Lakeside Cottage

Kate wondered what she wanted but decided to start with a different set of questions. Callie didn’t look as though she was nearly eighteen. There was a subtle softness and roundness in her face and a haunted, lost look in her eyes that made her seem younger. “Talk to me, Callie,” she said. “I’m not going to turn you over to the authorities. Where are you from?”

Callie opened the top sheet with a snap. The motion stirred a golden flurry of dust motes as though the house was waking up. The air was filled with the sunny smell of clean laundry.

“California,” she said.

“That narrows it down,” Kate commented. “Do you mind telling me why you were in foster care?”

“Because my mother belonged to this creepy commune,” she said, giving up the information without resistance. “It was near Big Sur, and it was supposed to be this incredible self-sufficient utopia.” Callie must have noticed Kate’s surprised glance. “They homeschooled us, and some of us actually got a decent education. Brother Timothy—he was the founder—has a Ph.D. in cultural anthropology from Berkeley.” She opened the cedar chest at the end of the bed. “Is this quilt okay?”

Kate nodded and helped unfold the quilt, a sturdy, colorful family heirloom stitched by one of the Livingston women a couple of generations back.

“So, this Brother Timothy?” she prompted, sensing Callie’s dislike.

“He’s not anybody’s brother and I’m sure by now Berkeley’s ashamed to claim him. He’s doing time for child molestation.”

Kate’s skin crawled. “Are you one of his victims?” she asked.

Callie worked with brisk agitation, creating perfect hospital corners. “When I was a kid, I had fun living there. We ran around and swam in the ocean and actually had a couple of good teachers. But once we hit puberty, pow. We didn’t get to be kids anymore. Brother Timothy called us—the younger girls—his angels.”

Kate abandoned making the bed. She sat on the side of the bed and motioned for Callie to do the same. “Didn’t your mother …” She hesitated, knowing she ought to choose her words carefully. “Do you think the adults in the commune were aware of this?”

Callie snorted and nodded her head. “None of the mothers lifted a finger to stop him. They were all, like, under his spell or something. He convinced them that we were their gifts to him. Even if a girl got hysterical and fought back, the mothers made her go to Brother Timothy. They did everything they were told, like they were Stepford hippies, you know?”

“That’s a nightmare,” Kate said. “You’re telling me.”

Kate noticed that Callie hadn’t answered her question about whether or not she was one of Brother Timothy’s victims. “So is this commune … still around?”

“Nope. This girl named Gemma O’Donnell, like, three years ago, she saved us all.” Callie studied the floor. “Gemma kept trying to tell someone what was going on, and every once in a while, somebody from social services or the school district would come up and take a look around but they never found anything. To an outsider, it looked like utopia—vegetable gardens, a flower farm, our own milk cows, everybody reading William Carlos Williams. Nobody listened to Gemma until she finally found a way to make them listen.” Callie paused, took a gulp of air. “She went to the Big Sur Family Services Agency and threatened to kill herself if they didn’t believe her.” Callie’s voice lowered to a shaky whisper. “She was pregnant by Brother Timothy. They took him away, and I never saw Gemma again. I don’t know what ever happened to her or the baby.”

Kate put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. The girl flinched and Kate removed it. “I’m sorry. I hope things got better for you after that.”

“They did for some of us,” she said. “For me, for a while. But in the last home I was placed in, well, that was bad so I had to leave.”

“Callie, where’s your mother?”

Callie dropped her gaze. She picked at her nails. “I haven’t seen her in over a year.”

“Do you think she might be worried about you?”

“She should have worried about me when we were all living with that pervert,” Callie snapped. Then she lowered her voice. “You going to call social services?”

“Not if you’ve been straight with me.”

“You can check out my story on the Internet,” Callie said. “Millennium Commune, look it up.”

“I don’t have Internet service here. If I need to go online, I have to drive to the library in Port Angeles.”

“Whatever. I’ve been straight with you.” She looked out the window as she spoke.

There were still secrets concealed within Callie, Kate was sure of it. She studied Callie’s profile. The girl was quite pretty, though that wasn’t immediately apparent thanks to the acne and some dark patches on her skin where she’d probably forgotten to wash. Her hair needed a trim, and the shapeless sweatpants and old Big Sur Folk Festival T-shirt didn’t flatter her heavyset figure. Yet when the sunlight from the windows outlined the tender curve of her cheek, Kate saw a different person sitting there, a girl who was still a child no matter what the calendar said.

The protective instinct rose inside Kate, stronger now, urging her toward a leap of faith. She knew she had to give this girl a chance.

“Would you like to stay in the guest suite?” she heard herself saying. Back in the early days of the lakeside cottage, the first Livingstons had traveled with a housekeeper and cook, who had occupied the small bedroom and washroom off the main floor. Later generations used it to accommodate visitors, giving them more privacy than the upstairs rooms.

Callie narrowed her eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch. You need a place to stay, I have tons of room here, so—”

“I’d better not.” She stared at the braided rug on the floor.

“You’re going to run out of options,” Kate pointed out. “In the off-season, plenty of houses are vacant, but now that summer’s here, everything will change.”

“I’ve got camping gear.”

“I’ve got a six-bedroom house.”

“Why?” Callie asked. “There’s got to be a catch.”

“No catch, like I promised. You said you’ve been straight with me. You’ve had a rough time of it. Why not stay here where you’re safe?”

She snorted softly, a sound of bitter mirth.

“Is something funny?” asked Kate.

Callie shook her head. “I’ll stay tonight. After that, we’ll see.”

Don’t do me any favors, Kate thought. She reminded herself that if this girl’s story was even partially true, she’d lived a nightmare. She didn’t take Callie’s reluctance personally, though. Giving her a room here was the right thing to do. “I’ll call Mrs. Newman and let her know you’ll be staying with us.”

The girl looked amazed, her expression that of a starvation victim facing her first plate of food.

“It’ll be all right,” Kate said softly. “You’ll see.”

Callie sat very quiet and still for a few moments, and Kate suspected that gestures like this were rare in her life.

“You expecting someone?” Callie got up and went to the window.

Kate heard the crackle of tires over gravel, then the sound of a car door slamming. Bandit bugled his usual greeting.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“A really hot guy. He your boyfriend?”

For some reason, the suggestion brought a flush to Kate’s cheeks as she joined Callie at the window. “The guy who lives down the road. Come and meet him.”

Six

When Kate and Callie went out into the yard, Aaron was running circles around JD, talking a mile a minute. JD looked a bit discomfited by the boy’s enthusiasm. Possibly he was already regretting having stopped by.