutes, I thought Mr. Calhoun was relenting in his insistence that I sell my body in his house. I thought there was a chance he had brought me to Sanjay to reunite us. I tried to step off the sidewalk to cross the street and Mr. Calhoun grabbed my arm. And then I saw that Sanjay had a different co-worker. She could be called pretty, if not a bit plain. She was about my age. She wore a light blue sari and had a braid longer than mine. I could hear the tinkle of the gold bells on her scarf. Had it been a wedding present? Probably.

I knew this woman was Sanjay’s bride from the way they looked at each other. He looked at her the way he used to look at me. How it was possible, I can’t say. I will never look at another man the way I looked at Sanjay. Yet, there he stood, admiring the other girl as though I had never existed. And to him, I have been dead for months. He believes me to be at the bottom of Vancouver Harbor.

While I watched, they worked moving boxes and pack-ets around the shop, looking up to smile at each other intermittently. Sanjay walked past her, pausing to take her hand and kiss her lightly on the lips. There could be no question. The match he came to Canada for had certainly taken place. I could reveal myself and it would make no difference. Sanjay was far too honorable to abandon a woman he had married. I would only bring him more sadness and regret.

My grief today knows no bounds. Nothing can happen to me now to make me more miserable than I am at this moment. I have lost my love. I can only now wonder what horrible deed of a past life I am now atoning for in this one.