Much as I hated to admit it, he had a point.
As it turned out, the promise of ballet went a long way toward easing Amelia’s stage fright—that, and my absence at the games. But Greg and Kat and Zach were always there to cheer her on—with plenty of bubble gum if she didn’t cry.
Sada turned out to be the ringer for the team, and Amelia survived, though not unscarred. To this day, she doesn’t like sports of any kind.
But in ballet, she was free and happy as a butterfly, and Greg’s penance was having to pay for her lessons and sit through all those recitals.
Turns out, I was the one who learned the most from T-ball. I learned that sometimes empathy isn’t the best thing, so little girls need their daddies too.
But if I had known what Greg was going to end up doing to both of us, I might have taken Amelia and headed for the hills, along with my unborn child.
Fourteen
August 1990
Having two kids was like having one, times ten. My Emma turned out to be a wildwoman, into everything, all the time, from the minute she could inch her way to whatever it was she wasn’t supposed to touch. And across the street, Little Zach was like his mother, on testosterone. Kat and I were so busy that it seemed like the next time I came up for air, time had telescoped, and there I was, getting dressed for Amelia’s first day of kindergarten.
She and I had chosen a special outfit, just for the occasion: a pretty little floral jumper, a matching pink T, and Mary Janes.
When I’d asked Kat if she had anything special for Sada to wear, she’d said she didn’t want to put so much emphasis on what people wore, so Sada would pick out whatever she wanted, and let it go at that. At least the child would be clothed, for a change. At five, Sada still loved to escape and run naked at least once a week, which Kat considered a sign of a healthy body image.
At two, it was funny; at five, alarming, especially considering all the perverts that roamed the world. But get me off my soapbox on that one. I’d long since given up trying to argue with Kat over her parenting methods. All I knew was, Sada was clothed and well behaved on her days at my house.
“Hold still, sweetie,” I told Amelia as I brushed her thick, dark hair up at the crown. “I want to make sure your ponytail is just perfect.”
As always, Amelia did as I asked immediately.
“Look, Emma,” she said to her little sister, who was happily ransacking Amelia’s bottom dresser drawer. “See my outfit? I’m going to school, s-c-h-o-o-l.” She stroked the grosgrain bow we’d gotten to pin at the base of her ponytail. “It’s really kindergarten,” she said gravely, “but I don’t know how to spell that yet.”
“Milla,” Emma said, the closest she could get to “Amelia.” Unimpressed, she dove deeper to throw out more clothes.
As always, Amelia indulged her little sister. “Mama, how do you spell ‘kindergarden’?”
“That’s a tricky one,” I said as I finished her ponytail and clipped in the bow. “It sounds like kindergarden, but it’s spelled kindergarten. K-i-n-d-e-r-g-a-r-t-e-n. It comes from the German.”
“Oh.” She would remember it. Amelia had been reading since she was four.
Her little sister Emma was another matter. She had no interest in letters or numbers. The only time my one-year-old sat still was when she finally, finally fell asleep at night, exhausted from a day of constant motion and exploring. If a book had more than three words on a page, she wiggled out of my lap and took off. In selfdefense, I’d emptied the whole house from the eyeballs down and put the medicine under lock and key. You have to pick your battles, and I had no intention of trying to hammer the curiosity out of her, but it sure was tiring.
Amelia inspected herself in the full-length mirror beside her closet. “Okay. I am ready to go to school.”
I gave her a hug. “Just enjoy yourself and relax. I’m sure you’ll have fun and meet lots of wonderful new friends.”
She smoothed her skirt, still checking her image. “But I don’t need any new friends. I have Sada.”
“Of course you have Sada.” Frankly, I was hoping they’d both branch out a little. “But you and Sada can make new friends too, and still be best buddies.”
Amelia looked at me as if I were simple. “If you say so.”
Translation: not on your life.
I loaded the baby and her car seat into the backety-back of my Grand Caravan, then strapped Amelia into hers behind me. Then we drove over to pick up Kat and Sada, who were late, of course. True to form, Sada had chosen a long-sleeved camo T-shirt, purple corduroy pants, and orange rain boots.
“Hey, ’Melia,” she said, completely unselfconscious as she climbed into the car seat Kat had put in the middle seat.
“Hey, Bets.” Kat heaved Little Zach and his car seat beside Emma, then secured it. Blowing her red bangs upward in exertion, she came up and sat beside me. “Can you believe it? D-day has arrived.”
“Yep.” I had no idea her combat metaphor would end up being prophetic.
When we got to school, I felt a lump in my chest when Kat and I teared up as our little girls waved good-bye, then walked hand in hand to their first day of school.
All the way home, Kat and I reminisced about their toddler years.
No sooner had I dropped Kat and Little Zach off, and gotten Emma down for her nap, than my phone rang.
My hello released a string of profanity from Kat that would put a sailor to shame.
“Whoa!” I guess even a Christian like Kat could relapse to her “old man,” as Saint Paul put it, given sufficient provocation. The question was, what had set her off? “Calm down. What’s the matter?”
“The freakin’ principal just called and said my daughter had molested a little boy in her class! Have you ever heard anything so absurd in your life?” Uh-oh. “That woman talked like I was some kind of trash, said I had to git down there right away so they could decide whether or not to notify the authorities, fer God’s sake.” She snorted in derision. “Authorities, my ass. Kin you look after Little Zach?”
“Sure. Drop him by on your way out.” Molested? This had to be some kind of awful misunderstanding. Sada was a free spirit, but the child didn’t have a sinister molecule in her body.
“Thanks.” Kat slammed down the receiver.
I’d barely hung up when the phone rang again. “Hello?”
“May I please speak with Mrs. Callison?” asked an exaggerated alto voice.
“This is she.”
“Mrs. Callison,” the affected voice drawled on, “this is Mrs. Bainbridge, the principal of Twelve Oaks Elementary School. Your daughter Amelia is a new student here?”
Obviously, or she wouldn’t be calling. “Yes. That’s correct.”
A jolt of adrenaline shot through me. Had something happened to Amelia? “Is she all right? Has something happened to her?”
“Not to her,” the principal said at an annoyingly deliberate pace, “but to her teacher.” Why wouldn’t she just get to the point? “There was an in-ci-dent with another student, and your daughter bit her teacher, Miss Wilkerson.”
What? That was absurd. Amelia was the kindest child in creation. “Are you sure you have the right child, Amelia Callison?”
“Yes. We have the teeth marks to prove it,” the woman said without a shred of humor.
“There must have been some provocation,” I shot back. “My daughter has never bitten anybody in her life. What was that teacher doing?”
“Merely trying to discipline another student.” I sensed some defensiveness in her at last.
I put two and two together. Sada must have been the other child. Amelia was fiercely loyal to her best friend.
The principal grew stern. “We do not tolerate physical violence of any kind, Mrs. Callison, especially against our teachers. According to our rules, your daughter must be suspended immediately for three days, during which there will be a thorough investigation of the in-ci-dent, as well as your household.”
Our household? Of all t
he nerve! “You bet there’ll be an investigation,” I snapped. “That teacher must have done something awful to provoke my daughter to such behavior!” I struggled to regain my composure. Heart pounding, I managed a grim, “I will contact our attorney, then be there as soon as possible to get to the bottom of this.” I slammed down the receiver without saying good-bye.
I called our lawyer, who was in court for the rest of the day, so I left an urgent message with his secretary. Then I called Greg’s beeper and put in my cell phone number followed by 911, our signal for an emergency. I’d just hung up when the horn of Kat’s ancient station wagon tooted in the driveway.
Still furious, I charged out of the front door and motioned her to move the car so I could get out the minivan. “Park it! Amelia’s in the doghouse too.”
Their first day—their first hour—of kindergarten, and the two of them were already in deep doo-doo.
“We’ll have to take the babies and go to school together,” I instructed.
Kat nodded, then pulled over behind Greg’s empty space in the garage. When she got out with Little Zach, I saw she was wearing her best green church dress and the matching flats.
Incognito again, for Sada this time, not Zach.
By the time we finally got the babies in and hooked up, I was still so mad I could hardly speak.
“What happened with Amelia?” Kat asked as I backed out with a vengeance. “She’s a model child.”
“They say she bit her teacher,” I snapped, “but I know it had to be provoked.” I didn’t mention that it probably had something to do with Sada, because I didn’t have the facts.
At the corner of our street, I made sure nobody was coming, then ran the useless stop sign. “The nerve of those people, saying they were going to investigate our household.”
“Same here,” Kat fumed. “Molested. How the hell can a five-year-old little girl molest anybody?”
“Ridiculous,” I told her. “Did you call your lawyer?”
“We don’t have a lawyer,” Kat said. “Did you call yours?”
“Yeah, but he was in court. Figures.” I turned onto the street that led to the school. “Greg was out of pocket too,” I told her, “but I left my number on his beeper with a 911.”
“I couldn’t get Zach either,” Kat said. She peered out the window, indignant. “Good thing the both of us have each other.”
“Yeah.” But I wasn’t sure what help it would be to have Kat on my side when it came to school authorities. Kat was against authority of any kind, except for God.
“Molested,” she muttered. “Sada might whack somebody who crossed her, but she’s hardly a sexual being, for God’s sake.”
Undisciplined, yes. Sexual, no.
We approached the school in tense silence, but when I pulled into a visitor’s spot, Kat said, “You better go into that meeting with me, in case I start to lose it with that officious idiot of a principal.” She pointed to me. “I need you fer a witness.”
“With both our kids in trouble,” I told her, “I doubt having each other as witnesses will do much good, but I’m there for you.”
“Good. And you kin count on me,” she said.
Ten minutes later, we sat holding our babies in half-sized chairs outside the principal’s office.
The female equivalent of James Earl Jones finally opened the office door. She looked down at us over her ample, tightly controlled bustline. “Mrs. Rutledge?” she said in a deep, resonant alto.
Kat stood up. “That’s me.”
The woman frowned. “I’m Mrs. Bainbridge, the principal,” she announced as if she was declaring herself queen. “Would you please step inside?”
Kat bowed up. “I’d like to bring my friend, Mrs. Callison, in with me, if you don’t mind.”
The principal arched a brow. “I’m afraid I do mind. These proceedings are meant to be confidential.”
Kat advanced on the woman, motioning behind her back for me to follow. “My lawyer wasn’t able to attend,” she lied, “but he advised that I have a witness present. Mrs. Callison has agreed to act as one.”
The principal rolled her eyes, but retreated to her desk. “Very well. Normally, our counselor would be present as well, but she’s in testing.” She motioned to two adult-sized chairs facing her desk. “Please be seated.”
We eased down, both of us balancing cranky babies who should have been at home napping.
“Mrs. Rutledge,” the principal began with authority, “are there any unusual practices in your home?”
“Everything in our home is perfectly wholesome and natural,” Kat replied with a glare.
The principal sized her up. “Have you ever had any reason to suspect that your daughter might have been sexually molested?”
“What?” Kat asked, aghast. “Why on earth would you ask me such a question?”
“Sexual abuse and incest cut across all incomes and occupations,” the principal stated. “Such questions are awkward, but necessary in in-ci-dents of this nature.”
“And exactly what is the nature of this in-ci-dent?” Kat demanded. “You still haven’t told me what happened.”
The principal shot a disdainful glance at me, then leaned forward to reveal, “Your daughter went behind an easel with one of her male classmates and displayed her private parts to him. When he … laughed, half the class came to see what was going on, and your daughter paraded in front of them with her panties on her head.”
For heaven’s sake. So she dropped her pants! Big deal!
I clamped my lips to keep from smiling.
Kat stood in outrage. “That’s it? A five-year-old little girl plays show-and-tell behind an easel, and you call this molestation, and insinuate there may be incest in my home?”
I shot to my feet, alarming Emma, who started crying. “This is preposterous!”
Little Zach started howling too.
The principal didn’t back down. “Please sit down immediately,” she ordered in a voice that brooked no contradiction. “Let us act like adults.” When we sank to the edges of our seats, she went on. “We must ask these questions to protect our children.” She glared at Kat. “It concerns me to see you make light of what your daughter did.”
“It’s perfectly normal for children to experiment in that way,” Kat shot back. “Or haven’t you read any books on child psychology?” She joggled to soothe Little Zach, who had subsided to a whimper. “The proper response to such behavior,” Kat bit out, “is to quietly cover the child and explain that certain parts of the body are private.” She narrowed her eyes. “What did your Miss Wilkerson do?”
The principal shifted in her seat. “Well, the entire in-ci-dent was so upsetting, she picked your daughter up and tried to cover her, but your daughter started screaming ‘child abuse’ at the top of her lungs, and saying that Miss Wilkerson was breaking her arm.”
Mrs. Bainbridge looked to me. “That’s when your daughter bit her, Mrs. Callison.”
“I knew it was provoked,” I said. “Amelia was trying to protect her friend.”
Kat shook with controlled rage, her voice cold. “Where is my daughter?”
“In the clinic,” the principal said. “There is some discoloration on her arm, but only because she struggled to get away when the teacher tried to control her.”
Kat pulled open the door with a grim, “I am going to get my daughter and take her to have her arm examined. If there is any evidence of excessive force, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. And she will not be coming back here.”
Uh-oh. She might live to regret that last.
“Perhaps that might be best for everyone,” the principal clipped out.
I’ve never wanted to slap anybody so much in my life, but I had Amelia to think about, so I didn’t. “I’m taking Amelia home too. We’ll discuss this again when my husband and our lawyer are present.” I glided out behind Kat, then followed her to the infirmary.
The school nurse looked like ex-army. “Mrs. Rutledge?” she asked when w
e stormed in. I nodded, but Kat hurried to comfort Sada, who was still crying with an ice pack on her arm and a redeyed Amelia by her side.
“See, Sada?” Amelia said. “I told you our mamas would come.”
Kat managed to control herself as she gently started removing the towel and ice pack. “Hey, honey. It’s okay, now. I’m here. How are you feeling?”
Sada shot a look of gratitude at the nurse. “She gave me some ice, but it still hurts down inside.”
Kat’s eyes welled when she saw the purple marks that circled Sada’s forearm.
The nurse came over and whispered, “I’d have that X-rayed if I were you. Could be a spiral fracture, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Thank you,” Kat told her. “You’re the only one who’s been decent in this whole situation.”
“New teachers,” she whispered after making sure nobody was nearby. “They tend to overreact.”
I’ll say.
“Come on, sweetie.” I gave Amelia a kiss atop her head. “Let’s all go to the emergency room with Sada, so they can make sure she’s okay.”
Amelia looked up at me with trepidation. “Mama, I’m sorry I bit Miss Wilkerson, but she wouldn’t stop hurting Sada. I begged her, but she wouldn’t listen, so I had to.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” I reassured her. “But everything’s all right, now. Come on. Let’s go.”
Two hours later at Egleston Children’s Hospital, the babies were wild with fatigue before the doctor finally came in to show Kat the X-rays. “The nurse called it.” He pointed to the two X-rays on the light box. “See that thin, white line? A classic spiral fracture.” He turned off the light. “We’ll put her in an air splint, and you can see your orthopedist to have it casted. Six weeks, and she’ll be good as new.”
Worn out from wrangling the baby, Kat nodded. “Thank you, Doctor. We don’t have an orthopedist. Could you recommend anybody in Sandy Springs?”
“I’ll check on that and give you a name before you leave.” He sobered. “You say this happened at school?”
Wife-in-Law Page 14
