‘Could it be her?’ Meg whispered.
Chrissy shook her head very slowly. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘But it could be?’
Chrissy gave a slight shrug. ‘I haven’t seen her since the day before my seventeenth birthday,’ she said, dark eyes flashing. It still hurt.
‘How do you know that she joined a cult?’ Meg’s voice was gentle.
‘She was seeing this guy who was a bit older. Late twenties, maybe? I don’t know. He got her involved with a weird church up in Lindsay. They were supposed to recruit people, so she took me to one of the meetings.’
‘What did they do there?’
‘Chanting, babbling, weird nonsense words, which they believed was God speaking through them.’ Chrissy snorted. ‘It was really wacko. Even at sixteen I could see that.’ She looked out at a passing car and waved to the driver.
‘What happened next?’
‘She became really distant.’ Chrissy shrugged. ‘I can’t remember it that clearly, to be honest. It was a long time ago. I was in year eleven, I was busy with friends, boys, you know. She was twenty-one by then. She was studying nursing up in Lindsay, going to the cult meetings, spending all her spare time working or with her boyfriend. Then one day, she left.’
‘She didn’t tell you where she was going? She didn’t say goodbye?’
Chrissy shook her head. ‘About a month later, we got a letter from her saying that she wasn’t coming back, cutting off all contact.’ She paused for a long time. When she spoke again there was a harder edge in her voice. ‘It destroyed my parents, especially my mum. It was as though I’d lost her too after that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Meg said. It felt inadequate. How could someone do that to their family? Cause them so much pain? She wanted to say something more, something which would capture the enormity of Chrissy’s loss, but she couldn’t find the words.
They stood, silent, as a hot breeze rustled the leaves in a nearby gum tree.
‘I’m so sorry to ask, but how do you know she—’ Meg faltered. It felt like she was pressing a bruise, but she had to know. ‘How do you know she died?’
‘A couple of years later, we were visited by someone from the church. A man. It was a brain aneurysm. She was twenty-three.’
Meg’s thoughts raced as she tried to reconcile Chrissy’s story with what she knew about her mother. Did the timing work? Without pressing for more details, she couldn’t be sure, but maybe it did. Meg was twenty-nine. She could have been born after Chrissy’s sister left Hartwell.
‘Did this man, the one who visited, did he say anything about her having a daughter?’
‘No, he just told us about the aneurysm. They’d already had a funeral by then. He just gave us a box of some of her things.’
‘He did? Where would that box be now?’
‘Probably somewhere in my garage. That’s where we put everything after Mum and Dad sold up a few months back.’
Meg wanted to ask if she could look through the box, but she could sense Chrissy putting her walls up again. ‘I really appreciate you talking to me about this. I know it must be difficult.’
‘All this happened a really long time ago. It’s not something I think about much these days.’
Meg looked back at the photo. ‘Do you think there’s any chance this could be her? Any chance at all? The timing would work, I think.’
Chrissy looked at the photo again. ‘No,’ she said, more certainty in her voice now. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Chrissy?’ the man’s voice called out.
‘Just a sec!’ She turned back to Meg. ‘I’ve gotta go. Good luck. I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.’
She went to shut the screen door.
‘Chrissy? Can I ask you one last question?’
She gave her a weary smile. ‘Sure.’
