Unknown Diners

Chapter Twenty-Two

The four sat in the sun long after lunch, carrying on a rambling conversation, which Catherine diverted a few times from heavier things. Finally, she said, "Okay, enough dodging." She looked at Lorne, squeezed his hand and watched him nod.

"Lorne's parents, you remember the Wilsons down the street on Cypress? The whole family died in a crash on a flight to the Okanagan when he was fourteen. After the dust had settled, he went into the foster care of one of his school teachers, a priest. He was then held captive for a year and a half in a garret —"

"No, it was short of that — seventeen months," Lorne corrected. He and Catherine then touched lightly on the behaviour of the priest, both the benevolently nurturing and the psychotically cruel.

"Once I was free from the chain, I inserted a stent and applied Crazy Glue to the wounds, like I'd watched him do so often —"

"What were the wounds?" Michael asked.

"From freeing myself..." He paused to look at Catherine, then back to Michael. "Some raw skin caused when I released myself from the shackling arrangement. Anyway, I climbed out through the garret window onto the roof. I must have slipped and fallen to the ground. It was dark when I regained consciousness. I had no idea where I was, who I was, what had happened. All I knew was I had an extremely sore head and what seemed to be a broken left shoulder and arm. I started walking in the dark, looking for help."

Lorne looked at Michael and Rachel. "Sorry to dump this stuff on you, but if we're going to be family —"

Catherine put her arm around his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "Keep it coming out. This is into new areas for me." She looked at her parents. "We're past the worst of it."

"I was found nude and huddled on a lawn by a man walking his dog. He called 9-1-1, and I was taken to the hospital with hypothermia, a severe concussion and a broken shoulder and wrist. My amnesia continued. There were no missing children reports to link me with, so I remained Little Johnny Doe." Lorne gave his crooked smile. "I guess the priest was afraid to step forward to —"

"When was that?" Michael asked. "I remember none of this in the news."

"March 1998. In June I was fostered by a family in Nanaimo and in September, I started school again. I had begun Grade Nine when I was locked-up, so that's where they started me. Within a few weeks, I was put in Grade Eleven and shortly after, into Twelve. Connolly was a great tutor if nothing else."

"Connolly. I remember that trial, a dozen or so years ago," Michael said. "Closed because of the minor involved, but the information that leaked out..." He paused and winced at Lorne. "Horrid."

"Fortunately, little got out that I was aware of. The people who fostered me, the Martins, were wonderful. They were into outdoors activities, they were seriously into climbing and sailing. Do you know Peter and Elizabeth Martin?"

Michael thought for a while. "Not that I can recall." He chuckled. "But these days that means little."

"After graduation in 1999, my memory began coming back in nightmares — horrid nightmares that I gradually realised were reality. In mid-July, I ran away from my foster home, took my climbing gear and the small amount of money I had saved, and I headed into the mountains, trying to run from the emerging reality." Lorne paused and looked around, bowed his head and put his hands to it. "That's enough for now."

They sat silently for a long while, pretending to be focusing on the wine in their glasses. After a couple of long minutes, Catherine said, "Tough act to follow, isn't it — but we have to — the Gewürztraminer, this the 2011 South Block, isn't it?"

"Yes, amazing late harvest that year. So much botrytis. I knew it was one of your favourites."

She swirled her glass again and nosed it, then took a bite of a field strawberry tart followed by a sip of wine. "What a heavenly match this is."

They slowly worked at regaining their earlier light banter while they continued enjoying the wine and tarts. As Michael was laughing again at Lorne's impromptu proposal to Catherine, he asked, "So when are you two getting married?"

Catherine snickered. "We could Google to find a marriage commissioner who's available this afternoon." She smiled at Lorne. "But there's no rush, we could wait until this evening."

They had a good laugh, further relieving the tensions, and they carried on into mid-afternoon. Catherine put her hand on Rachel's arm and leaned to whisper. "Should have gone again before I left the boat, but I need to pee."

"I'm sure we all do with these wines. Come, we'll use the bathrooms, the men can help the compost."

"The compost?" Catherine tilted her head.

"Michael, tell Kate about blessing the compost."

He broke off from a climbing story and smiled at Catherine. "Yeah, I suppose you wouldn't know about it. Different plumbing system, you girls. Very pretty, but different —"

"Michael! You're digressing." Rachel chuckled.

"Anyway, as I was leading up to; urine is well-known as a compost activator — farmers call it liquid gold. Full of nitrogen, great for the plants." He smiled at her. "Which reminds me, I need to go. Come on, Lorne, I'll show you the compost heap. I'm sure you could also use it by now."

They rose from their seats. Lorne looked at Catherine and shrugged. She nodded and tilted her head toward the bottom of the garden. "Love you, Lorne. Go for it. You're my hero. Your hero will understand."

As they walked to the bottom of the garden, Lorne ran through his mind how to approach the situation. She said he'd understand. What a beautiful relationship she has with her father, so relaxed and accepting. What the hell, I'll just let it evolve.

They stood side by side and Michael pulled his out to begin blessing the compost heap. Lorne pulled down his zipper, hauled out a bit of his length and chuckled. "I haven't done this with company since I was a teenager."

Lorne smiled sheepishly at Michael and shrugged his shoulders. Makes no sense to continue hiding it. He turned around, dropped his trousers to his knees and squatted. "Mind the spray, it goes all over the place."

"That's an awkward way to pee."

"I buggered myself a bit when I escaped. Catherine's convinced me I should get it repaired."

Michael finished and housed his hose, then he looked down at Lorne still in his squat. "How's it buggered?"

Lorne finished, then milked the underside to drain it, and after he had shaken the last drops off, he stood and lifted his penis to show Michael. "Connolly had a padlock through here, under the urethra, attaching me to the chain. It was my only way to escape." He spread the glans halves. "His next anchor was to be this hole when he started splitting my shaft. I decided to chew myself free."

"Jesus fucking Christ! The fucking pervert." Michael shook his head and closed his eyes. Then opening them, he bent to examine the penis more closely. "That can be repaired, Lorne. It should be easy with what surgeons do now. I can't believe you haven't had it done already. God, how long ago is it now? Must be getting on twenty years."

"I think he used hypnosis. From what I've been able to figure out, he had used it on other occasions with me. He was constantly reminding me I must always keep this hidden except from him. Whatever his hypnotic suggestion was, it was stronger than the amnesia. Much stronger — I've kept it hidden until this week. Catherine finally broke through."

"I'm sure she's pleased she did. Damn, that's certainly a hefty piece."

Lorne smiled, shook it again, covered the glans and raised his trousers, then they headed back up the slope toward the patio. Michael looked at him and nodded his head down. "The rest of your system? It works well?"

"She seems to think so, but I have no measure. She's the only girl I've ever played with." He shook his head. "I still cannot believe how I've never connected you to Mike."

Michael put his arm around Lorne's shoulder as they walked onto the patio to rejoin the women.