Sarah asked, “Who will see it?”
“As few people as possible, actually. We’ll mainly use it for court or for the police. Usually, when something like this happens, they have a trial. If we tape your testimony as evidence, sometimes the judge won’t make you testify in person unless you want to.” Although her main focus was on Sarah, she kept glancing at me as well. “Both ways have their advantages, but I personally think it’s better when you don’t have to testify, because the defendant’s lawyer can be pretty brutal sometimes.”
“Brutal?” I asked. “Brutal how?”
“They try to twist around what happened. Some lawyers try to pin the blame on the victim.”
“No. That can’t happen.”
“That’s why I’d like to videotape today’s interview. I’d like to avoid that scenario if possible.”
But that wasn’t my choice. “It’s up to Sarah.”
The three of us looked at her, allowing her to decide, until she finally nodded her head. “It’s okay.”
Then, quickly, Amy set up the recorder before sitting down with a sheet of paper. At the same time, she handed me several forms to fill out, and while I completed the paperwork, she asked Sarah to tell her story.
I was grateful I had something to keep me busy…because hearing her story again made me break down in tears.
When all was said and done—camera off, paperwork collected, Sarah silent again—Amy said, “Children rarely lie about this sort of thing. If a child says she’s been sexually abused and then relates the story in graphic detail like Sarah has, we believe the abuse occurred. There is no doubt.”
I myself hadn’t doubted it. It hadn’t occurred to me to not believe my child—and that was probably why she’d slowly withdrawn: the truth was too horrifying for words, too gruesome to speak. Again, I was grateful that I’d taken Sarah to see a psychologist, because she already seemed to be recovering just by being able to talk about it.
“I’ll be speaking with the Police Department later today and then I’ll be in touch. You can come to any court proceedings you wish, but I’m going to do my best to ensure you don’t have to come to court if you don’t want to. Child Protection will represent your interests.”
“As long as Sarah is protected. I don’t want her hurt anymore.”
But how could I keep her safe when I’d obviously already failed?
* * *
Late that night, I was prepping to close at work when none other than Justin walked through the door. But I was exhausted by then, more mentally than physically, and I wasn’t in the mood for anything else emotional, so I simply said hi.
“What the hell was that voicemail all about?”
Or so I’d thought. This man could bring out my inner beast.
“Christ, Justin, seriously? How many times do I have to call you and ask you to call me back? What was it about that one that got your attention?”
“Your message sounded like you thought I was avoiding you. So here I am. Why did you think I was dodging you?”
“You think your pet bitch might have something to do with it?”
“My pet bitch?”
“Yeah. Chelsea.”
“What the hell are you doing calling her?”
“You tell me. She answered your phone.”
“What? When?”
“More than once.”
“Doesn’t make sense. We haven’t hung out in a few days.”
I shrugged, punching some buttons on the computer screen to remind him that I should be working—but I didn’t say another word.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started swiping through the screen. Meanwhile, I started bagging up the trash below the counter. Almost under his breath, Justin said, “Son of a bitch.”
“What?”
“That conniving little bitch forwarded my calls to her phone.” He continued tapping his phone while he continued talking. “But that doesn’t explain why you’ve been blowing me off.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I texted you a bunch of times.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did.” He handed his phone to me and, sure enough, Rascal had a bunch of recent text messages I’d never seen.
“I never got any of those, Justin.” He raised his eyebrows as I held out my hand. “Can I see your phone?”
“It’s obviously not working.”
I had some suspicions about that. Pulling up his contacts, I found myself in his small list and tapped on my name. Just as I suspected. “That’s not my number. When did you change it?”
Justin did not look amused, arching one eyebrow. “I think you know the answer to that.”
I updated my number—off by one numeral—and saved it before handing his phone back. “I’d suggest changing your passcode to start with.”
“I’m gonna do more than that.”
“Good idea. That woman’s moving into stalker territory.”
“Don’t be melodramatic.”
“I’m not. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to see she’s off her fucking rocker. But you’ve been playing the lottery, my friend. You’re lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“Yeah. How many women have you slept with over the past couple of years? You’re bound to get a loose cannon once in a while. If you need suggestions on how to handle her kind of crazy, I could make a couple of movie suggestions.”
“You’re cute.” Although he’d said it, he didn’t mean it—but it was nice engaging in banter that felt as comfortable as a home-cooked meal. “I didn’t see you after class last night, either.”
“That’s because I didn’t go.” Suddenly, the air felt like it could no longer reach the bottom of my lungs, but I forced the words out of my mouth just the same. “Sarah told us in counseling yesterday that she was sexually abused.”
“As in…molested?”
“Yeah. By her teacher in school last year.”
“Her teacher?”
I slowly nodded my head. “So today we went to Child Protection to make a statement. The things he did to her…”
“Why didn’t she tell you?”
“She said she was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of all kinds of things. The guy really did a number on her head—and she feels ashamed, like it’s her fault.”
“Goddamn.”
“I just feel like such a shitty mother. I should have—”
“Randi, you’re not a shitty mother. And it wasn’t like you didn’t know something was going on. You just didn’t know what. It wasn’t like you could pry it out of her with a crowbar. You did the right thing. You got her help. And you’re still doing what you need to do.”
I tried to cling to his words, wanting to believe the truth of them, but I didn’t know I’d ever get to that point. What kind of mother could let that happen on her watch?
But, more importantly, what could I do to fix it?
Chapter Twenty-one
Justin spent the night that night. But, unlike usual, there was no passionate lovemaking. Instead, I took comfort in his strong arms.
But I couldn’t fucking sleep. My brain rolled like tempest-tossed seas and there would be no drifting off.
Sliding out from under Justin’s arm, I got out of bed and made my way through the dark house, not turning on a light until I got to the kitchen. Once there, I got down my secret whiskey bottle and poured myself a small glass just as Justin appeared in the doorway. “Is that such a good idea?”
“I can’t sleep—but I really need to, and this will help.” I downed it in one shot.
Justin placed his hands on my shoulders and rubbed them. “What can I do?”
Resting my head on his chest, I wrapped my arms around him. “Nothing, really. Just being here helps.”
“I can do that.”
The liquid courage was doing its trick, warming my chest before settling in my belly. “There is something you could do for me.”
> “Name it.”
“I need a gun.”
He pulled back from me so he could look in my eyes. “A gun? That’s a bad idea, Rascal. Besides, why don’t you just buy one if you need it so bad?”
“I’d rather not have a gun that can be traced.”
“What makes you think I can do that?”
“I might not be the brightest bulb in the pack, but I do know that out of everyone I know and trust, you would be most likely to be able to get it for me.”
“I can’t do that. It’s a shitty idea.”
I wrapped my arms around his torso again. “Never mind. Sorry I asked.” And I tried to take his mind off the subject by taking him back to bed and rocking his world.
Finally, thanks to orgasm and alcohol, I, too, was finally able to fall sleep.
* * *
Another sign that Sarah was beginning to heal was that she wanted to go to school the next day—and it made me realize something. Maybe the worst part for my child was over and, now that she could voice what had happened, she was beginning the journey to wellness. My hope was that she would be able to put all this shit behind her.
For me, though, it was just beginning.
When I took Sarah to school that morning, I walked in with her. For the first time in ages, Sarah didn’t seem upset that I was walking into the building with her—and she even gave me a hug before running down the hall toward her locker.
I paused, finding the courage to rap on Kevin Campbell’s door. Although it was slightly ajar, I didn’t feel comfortable just popping it open.
“Come in.”
When I peeked my head in, I couldn’t muster a smile. “Do you have a minute?”
His shoulders seemed to stiffen, but he was nice enough. Fucking A. This was awkward as hell. “Hi, Randi. Come in.”
After sitting down, I started talking. “I just wanted to update you regarding Sarah. She made a breakthrough in therapy.”
“What kind of breakthrough?”
“She told us what happened to her to cause her behavior problems.” I struggled, not knowing how much I should tell him. “It’s pretty bad.”
For the moment, Kevin seemed to set aside his own discomfort as he focused on my words. “What is it?”
This was my daughter’s story—and, yet, I knew he would be bound to confidentiality. I didn’t have to tell him everything—just enough that he’d understand what was happening with her. “She was sexually abused.”
He was quiet for a bit as it sunk in. When he finally spoke, I could barely hear him. “My God. What happened?”
“I don’t know how much I should tell you, but we met with Child Protective Services, and they’ll be reporting it to the authorities.”
“Well, that’s good.” I could see in his eyes that he had more questions than I’d be able to answer. “Did Sarah tell you who did it?”
“Yes.”
“Was it someone she knew? Most victims know their abusers.”
“Yes. It was…prolonged, I guess you’d say.”
“My God. Randi, I had no idea. I’m so sorry. The few times I talked to her, I thought she was experiencing some sort of depression, and I knew she was acting out—but I never suspected sexual abuse. I feel like such a—”
“How could you have known, Kevin? You’ve only known her for a couple of months. I’ve lived with her for her entire life and didn’t have a clue. How could I blame you for not spotting it?”
“But I’m trained in this field. I should have at least had an inkling…”
“Then what does that make me? I know Sarah better than anyone else. I knew something was wrong, but I never would have guessed this. Does that make me a bad mother?”
“Of course not.”
I had my doubts about that, but now wasn’t the time. “Then you get my point. I just thought you should know. It may help in dealing with her in the future. But I can tell the sessions with the psychologist are helping her.”
“By sharing her story, she’s reliving the trauma. Doing that can be very therapeutic. She’s telling people she trusts, who care, and it really can aid in the healing process.”
“I believe it.” My jacket was starting to make me feel overheated in his warm office, but I didn’t plan to stay long, so I kept it on. And, while I wanted to bolt out of there now that the important information had been shared, I knew there was something else I needed to take care of first. “Kevin, about the other night…”
“What about it?”
“You left in a hurry. I feel really bad about the whole thing.”
His expression turned to stone. “Don’t. I didn’t realize you had someone else in your life. I guess I should’ve asked first.”
Too quickly, I corrected him. “It’s not like that. Well, I guess it kind of is. Justin and I are very close.” Now for the hardest part. “I probably—no, I definitely tell him a lot of things I shouldn’t.”
“I know women have their own locker room talk, but I honestly had no idea two friends of the opposite sex chatted about things of that nature.”
Already, I was starting to feel better. “I’m really sorry. I feel so bad about the whole thing. Women do talk, but I shouldn’t have said anything—what happened between you and me should have stayed there.”
Folding his hands together on his desk, he looked me straight in the eye. “Well, you’ve had a lot on your mind. Can I be frank with you?”
I suspected I didn’t want to hear it, but I said, “Of course.”
“Maybe you’re blind to what’s going on because you’re living it—but what happened was more than a simple slip. Your friend said what he did because he thinks of you as a lot more than a friend. If it had just been a confidence, he would have kept it. But by revealing it the way he did…that was his way of communicating his feelings about you to me without voicing it.”
“What do you mean? He was trying to embarrass you and piss me off. And it worked.”
“Did you talk to him about it afterward?”
“Yes, of course. I told him I was angry.”
“And what did he say?”
I thought back to that night, the night we’d wound up fucking in my kitchen like animals. Actually, Justin had been in complete control; I’d been the one worked into a frenzy. “He said it was just a joke.”
“Did he happen to tell you how he feels about you?”
Although frowning, I almost laughed. “Before or after his girlfriend called?”
“He has a girlfriend?”
“One of many.”
Kevin’s voice softened, and I was pretty sure he thought I’d lost my mind. “Look, Randi, all I know is, from what little I saw, it seems like the two of you have a pretty strong bond going on there that I frankly don’t want to get in the middle of.” Holding his palms up as if trying to stop me from protesting, he added, “I already have an ex-wife and plenty of grief of my own. I don’t intend to cause problems with you and Justin.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, if that’s what you think.”
“I didn’t say that. But I think you’re in denial.”
“Denial? Of what?”
“I’ll let you figure that out yourself. I counsel kids, Randi. I’m not trained to help adults.”
Was that his subtle way of telling me my brain was fucked up? Like I didn’t know that already.
“I don’t need help.” So that was a lie. “I’d just like to know what you’re going on about.”
He slowly shook his head but said, “This is all I’ll say about the matter: I believe both you and your friend have a lot more going on between you than either of you care to admit.” I already knew what that was. I loved Justin. I flat-out fucking loved that man, but he didn’t love me back—and I was sure all of that shit had bubbled to the surface like a festering pimple the night he’d been there. “I like you, Randi, but I think now is a bad time for us to try dating. Aside from your friendship with another man, you’ve got a lot going on with Sarah that you’re f
ocusing on. You don’t need other things in your way right now.”
The man was correct on all counts, and there was no arguing it. “I guess you’re right.”
He gave me a short nod before standing up to sit in the chair next to me. Then he took my hands in his, and it felt so weird, but I hoped my expression didn’t give that away. “If things between you and your friend don’t work out, who knows? Maybe we could try again. If that happens, give me a call. For now, though, I think we need to forget about it, and I hope you understand.”
Suddenly, I wanted to laugh. Instead, I kept my face straight and simply said, “I get it.” It wasn’t until I was in the van that I began laughing hysterically, so hard that tears were streaming from my eyes by the time I finally rested my head on the steering wheel.
And then the laughter turned to real tears as I let myself cry uncontrollably until my eyes dried up, reaching the bottom of the well.
Chapter Twenty-two
When I got back home, I was shocked to see Justin’s truck still parked at my house. I walked in the house and almost immediately recognized that the tune he was singing at the top of his lungs was Jimi Hendrix’s “Purple Haze.”
Ah, he was in the shower.
That was probably for the best, because I imagined my face was red and splotchy from bawling like a baby. After dropping my purse on the couch, I went to the kitchen and ran cool water in the sink to splash on my eyes. Then I poured myself another cup of coffee and went in the backyard to smoke a cigarette. As much as I’d loved hearing Justin sing, I needed to get my game face back on.
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. Standing in the cold yard behind my house, I imagined Justin getting out of the shower, probably continuing to sing but a little more quietly. He’d grab a towel and pat down his body before fluffing his hair and wrapping the towel around his waist. Then he’d probably find a stray comb on the bathroom counter. I could see him in my mind, light stubble on his face, teeth gleaming, coffee-colored eyes alive.
Jesus. I definitely loved that man. No wonder Kevin hadn’t had any problems seeing it.
Love and Sorrow (Small Town Secrets Book 5) Page 19
