Love and Sorrow (Small Town Secrets Book 5) Page 18

  Oh, fucking hell. Please don’t tell me that man had anything to do with what was going on. He’d been kind of a weird guy but that alone wouldn’t make him a bad teacher. Already, my stomach knotted as I asked myself why I hadn’t listened to my instincts.

  Sarah’s voice sliced through my guilt. “Some of us girls in class were the special helpers. It was Ashley first. She got to pass out papers, do the calendar, stuff like that.” My gut roiled again, sending acid up my esophagus, as I remembered sweet little Ashley, one of Sarah’s old friends, and I wondered if this was the reason they’d stopped talking to each other. “And then, for Thanksgiving, I became Mr. Buckley’s assistant.”

  I had to strain to hear my daughter’s voice, and I fought back tears, already understanding where all this was going.

  “It was so cool at first. I was the special one. At Christmas, I got to hand out all the presents during our party and pass out cookies. But then…”

  Sarah gulped, and it took everything in me to not scream, to not cry, to not question the fucking universe. I listened as my child calmly explained how her fifth-grade homeroom teacher, the man hired to instruct and protect my daughter, had gradually, slowly and methodically, groomed her to be sexually molested by him. It started with touching that slowly moved from innocent to uncomfortable to completely inappropriate. Soon, she was sitting on his lap and looking at his naked upper body to “check” him for disease.

  “He asked me to feel a spot on his back, to see if there were knots or anything weird. And so when I was rubbing his back, he made a sound like it hurt, and when I asked, he told me I had the hands of a nurse.” I couldn’t see her eyes, but a tear dropped, making a tiny dark blue dot on her jeans.

  Of course, things progressed, and soon she was examining him from top to bottom, continuing to “release” him from pain—and, as I listened, I wondered how the fuck he’d been able to do this with other kids and teachers around. More than that, though, I wondered how the hell I hadn’t had a clue. But I couldn’t interrupt my daughter or begin grilling her. As it was, she already acted like this was her fault.

  “I knew I shouldn’t be touching him there, but he said I was helping him—and that I should become a doctor when I grow up.” As more tears fell, she continued telling me about how the year had progressed and, soon, she was touching his penis and he was showing her how it could magically change shape and firmness. “And I was helping him get the bad stuff out.”

  I fought like hell to keep my own sobs inside my chest, but all I wanted to do was take this shit away from her. But I couldn’t. There was no removing this from her. How the fuck had I allowed this to happen?

  Sarah continued with her story, pausing at points, and Rebecca would ask if she needed to take a break, but then she’d continue. Mr. Buckley gave her treats as her friends ostracized her. He continued escalating, and I just knew this would end with penetration—and how the hell had I missed all of this? What the fuck did this say about me as a mother?

  “Then…do you remember we had that class, mom? Sex education?” I swallowed and nodded my head when Sarah looked my way—but she still didn’t make eye contact. “I figured out that the bad stuff I was helping him get out was called semen.” But that wasn’t all. Then he made her touch herself. At that point, Sarah stopped talking, burying her face in her hands.

  “Sarah, if you like, we can continue this later. You don’t have to tell your mother all of this.”

  I wanted to scream at Rebecca then. I was her mother. Not only did I have a right to know, I needed to know what was going on with my kid. But I didn’t say shit, because the last thing I wanted to do was make things worse.

  “No.” Sarah continued then, describing how Mr. Buckley had started having her touch herself. And, apparently, how they’d both engaged in oral intercourse—and finally at the end of the school year, he’d told her how beautiful she was as he slid a finger inside her. “He said someday I would be glad for my special education.”

  Rebecca must have read all the questions on my face. “Sarah never reported this because Mr. Buckley told her you would kick her out of the house if you knew what she’d done.”

  That was it. I couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. Sobbing loudly, I pulled Sarah to my chest. “Oh, honey, we know this wasn’t your fault. And I hope you know I would never kick you out.” Half-nodding, she buried her head against my chest as we both cried.

  Rebecca excused herself for a moment as I held my child close and my brain traveled back in time, putting all the pieces together. Right after school had ended that year, Sarah had gone home with Kent for the summer, so even though she’d seemed to become more withdrawn in the fifth grade, I’d chalked it up to hormones, dismissing it. It wasn’t until she was back home earlier in the fall when her behavior escalated that I’d really noticed.

  But, Jesus Christ, I should have known. I should have figured this shit out.

  I whispered over and over to Sarah, “Honey, you can tell me anything. I love you.”

  After a bit, Rebecca came back in and sat across from us once more, but she moved a box of tissue to the table within arm’s reach. As I took one and blew my nose, she said, “I can counsel you and Sarah if you like—or you can speak with another counselor if you prefer.”

  I didn’t know what to think at this point, so I simply nodded.

  “I do need to inform you that I’m obliged to report this. That said, I don’t want Sarah to be grilled by well-meaning police officers. I have some contacts with Child Protection, so I’ll talk with a caseworker, preferably female, who could meet with us at your earliest convenience. In the meantime, though, let’s keep our appointments as is and, Randi, you can plan to be in our sessions as well.” When I nodded, she then said, “I’ll be in touch once I reach Child Protection.” Next, she shifted her gaze back to my child. “Sarah, you are a brave, strong young woman. I want to remind you that you did nothing wrong. Mr. Buckley should never have asked you to do those things, should never have put you in that position. It was inappropriate and inexcusable. You are not at fault. Don’t ever think that. But talking about it will help you heal, Sarah, so we’re going to keep working through it—and you’re safe here. I’m going to give your mother my cell number, so even if you’re not here in the office but you need to talk, you can call that number anytime and I’ll talk to you. But you can also talk with your mom. We’re both here for you.” Picking up a pad, Rebecca wrote the number on a sheet of paper and ripped it off, handing it to me. “You, too, Randi. Call if you need to. I answer the phone when I can, unless, of course, I’m in a session.”

  As we left, picking up with our day where we’d left off, I was so afraid of talking, because what if I said the wrong thing? Sarah and I were silent all afternoon, but I hugged her closely, reminding her that I was there for her. After I picked up Devon, I called my professors, letting them know I wouldn’t be in class that evening—and when I told Noreen she wouldn’t be babysitting that evening, she asked why.

  I simply told her I was playing hooky from class.

  At dinner, I knew we couldn’t keep everything secret from Devon—but no fucking way was I going to give him details. I wasn’t quite sure what to say and realized, as the words tumbled from my mouth that I hadn’t asked Sarah’s permission, but I hoped she’d be okay with what I was saying. “Son, Sarah had something bad happen to her in school last year.”

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter what.” Already, though, I could see that, perhaps, that wasn’t going to be enough for Devon. “She had a really bad teacher. But we’re going to start taking care of her. We’re going to take better care of her.”

  My sweet little boy sat up straighter in his chair, ready to take on the responsibility. “What do I have to do?”

  “Just be a good brother—be nice to Sarah.”

  “I’m always nice to her.”

  “I know you are. I guess I just wanted to remind you to keep up the good work.” When I glanc
ed over at my daughter, I stared for a moment, absorbing the sight.

  Sarah was actually eating her food. She wasn’t picking at it as she’d been doing over the last few months—and, when she asked for seconds, I wondered if maybe the healing was already beginning. I knew, deep in my soul, that it would take a long time to help Sarah feel whole again—but maybe now at least she had a fighting chance.

  Chapter Twenty

  As my kids sat at the kitchen table doing their homework later that night, things almost felt normal.

  Except I was angry. And I felt helpless.

  How had I not put this all together? I’d remembered thinking Mr. Buckley was an odd duck, so why hadn’t I figured out he was a pedophile? Why hadn’t I at least even considered the possibility?

  Would he go to jail? Was he still harming other little girls?

  I had so many questions and not a single answer. So I cleaned the fuck out of my house and smoked way too many cigarettes.

  Rebecca called early in the evening. Our appointment with Child Protective Services would be at ten o’clock the next day, and she gave me the address.

  She’d been right about one thing—I needed to talk to someone myself.

  At the moment, though, I didn’t have the time for a professional. However, my best friend might be a sympathetic ear—so I called Justin.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t who I got.

  It was Chelsea—and before I could even ask a question, her voice screeched through the phone. “Look, Randi or Rascal or whatever the hell your name is, I want you to stop calling this number. Justin doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  I didn’t know that that was true. “I need to talk to him. Just have him call me later.”

  “Sure. Whatever.” Click.

  Obviously, Justin wouldn’t get that message. Today had been way too much—and, although I’d spent most of my evening washing windows, walls, and the inside of the refrigerator when I wasn’t running outside for a couple of drags off a cigarette, I was on the lookout for other tasks to keep me busy. Sarah wasn’t interested in talking anymore, and I suspected the day had drained us both. Once the kids were in bed, I went in the utility room and smoked too many cigarettes in between bouts of crying.

  After nine o’clock, I considered texting Justin but decided to try calling again. I wanted to hear his voice. When I instead got his voicemail, I left one simple message. “If you don’t want to talk to me, at least have the balls to tell me yourself.”

  Sometime after six AM, Devon woke me up on the sofa by shaking my shoulder. I hadn’t remembered falling asleep there or even when I had. When I made my way into the kitchen, I started making coffee while also calling the middle school, informing them that Sarah would not be in school today.

  After taking Devon to school, I mustered up the courage to call Sarah’s dad. I’d put it off last night, but there would be no justifying it today. And, of course, the ever-vigilant Kent answered his cell phone almost immediately. “Are you busy?” I asked, lighting a cigarette before stepping outside into the small backyard.

  “No. What’s going on?”

  “Sarah had a breakthrough with the psychologist yesterday—and it’s worse than I’d imagined. Would you rather I call you later after work?”

  “If it’s that bad, Randi, you should tell me now. Just let me get to my office.” Through the phone, I could hear some rustling and then a click that was probably a door; meanwhile, I sucked down the smoke. Finally, Kent said, “Okay.”

  After a slight hesitation, I said, “Sarah was sexually abused.” There really was no other way to say it and definitely no way to sugarcoat it.

  The line was silent for so long that I considered asking him if he was still there. But then words started spilling out. “She was what?” He muttered something unintelligible and then, when he spoke again, his voice was elevated. “How could you let this happen, Randi? Was it one of your boyfriends? Or your ex?”

  “What the fuck, Kent? It wasn’t someone I was dating.” My teeth were clenched as I spat out, “It was her fifth-grade teacher.”

  The line grew quiet again for a moment as he continued processing. “Has he been arrested?”

  “We’re meeting with Child Protection this morning so Sarah can give a statement.”

  “How did this happen, Randi? Weren’t you paying any attention to her?”

  Fuck. I already knew where this was going. “Of course, I was, Kent—but you know as well as I do that I can’t be with her every second of every day, any more than you could.”

  “But Ann’s here. All she does is keep an eye on our children.”

  We’d been here before a few years ago. Their oldest kid was Devon’s age but now, if I wasn’t mistaken, both of his other children were old enough to be in school, attending the private institution Ann valued so much. The first time Kent had threatened to take custody of Sarah, he hadn’t had the bills he had now. His wife had champagne taste and wanted the same for her children. She could put up with my ragamuffin for summer and a week at Christmas, but that was all she could tolerate.

  Still, I wasn’t willing to place that bet because fear can be motivating.

  Instead, I had to assure her father I had things under control—even though I clearly did not. “Kent, I know you’re worried about her. So am I. I’m doing everything I possibly can to take care of her. Her psychologist is amazing, and I’ve already seen Sarah making progress. Right now, she’s got some stability.” I had no doubt Kent could provide our daughter with a more lavish lifestyle, but at his house she’d always be a second-class citizen when compared to her half-siblings. While I didn’t have much, I loved my children ferociously.

  I could almost hear the defeat in his voice. “If you change your mind…”

  “Thanks.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t come to Colorado right now. I’ve got some big stuff going on at work this week. But, if you want, I could talk to my lawyer.”

  “What for, Kent? This would be a criminal suit. What would your lawyer be able to do?”

  “Protect Sarah, for starters. I just don’t want some overzealous DA using Sarah to nail this bastard.”

  “I don’t want that, either.” Hell, I didn’t even know how all this was going to work.

  “Did they find other girls that went through the same thing?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Like I said, Sarah will be talking to the Child Protection today.” I refrained from letting out all my emotions. I really needed to fucking get some shit off my chest—but Kent had already drawn a weapon, so no way in hell was I going to give him ammunition.

  “Do you know the guy who did it?”

  “Not really. I met him a couple of times at parent-teacher conferences. And even though he seemed kind of strange, I never would have guessed he was a pedophile. I mean, this guy’s been teaching at the elementary school for a couple of years now. If he’d done this before, I would have thought it would have already been reported.” But then I remembered how he’d threatened my daughter. Maybe there were lots of victims out there afraid to speak.

  Suddenly, it felt like a vice was clamping itself on my heart.

  “What can I do right now?”

  I felt some relief that we’d moved beyond the threats and were now back at a healthier version of coparenting. “There’s nothing I can think of. I’ll let you know.”

  “If I could get my hands on that guy—”

  “Yeah, I know. I just hope the law moves quickly.” Rotting in hell would be too good for that man.

  “I’m sorry I can’t be there. Please keep me up to date. And tell Sarah I love her.” That was the tone I’d been hoping for and it helped me be kinder as well.

  “I will. Sorry I had to tell you all this.”

  “I wouldn’t forgive you if you hadn’t.” I knew that, too.

  After promising to call him as soon as anything new developed, I jumped in the shower to get ready for Sarah’s appointment with Child Protection
. On our way there, Sarah actually spoke. “Did you tell my dad?”

  “Yeah, honey. I hope that’s okay.”

  “I guess.”

  “He loves you, honey. He wishes he could be here with you right now.”

  “I’m kinda glad he’s not. It’s embarrassing.”

  As much as I hated to think that way, I banked her statement in my head just the same. My daughter didn’t want to tell her father about what had happened—another reason why she needed to stay with me. But that didn’t change the fact that I needed to try to be a good mother and not say shit about her dad. “I know, sweetie. He just wants you to know you have his support and love.”

  We drove the rest of the way in silence, soon arriving at the building Rebecca’s secretary had sent us to. Fortunately, Rebecca was waiting for us in the lobby when we got there, and she asked Sarah if she was ready. My daughter, brave and strong, nodded resolutely.

  It wasn’t long before we were led in the back by a woman slightly older than I. After the four of us entered a small conference room, the woman spoke directly to my daughter. “My name is Amy Warner. You can call me Amy. Rebecca and I work together sometimes. You must be Sarah.” Then she turned her attention to me. “And you must be Randi.” The woman was wearing navy blue from head to toe, a business pantsuit. A little white blouse peeked out at the top, just enough to break up the monotony of darkness—but her pale face and light blonde hair pulled into a severe bun made her dark clothes seem somehow appropriate for this somber occasion. Her soft, light voice didn’t quite match the way she looked. “Please have a seat,” she said, gesturing toward the chairs nearest us that circled a long table.

  When she asked if any of us wanted anything to drink, I wanted to scream at her to get to the point—but then I realized that easing in might be better for Sarah. When Amy sat down, she seemed to switch gears and once more began talking directly to my daughter. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Sarah, I have this video camera over here. If it’s okay with you and your mom, I would like to record our conversation today. If not, I’ll just take notes.”