“I didn't want any of it. Not the abuse and not your misery or the nightmares or the mood swings, and I sure have no use for this defiance. But here we are, in crisis mode.”
“What do you mean, crisis!”
“When a thirteen-year-old stays out for almost three days, I'd say we have a serious problem, wouldn't you?”
“Okay, so I should have let you know where I was. Time got away from me.”
“I'll say. And you need to do more than announce your plans. Like it or not, you need permission. Now where were you?”
“Different places. I didn't mean to stay away, but I fell asleep on the couch at Lanny's, and I knew you'd be mad anyway, so I decided to stay out the rest of that day.”
“That's one day. You were gone three.”
“She was going to give me a ride home but she wanted to stop at a party. It got late, so I got into this guy's truck and he wouldn't stop and he just kept on driving till we wound up way over in Tarkington. I got away from him and saw some kids I knew and they drove me back. We stopped and slept on the road. Don't worry, nothing happened.”
“Don't worry? Do you know what could have happened to you?”
“Nothing that hasn't happened to me already.”
“Oh, you think so, do you. And what kind of party was this, and where?”
“Just a party. It was at Jenny's house. I didn't know anybody there, so I went out to get a ride home.”
“Were her parents there?”
“I don't know.”
“Drinking, no doubt. Drugs?”
“You think that's all kids do at parties, don't you.”
“It's the company you keep. It's months of being lied to about drinking and other stuff. It's made me suspicious.”
“Like you know anything about parties. I bet you've never even been to any.”
”You're quite sure you know everything, aren't you.”
“You used to be famous, remember. You weren't exactly cool, from what I read.”
“So I'm not cool. But don't think I'm stupid. You've been hanging out with some pretty scary-looking kids. You're having three-day sleepovers and you tell me, ‘Oops, I forgot to look at my watch, but don't worry. Nothing happened.’ How dumb do you think I am?”
“I said I was sorry.”
“I don't like it one bit, but there's a question I've got to ask you. Are you having sex?”
“Oh, that's what this is about. I'm a slut now, right? For your information, my only sex partner till now has been your scummy brother. Does that make you feel better?”
“You're out of control, Kari. The only way left for us is counseling.”
She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Predictable, he thought. The shabby little place was shaking on its puny foundations from all the doors that had been slammed at the end of an argument. I don't care. We're going to get a handle on this. Tess is right. She's pushing me around, and I've let her do it.
On Monday morning he stopped by the counseling center. After waiting for forty-five minutes he looked up to see a youngish woman carrying some file folders standing in front of him. Her face did not give any clue to her thoughts, and he shook off his embarrassment.
“I have some time now, if you'd like,” she said briskly, and led the way to a small corner room that contained little more than a desk, two chairs, and a filing cabinet.
“I need some information,” he said, to break the oppressive silence that hung in the room after they had seated themselves. “And I need help with a girl who has been molested.”
“What is your relationship to this girl?”
“Is this confidential?”
“By the laws of this state,” she told him in measured tones, “what you tell me is confidential if you are not the abuser.”
“I am not.”
“If at any time I learn you are, I have no obligation to keep anything confidential.”
“She's my niece. She won't come in for counseling because she won't make a report, and without counseling she'll never be ready to let this go or make a report. It's a lose-lose situation.”
“How old is this girl?”
“Thirteen.”
“May I ask how old you are?”
“This is relevant?”
“It may be.”
“I am twenty-five.”
“Is the abuser her father?”
“Yes.”
“And he is your brother?”
“Yes.”
“Is it still going on?”
“No. She moved in with me last January.”
“Are there other people in the house? Your girlfriend, your wife, anybody?”
“No.”
“Hm.”
“Just about everything I've done has made things worse. She's always mad and defiant. She's drinking. Rules are a joke. I hope you can tell me how to get her in here.”
She was silent for a few moments. Kitt felt uncomfortable under her stare. Her manner radiated doubt, and he wondered if he fit a pattern she didn't trust. Did abusers come in here to find out what the kid could do to them? To get help in stopping it?
“You're not well positioned to raise a teenage girl,” she said slowly, as though weighing different approaches. “No court in its right mind would select you for foster care, and we certainly wouldn't recommend it.”
“I'm not asking to be selected for foster care. She's with me with both parents’ consent.”
“Are her parents together?”
“No.”
“Then why is she not with her mother?”
“Her mother has other stuff on her mind. Believe me, I didn't campaign for the job. But there's no one else on the horizon, so I am her best shot.”
She nodded, looked at her watch.
“I have an appointment in a few minutes. Why don't you ask her to come in here and talk to us anonymously for the time being. Once we get her started on some therapy, we can address the issue of disclosure.”
“She won't come.”
“Until she's ready to come in, there's nothing I can do.”
Well, of course that had been the point of his visit. Finding out how to get her in here. This sure didn't look like the place where Kari would loosen up. The outfit gave you frostbite. Weren't counselors supposed to be kind of like substitute parents, people a kid like Kari could talk to, who'd put an arm around her shoulders and let her cry and comfort her? Maybe they were more sympathetic to the victims, but he hadn't felt much but skepticism. Being male seemed to be a serious strike against you around here. His hesitation lasted only a moment, and then he turned and left the building.
Somewhere in a comfort corner of his mind he'd held on to the illusion of therapy as the sure cure. So it was stupid. But deep inside it had seemed like a divine balm that would heal the scrapes and stabs of mortality. He had no career, no steady job, and almost no money and he should pay out what little he had left to some quack who'd convince Kari that men were at the bottom of the food chain? Better start taking care of that food chain.
Tess was emphatic on the phone.
“Counselors are not parents, Kitt,” she told him. “Get over that notion. They're professionals, or should be. They're not all good. And they're not all good for a particular person. If you didn't like that one, find another. Don't give up.”
“How many of these places can there be?”
“A lot. Keep trying till you find someone who gives you good vibes.”
“”I've met several, and they all had an agenda.”
“Then keep looking. Some will be like that, the ones who suggest more than listen. But you keep at it till you find one who cares but doesn't get all tied up with her emotionally.”
“How do I tell all that in one visit?”
“You can't, but you get an idea. I've sent you some stuff in the overnight mail—books, articles. There's a booklet that gives you some ideas on how to select a counselor. You can talk to the professional organization
s, to doctors, to schools. Your own instincts are good. I made you a list of questions to ask. Ask if they work with the whole family, what their policy is about disclosure, group sessions or private ones, payment, confidentiality, parent involvement. Check out their attitude to you. It'll tell you the way they think. Are they patronizing, suspicious, or open and understanding? Do you feel put down or supported? Chances are she'll feel a lot like that. Have them discuss their therapies with you. Run if anyone promises a cure, especially within a particular time frame. Some states allow a grace period before disclosure. Some centers will do some anonymous counseling to keep them coming. Find out about all that. Ask a legal information service about disclosure laws. Get with it, Kitt.”
“Okay,” he said, somewhat chastened. “I'll do it. And thanks, Tess.”
“No problem. I'll call you later this week, see what you've got by then.”
The package arrived the next morning. For days he spent every free moment reading, recognizing Kari in many of the case studies, and regretfully, himself. How many times had he told her to shake it off and get on with her life? How many times had he been impatient with her guilt? Was he as callous as Laura, who trivialized Kari's pain? Tough luck, babe, just suck it up. First he'd contributed to the stress that had collapsed her world, then offered her a new and improved package and expected her to adopt it overnight and with the least possible fuss. Great, Buchanan. First you are her buddy. Then Mr. Fixit. And all the kid wanted was a dad.
Her guilt was real. Telling her she'd done no wrong wasn't going to make it go away. Well, that was old news. So how did you make it go away? Counseling, they kept saying. Every book said it, every magazine, every talk show guru. What could they say to her in counseling sessions that he couldn't say at home? Couldn't he get some training, so he could have the right answers for her? How hard could it be?
Plenty hard. The simple answers—they'd done no good. Words conveyed images, but they didn't smoke a ball into the farthest corners by the baseline. You could tell a novice how to hit a ball, how to serve down the T, but to serve at better than 80 percent consistently you had to have the talent and the training, and years and years of hard work. Why should this be different? Studying the mind and emotions wasn't going to be easier and quicker than fine-tuning a volley or a running forehand, or playing Liszt's Liebestraum. She couldn't wait for him to get a clue if she was ever going to get her life back. You're a mega-idiot, Buchanan. Just tell me how to do it, right? I'll set the little lady straight by tomorrow night. If he had to go alone for a while, he'd go alone. If people figured him for the abuser, let them. As long as they helped him get her to a therapist. It wasn't going to be some airhead, either. With the exhibition money in sight, they could shop around for the best.
To Kitt's relief Jeff seemed more upbeat during his next visit. “Some of the guys here think I'll be out in less than a year,” he told Kitt. “They say it's just white-collar stuff and if we can get the IRS paid off, I could try for an early release.”
“I thought there was a minimum you had to serve,” Kitt said dubiously. “How much time can they take off?”
“There's a special dispensation measure coming up,” his brother told him. “Governor's taking action to relieve overcrowding. A type of amnesty. They're not going to let the murderers out, and I think I'm in a good position to walk. I may be able to salvage my career. After all, I could do some company a whole lot of good.”
“Talk to anyone?”
“Fat chance getting on the phone around here. But I wrote to some of the people I've done business with, Henry Warner and a few others. I think they'll be interested in my ideas. So what do you think?”
“What do you mean what do I think?”
“Well, we've got to get the IRS paid off.”
“I paid them off. In full. That's why I sold the house and the condos in Florida and New York, remember?”
Jeff shook his head impatiently.
“That was your account. I still owe them.”
“I thought the sale of the house and the Ferraris took care of that.”
“They seized my assets, but I had already sold the cars and a couple of other things, so they came up short more than a half mil. You were at the trial. You know all that.”
“I didn't keep track of the figures. So where's that money?”
“Gone. Paid off debts.”
“I'm sorry about that, but I haven't got half a mil, and if I did, I'd have good use for it.”
“You mean you're not going to help me?”
“I may have to drop out of school next semester. I'm just about broke!”
“You know where you can get it.”
“Here we go again.”
“My life is at stake here, Kitt. You want to know what it's like, locked up like a criminal with thugs and murderers? Have you got any idea how humiliating it is?”
“You haven't exactly left me in a state of bliss, either.”
“I shared with you what I had when you were dumped in my lap, Kitt.”
“I could spell the story backwards. Unfortunately, neither one of us has anything now. I'm scraping to get enough money together to get Kari into counseling.”
“Will you get off that counseling kick? Why don't you just let her forget the whole thing?”
“Maybe you can forget it, but she won't.”
“You and your counselors will see to that, I suppose.”
“She's got to heal.”
“Why don't you see my side for once? I didn't hurt her. I made a stupid mistake, and you want me to spend the rest of my life paying for it. I was a good father to her for most of her life. She had everything any kid ever had.”
“So you figure you were entitled to a little slip?”
“I didn't say that. Just don't make me the monster in all this. Right now my future is on the line, and that means nothing to you! Never mind that I knocked myself out for you for years.”
Jeff infuriated him, but he was in prison. It must be hell. At home, watching Kari, contemplating the mess of his own life, he hated Jeff, but face to face with his brother's self-destruction he ached inside to comfort him. You can love and loathe the same person.
How noble. Jeff had seemed more cheerful today than he had in months, so what did he do? Take a few minutes out of his busy life to slam his brother back down.
“You could play a year of tennis. Just one year. A few tournaments even. A couple of exos.”
“It's not that simple. I haven't played a pro match in more than a year. And I've got Kari.”
“If I got out I could—”
Kitt's glance silenced him. After a few moments he shrugged.
“She's got a mother.”
“Remind Laura of that some day. I'll try, but I don't know what I can do. They may figure you're more likely to pay up when you're out making money than in here costing them.”
“So you two can hound me and file charges and put me back here, right? You'd love that.”
“You really don't get it, do you.”
“So what do you want? Is it therapeutic for her to make me crawl?”
Kitt took a deep breath.
“She's not trying to hurt you. She needs to know there's protection from people that hurt kids.”
“My brother the shrink. I haven't touched her for nearly a year. That should count for something.”
Kitt stared at his brother in disbelief. You will never get it. You want a blue ribbon for not abusing your daughter. That was her birthright.
“It's not like you had a chance,“ he replied. “She was with me, remember?”
“So what do you want, payback?”
“What I want is for her to stop hurting.”
“Believe me, it won't happen again. I know what stress does to me now. I'd never put myself in that position again, not with the IRS, or with my business, or anything. I'll show her things are different now. I can rebuild my business. She'll have everything she wants.”
Kitt leaned hi
s elbow on the counter, his chin on his hand.
“I'll do what you want. If you want me to stay out of her life, you can set the terms on that. Nobody needs to know. It'll just be between you and Kari and me.”
Still negotiating, aren't you. Buying back your status. Bartering your daughter for cash.
“What do you say, Kitt? Kari won't have a thing to worry about. I'll stay out of her life if you want. I've acted like an idiot, and I'll give her up. That'll be my penance. Don't think it won't hurt—I'm her dad. I love her. But I will do what's necessary.”
A few simple deals, that's all. Pay for boarding school, maybe. Give her some expensive presents. You're already figuring how to make it look right.
“I'm telling you, if I can just get out of here and you can help out a little bit, just for a while, things are going to be all right. It's kind of in your hands.”
Kitt felt incredibly weary and got to his feet.
“I've got to go now, Jeff. Be back as soon as they'll let me.”
“Kitt, tell me at least what you're going to do!”
He didn't even turn around. The door clanged shut behind him.
There's only one way to get my hands on that kind of cash and you know it. That's what this whole show was about. An exhibition isn't enough. I'd have to go back to the tour.
At home Kari was obviously right out of the shower, and without makeup she looked like a kid again, in spite of the punky pink hair he detested. He sniffed around.
“You cooking, kiddo?”
“Just toasted cheese sandwiches. How come you're so late?”
“Clinics ran late. They make me work for my money. Stopped at the prison afterward.”
She was fairly cheerful, and that was something. Maybe this would be a good time to tackle the issue of counseling. After the conversation with Tess he'd shopped around and made an appointment, just for himself. A small clinic, well thought of by some of the other crisis centers and by the doctors he'd called. Maybe he could do sort of an approach shot—carefully lead the conversation around and then move in for the point, see how that went over. No pressure.
He smiled at Kari in his best casual manner, and she was instantly wary.
“I'm going to see a counselor tomorrow,” he ventured after a moment.
Break Point Down Page 21
