Never Knowing Read Online Free PDF Page A

have that information you were looking for.” The friendly grandfather tone was gone, replaced by serious cop.
    “Do I want to know?” I laughed. He didn’t.
    “You were right, Julia Laroche isn’t her real name—it’s Karen Christianson.”
    “ That’s interesting. Do you know why she changed it?”
    “You don’t recognize the name?”
    “Should I?”
    “Karen Christianson was the only survivor of the Campsite Killer.”
    I sucked in my breath. I’d read about the Campsite Killer—I’ve always been interested in serial killers and their crimes. Evan says I’m morbid, but when Dateline or A&E features a famous murder case I’m glued to the TV. They all had lurid names, like the Zodiac Killer, the Vampire Rapist, the Green River Killer, but I couldn’t remember much about the Campsite Killer—just that he’d murdered people in the Interior of BC.
    Tom was still talking. “I wanted to be sure, so I drove down to Victoria and took some shots of Julia at the university, then compared them to online photos of Karen Christianson. It looks like the same woman.”
    “God, no wonder she changed her name. So she must’ve met my father after she moved to the island. How long ago was she attacked?”
    “Thirty-five years ago,” Tom said. “She moved to the island a couple of months later and changed her name.…”
    Something cold and dark was unfurling in my stomach.
    I said, “What month was she attacked?”
    “July.”
    My mind raced to calculate dates and times. “I’m turning thirty-four this April. You don’t think…”
    He was silent.
    I stepped backward and collapsed into a chair, trying to grasp what he’d just told me. But my thoughts were all over the place, fragmented pieces I couldn’t pick up. Then I remembered Julia’s pale face, her shaking hands.
    The Campsite Killer is my father.
    “I … I just—are you sure ?” I wanted him to contradict me, to tell me I heard wrong, made a mistake, something.
    “Karen’s the only person who can confirm it, but the dates match up.” He paused, waiting for me to say something, but I was staring at our calendar on the fridge. Ally’s best friend, Meghan, had a birthday party on the weekend. I couldn’t remember if I’d bought a present for it yet.
    Tom’s voice sounded far away. “If you have any more questions, you have my number. I’ll e-mail the photos I took of Karen with your receipt.”
    *   *   *

    I sat in my kitchen for a few minutes, still staring at the calendar. Upstairs I heard a cupboard door slam and remembered that Ally was in the bath. I’d have to deal with this later. I forced myself off the chair. Ally was already out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of raspberry bubble scent and damp towels behind her.
    Normally I love bedtime with her. When we’re snuggled up she tells me about her day, part little girl as she mispronounces words, part little woman as she describes what the other girls are wearing. Back in my single days I let her sleep in my bed all the time. I loved the closeness, loved feeling her breathing next to me. Even when I was pregnant and Jason was out partying, I could only fall asleep with my hand on my stomach. He usually didn’t come back until the wee hours of the morning. When I flipped—and I always did—he’d push me out of the room and lock it. I’d scream at him through the door until I was hoarse. I finally left him when I was five months pregnant, and he never got to see his daughter—he wrapped his truck around a tree a month before she was born.
    I’ve stayed in touch with his parents and they’re great with Ally, telling her stories about Jason and saving his things for when she’s older. She spends the night at their house sometimes. The first time, I worried that she’d wake up crying, but she was fine. I was the one who couldn’t sleep. Same with her first day of school—Ally sailed through it, but I missed her every minute, missed the noise in the house, missed her