She took a long sip of tea; I focused on her fingers that wrapped around the delicate cup, as if they were suddenly seeking warmth. The large cut diamond that glittered from her left hand contrasted brightly with the darkness of her skin and I didn’t miss when she tapped the inside of that finger purposely against the porcelain eliciting a soft “tick tick tick” sound.
Finally, she replied, “I can try, but I can’t make promises she will be able to help. You have to understand, she’s different now. She had to bear witness to this terrible thing, and she lost her other half, her twin. Her therapist says on top of all of that, she has severe survivor’s guilt. She feels like he was killed protecting her. I told you before, she doesn’t talk about that day with me, but the truth is she doesn’t really talk to me at all anymore. I can’t promise she will hear me if I try to ask her about this”
Ronda glanced away and I saw the tears welled up in her eyes. Her armor of stiletto heels, aggressive speaking, and chin up fortitude were weakened significantly when Aliya was mentioned. She’d accepted the loss of DeShaun on that April morning because she’d had to, but in effect, she’d also lost a second child. The prolonged slow torture of watching Aliya struggle to find some seed of hope had worn down the strongest woman I’d ever met.
I reached over and touched her hand, “You don’t always have to be the strongest one in the room. Look, if you think this is too much to ask of her, I totally understand. We will figure this out some other way. There is something, though, that you might want to consider. This… mission, it’s changed my life. Trying to help this child has given me a purpose. I wonder if maybe Aliya would also get some value from that.”
She smiled at me; it was a softer and more real smile than I’d ever seen her display. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’ll talk to her. No promises, it depends how the conversation goes, but I’ll try.”
Our conversation was interrupted by the ringing of my doorbell. “That’s Lt. Morris,” I explained. We agreed I wouldn’t mention to him what Ronda was going to attempt. We didn’t want Aliya exposed to any police questioning. With that agreement made, we walked to the door.
Morris stood on the porch and gave me a strange look. I realized this was as put together as I’d ever been in his presence. When his lips showed a hint of a smile, I felt my cheeks redden. I was all too aware of just how much leg I was showing, and just how red my lipstick was. I hadn’t gone to the effort for his sake, but what if he thought that was my intention?
I hurriedly shoved Ronda in front of me and said, “This is Ronda Jenkins, Ronda, this is Morris. We had a meeting, so I’m dressed up for that. Ronda and I had a meeting, I mean. Because I mean, well, we just sometimes meet like this. It’s an organization; we are forming an organization.”
Ronda turned around and gave me a pointed look. I knew I was babbling, and her look confirmed it was as bad as I thought.
She stuck out her hand and in Hurricane Ronda business mode, said, “Lieutenant Morris, nice to meet you. I’m sure Richmond PD will be hearing all about our organization soon. Have a nice day.”
He barely got out his own return greeting before she was sashaying down the sidewalk in her heels. When he looked back at me, I saw the confusion on his face, and I laughed, “That’s Ronda! Come on in.”
When he was seated in the chair Ronda had just vacated, I handed him the phone. He frowned and shook his head as he read the interaction and took notes.
“So, there are about 340 female students at the school. That’s a relatively small number really to filter through, but our job is made a little tougher because of summer break. We can definitively rule out the girls who were in that room that day because we’ve already investigated them. That leaves about 332 more students. We are getting closer; we will identify this child.”
I nodded and didn’t share the details of my own little investigation. I needed to protect Aliya, but there was also the matter of not wanting to step on Morris’s toes. He’d been a good ally in this. I didn’t want him to think I was suggesting I wasn’t confident in him or his department. I glanced back at him; he really was a good guy. He’d been so patient with me and so willing to help. I suspected a lot of this was being done off the clock. Surely, he had more junior people who could handle this role of professional hand holder.
“I know you’re working hard on this and you probably have a thousand other cases that keep you busy. I really appreciate it,” I said.
He smiled, “This one has become a priority for me personally. I don’t want to face the wrath of the citizen-detective who hasn’t given up on this child.”
I smiled back and then it hit me I’d smiled more on this day than I had in months. I pictured tiny little electric zaps in my brain, new circuits forming a fragile network to the previously dead smile zone. If I could learn to smile again, at simple things, then perhaps there might be a day when I’d feel actual happiness again. Perhaps that part of me was just dormant, waiting to be teased out.
27
I want to save you. You’re worth it.
She’d gone underground again. By then, I was used to the frequent breaks in communication. I wrote anyway, hopeful that C was reading even if she wasn’t yet responding. It had been almost 24 hours since I’d seen Ronda and I was resisting the urge to call her for an update. I knew this was a delicate matter, and she needed time to pull it off. When she finally called, though, I could not mask my breathless anticipation.
“Were you able to ask?”
“Yes. It was so hard to get her to even look at me, let alone hear what I was saying. When I explained that she could help save a little girl, though, I saw something in her eyes I haven't seen in such a long time. It’s like she just awoke. At first, she couldn’t really think of who it could be, but then she remembered there’s this girl, Callie, who was in Mr. Goldsby’s room across the hall. She said she remembered a time she was in the hall on a bathroom pass and she’d seen the girl going through a locker. Aliya knows the girl who belongs to that locker and it wasn’t this child. She saw the girl pull out a granola bar and then shut it and ran back to her class. She kind of thought maybe the girl had stolen the bar, but she didn’t say anything because she doesn’t know the other girl that well and maybe she’d offered it.”
A wave of exhilaration hit me, a hungry child, sticky fingers, in a nearby classroom. It had to be her! I thanked her profusely and then hung up to call Morris.
“I think I know who it is. A girl named Callie, she was in Goldsby’s room,” I explained.
He was silent for a moment, then pressed for more details. I reluctantly explained my secret little side mission with Ronda.
“Look, I know you were following up on all of this, but I thought Aliya might know better than any of us and frankly, I don’t think she’s in a place yet where she could have talked to the police. I’m really sorry I wasn’t more upfront but—”
He interrupted me and said, “Nell, stop explaining. My ego isn’t so large that I’d sacrifice two little girls just so I can play hero. I’m going to follow up on this immediately.”
I closed my eyes in relief, both at the note of determination in his voice, and his ability to accept my sleuthing on the side. We said our goodbyes and I began the painful waiting game. After hanging up, I began to pace, awaiting what I hoped would be a positive update. Surely, they would be able to roll right in and get to the child and end her nightmare.
I squeezed the phone in my hand and willed it to ring, but with each passing second, my anxiety climbed, as less welcome thoughts snuck in. What if they met resistance at the house? Could Morris actually be in danger? What if they removed her and she denied it all, would they have to return her? When it suddenly sounded a text alert, I jumped.
I’m going to real heaven now. Remember when we talked about it?
What? No wait, don’t do anything!!!!!
I just wanted to tell u sorry bcuz u have been so nice.
Callie, I know who you are. Don’t do it.
Doesn’t matter. He told me last night we have to leave to live in west virginia. My moms not going. She left with a man last night.
He’s not taking you anywhere, trust me.
He will if I let him but Im not letting him. Hes packing the car now and when he comes in to make me Im going to be just like Dill except Im gonna die too.
I dialed Morris’s number and when he answered, yelled, “She’s got a gun, get there now!” then hung up without hearing his response, to get back to the text.
Callie, the police are on their way. Your father is not taking you anywhere. You are going to be safe. You need to put the gun away right now.
Callie, answer me.
Callie???
I stared at my phone and thought, please, please, please, and then hit the familiar contact. Charlie. It rang straight to voicemail, his voice, but this time I didn’t stop to listen to his entire message. I hung up and redialed. Again, voicemail. Redial. This time on the second ring a child answered. Her voice was quiet and shaky.
“Callie,” I said, simply.
“Hi.”
“Callie, are you someplace safe?”
She paused, and then in a thin voice, a voice that sounded far too tired to belong to a 12-year-old girl, she replied. “Not really.”
“Do you still have the gun?”
“Yeah.”
“And your father? Is he…”
“He’s packing, and breaking everything he’s not taking with.”
“Listen, Callie, the police are on their way and they are going to help you. You think this is it; you think it can’t get any better than this. I’m telling you it can. You are stronger than you ever imagined; you can survive anything. You can come back from this; you can build a life again. You can find purpose and meaning. You don’t have to go down like this without a fight. You have value and worth. Callie, can you hear me?”
She was crying softly, “I don’t think I can.”
“Callie this is just a few minutes. This is just a day. This is just a week. This is just your first 12 years. There are so many more years for you, so many chances to experience happiness. The rest will be different. Your different will start today. Let the police help you.”
She inhaled deeply enough I could hear it, a long clear breath that took in the hope that oxygen always gives. And then she replied, “I have to go now.”
The disconnection was immediate and I trembled. I tried to return the call, but this time it didn’t ring at all before going to voicemail. It was instant. She had turned the phone off.
My legs felt weak and I sat on the floor. I balled my hands into fists and cried out, “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”
As I lay on the bathroom floor under the spinning ceiling, my chest clenching in rhythmic contractions, I tried to surface from the pool of panic for air. Just one breath, I told myself, just one breath. Finally, gasping, I focused on the overhead light. The room seemed to be closing in on me as my heart threatened to pulsate right out of my chest and then things went black.
The sound of pounding brought me back. I wasn’t sure where I was at first, and as the bathroom fixtures came into focus I felt confused and lost. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been laying there, and everything seemed so foggy in my head. The noise continued, and for a moment, I thought that too had originated in my head. Then I realized it was coming from the front door in the adjacent living room. Without consciously meaning to, I heard myself calling out and then there was the sound of the front door slamming open, and Morris was in the bathroom doorway.
He leaned over me and was speaking, but I felt disoriented, unable to quite translate whatever was coming from his lips in the murkiness of my brain. He reached down and picked me up and carried me into the living room, laying me on the couch. Finally, through the disorder, I heard my name.
“Nell, Nell, can you hear me?”
His voice sounded different, strained, worried. Morris never sounded worried. He was a solid rock of calm. I cleared my throat and made my words work.
“Yeah, I’m here… is she dead?” I asked.
“No, I tried telling you when I first found you, we have her, she’s okay. Everyone’s okay. You saved her in time,” he said.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but the tears rolled down my cheeks anyway. Saved.
“I’m sorry I'm such a wreck,” I said as I struggled to sit up.
“Shh, you’re fine,” he said gently.
“She hung up and I couldn’t reach her and I thought, I thought she had done it. I don’t know exactly what happened, it’s as if I was suddenly back there on that worst day of my life.”
“That’s completely understandable. You don’t just get over trauma; it’s not just your brain that stores it. Your body remembers it too. There are techniques to help you work through those moments. I have the name of a really great therapist who is an expert at PTSD. Many of my officers have used her with good results. I want you to give her a call,” he said.
His voice was soft, calm, but there was an underlying tension in it and I glanced over at him. His forehead was slightly wrinkled and he was staring intently, and I realized that tone I’d heard had been worry. For a moment, our eyes met and there was an uncomfortable silence. He was more than just a police officer, and I was more than just a helpless citizen. I broke eye contact first, I didn’t trust anything I was feeling at that moment.
“Callie, where is she now?” I asked.
“She’s at the hospital right now, she’s with social workers and detectives, and they’re going to move her later to a protective foster home. I see that look but trust me, forget every horrible thing you’ve ever heard on the news. The families who sign up to work with kids like Callie do it as a labor of love and they are very carefully selected,” he said.
I suddenly realized that this all meant that I wouldn’t be hearing from her again. I felt so incredibly relieved that we’d found her, but the thought left me with an almost wistful feeling. Our texts had filled that lonely, empty place inside me. Talking to her, seeking her name, chasing her down with Morris had all become part of my identity. I was no longer Charlie’s mom, and now I was no longer the woman who could save Callie. I couldn’t explain any of that to Morris, he wouldn’t have understood, so instead, I just smiled and said the right things.
When his phone rang, he said a few curt words and then hung up and said, “That was the station, I’m needed down there, but I hate leaving you like this.”
I smiled, “Like what? I’m fine now. Really, go!”
I walked him to the door, and he looked at me and said, “You did good, Nell, you really helped that girl. I know it may be hard, but you can stop worrying now. We will make sure she’s okay from here. And I really do hope you call that number I gave you. She’s very good. I’ve talked to her myself before.”
It hadn’t hit me until that moment this closure meant I would also say goodbye to Morris. Of course, there would be no need for him to call me daily for check-ins anymore, no more late-night pop ins. Everything was resolved in a very final way. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my emotions in check and smiled, “I think I will, thanks again, Morris, for taking all of this seriously.”
There was an awkward moment on the porch. My natural inclination was to lean in and give him a hug goodbye as if we were old friends. We weren’t old friends, though; he was a professional who had just been doing his job. I thrust a hand out, and he smiled that crooked smile, and then shook it before walking away.
Part 3
28
The tribe had formally organized into “Moms Preventing Violence,” or the much less tongue twisty MPVs. I’d fought valiantly to keep any reference to guns from the title because I didn’t want us to be portrayed as just another gun control group. We were something more. We were looking at a larger, more comprehensive picture and were hoping to address everything from the systemic abuse and neglect that provided such a breeding ground for child violence, to the laws that allowed gun
s to end up in their hands.
I wanted to identify at-risk children before they reached middle grades. Children who were lonely, the outsiders who lacked peer support. I had developed my own program that I’d put into action the previous month when the new school year began. I’d created rotating small groups in my own classroom to enjoy private lunch buddy days. While observing my kids in the early days, I’d picked out the ones who didn’t adapt easily to social constructs and matched them up with their more outgoing peers. It was my hope my classroom would serve as a model classroom and we could convince the school board to implement it district-wide the following year.
We were also pushing for better, free mental health access for children and youth. Too many families found themselves at a loss when trying to seek help for their children, stymied by prohibitive health insurance costs and a lack of available care in the region. I knew the current state of mental health care options was in crisis, and it felt like a huge mountain to climb, but with Ronda at the helm, there was no doubt we would make inroads.
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