by Margot Hunt
I was not going to let that happen.
I remembered, then, that my mother had invited Charlie to stay with her for the weekend. Could I execute my plan that soon?
“Nat, are you there?” Mandy’s voice said in my ear.
“I’m here,” I said. “Sorry. I was focusing on the traffic.”
“Hold on, the beasties are running wild,” Mandy said. I could hear Beatrice’s and Amelia’s voices rise up in the background, high and indignant. Mandy sighed. “We have drama.”
“Go ahead and go,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye.”
I hit the call end button and glanced over at Charlie, almost like it was a compulsion. Check in, check in, check in. Has anything changed? Is everything okay, or, at least, as okay as it could be considering the circumstances? I didn’t want to ask him over and over again if he was okay, because of course he wasn’t okay.
“Was Mrs. Breen talking about what Principal Gibbons did to me?”
Charlie’s voice surprised me.
“No, sweetie. She wasn’t talking about that. Do you remember I told you that—” I stopped suddenly, struggling for the right words. I didn’t want to upset Charlie, but I also didn’t want to lie to him “—Principal Gibbons also targeted another student? That’s who she was talking about. The other kid.”
“How do you know?”
“Because no one knows what he did to you. No one but you and me and Dad, and now Camilla.”
“Will anyone else find out?”
I hesitated. After a few beats, I realized I wasn’t breathing, so I focused on that. Breath in, breath out.
“No,” I said carefully.
Charlie nodded and turned to look out the window again. I wondered if he was done talking, the topic so painful, he needed to push it away. But then, still looking away from me, he said, “Principal Gibbons said it was a secret. That I couldn’t tell anyone or I’d get in trouble.”
I could feel the acid rising up from my stomach, burning up through my chest and into my throat. If Robert had suddenly appeared before me, crossing the street in front of my car, I would have happily pushed my foot down on the gas pedal and run him over, damn the consequences.
“He wanted you to keep it a secret because he knew what he was doing was wrong. But that’s not why you shouldn’t talk about it with other people.”
“Then why?”
“Because what Principal Gibbons did to you isn’t your fault and it shouldn’t define you. But if other people find out, they’ll want to talk about it a lot. I don’t want them to ask you those sort of questions—more important, you shouldn’t have to answer for his behavior. I think that over time, you’ll be glad that other people don’t know about it.” I took in a deep breath and hoped that I wasn’t making a terrible misstep. The last thing I wanted to do was cause more damage. “It’s keeping it private for your sake, not for anyone else’s. But you can always talk to me, and you can always talk to Dad.” I took a deep breath to gather my spiraling emotions. “Did you like Camilla?”
Charlie nodded. “She was nice. She liked my drawings.”
“I thought she was nice, too. If you want, we’ll go back and see her again. You can talk to her, too. It’s her job to help kids who’ve had bad things happen to them.”
He thought about this. “What if I don’t feel talking about it with her?”
“That’s okay, too. You might feel like talking about it some days and not so much other days. I think that’s totally normal.”
Charlie turned to look out the window again. We drove on for a few minutes in silence. I stopped at the traffic light outside our subdivision and turned on my right turn signal. I was just wondering if I should leave Charlie alone for the moment or try to draw him out further when he finally spoke.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay, what, honey?”
“I’ll go see Camilla again.”
“Oh...okay. Good,” I said. I tried to blink away the tears that were suddenly burning in my eyes before Charlie could see them. I reached over and gently squeezed his arm. “I think that would be a good thing.”
* * *
Charlie had karate class at six o’clock that evening. I wasn’t sure he would be up to it after his appointment with Camilla, but he insisted on going. And Camilla had said that keeping his schedule as normal as possible was important. We swung home so that Charlie could have a snack, and change into his karate uniform, and then headed out again. After I dropped him off at the karate school, I drove to our local home goods store, where I was hoping I’d be able to purchase a mortar and pestle. I wasn’t sure if they carried them, but I’d already decided it was too risky to buy a set online. If I had to, I’d drive down to the restaurant supply store in West Palm Beach.
But I was in luck. The home goods store had several different mortar and pestle sets to choose from. I picked out the sturdiest-looking one, a light blue ceramic with a large bowl and a heavy pestle. Then I walked around the store and threw some other items in my cart—throw pillows, cocktail napkins, candles—so that the mortar and pestle wouldn’t stand out. I needn’t have worried. The cashier who checked me out was a college-aged girl who scanned the items with a bored detachment. I paid for the items with the last of the cash I’d withdrawn.
I loaded the bags into my car, and drove back to the karate school to pick up Charlie. He came running out to my car, flushed pink from the exertion, a huge smile on his face. He looked so much like his normal self that tears suddenly pricked at my eyes. I curled my fist tightly, the nails digging into the soft skin of my palm, to ward them off.
“How was class?” I asked once he climbed into the car.
“Great! We practiced our high kicks, and we did so well that Sensei Jacob let us play scramble ball at the end. I was the last one standing.”
“What’s scramble ball?”
Charlie’s animated description of the game—which, as far as I could tell, was like old-school dodgeball, but with foam balls that didn’t sting when they hit you—took up most of the ride home. Will’s car was parked in the driveway.
“What’s for dinner?” Charlie asked as I gathered up my shopping bags.
“Pork chops.”
I suddenly remembered Will’s sniping at me about my weekly dinner menu. It had only been, what...four days ago? It seemed like something out of the long-ago past. I remembered how, at the time, I had decided to scrap the plan for baked pork chops, and serve something in its place, just to make a cheap point. Now it was hard to imagine wasting a moment of emotional energy on such triviality.
“Can we have pizza instead?” Charlie asked.
I was about to say no—I’d defrosted the pork chops earlier—but suddenly, as we walked up the brick-paved walk to our front door, I was hit by an intense desire to not cook dinner.
“Pizza sounds great,” I capitulated.
Rocket greeted us at the door, leaping gleefully, his large ears pricked high.
“Rocket, I just saw you like an hour ago,” Charlie said, but he laughed as the small dog gamboled around his feet.
Will also came out to greet us, still dressed for work, although he’d loosened his tie and wasn’t wearing his suit jacket. “Hey, buddy. How was karate?”
Will opened his arms, and Charlie jumped into them. I watched them hug, and saw Will’s eyes close as he squeezed his son close to him, and I was overcome with a rush of love for my small family.
Charlie finally broke out of his father’s embrace. “Hey, Dad, do you want to play that new video game I was telling you about? The one with the warrior elves that kill everyone?”
“No way. No video games,” I said. “Go hop in the shower, then get started on your homework.”
“Ugh, homework,” Charlie grumbled, but he headed upstairs.
I went into the kit
chen with my shopping bags. Will followed and sat at the kitchen table to look at his phone. There was a bottle of sweating beer on the table in front of him.
“Please use a coaster,” I said automatically, as I had a thousand times before.
“You went shopping?” he asked, ignoring my request.
“We needed a few things.” I set the bags down and Will watched as I unloaded them.
“What’s that?”
“This? It’s called a ‘throw pillow.’ Otherwise known as a small decorative pillow that Rocket will soon turn into a dog bed.”
“No, I meant the bowl thing.”
“It’s a mortar and pestle.” I set it aside on the counter. “You use it to grind herbs...other things.”
“And that’s something we need?”
“Yes. I’ve been looking for one for awhile,” I lied. “I’m going to call in an order for a pizza. Will you pick it up when it’s ready?”
“Sure, but...”
“What?”
“There’s pork defrosting in the sink. I thought that’s what we were having.”
“Change of plans.”
“Okay.”
“Is that a problem?”
Will looked at me for a few moments, as though he wanted to say something. But finally he just shrugged and returned to his phone, blanking me out. For once, I didn’t have the energy to care.
I had to focus. I finally had all the pieces in place.
Now I just had to go through with my plan.
* * *
I waited until Will left to get the pizza. Charlie was in his room, probably breaking the rule about staying off his video game.
Once I was alone in the kitchen—with the exception of Rocket, who settled in on his blue denim dog bed with a self-satisfied sigh—I retrieved the five oxycodone pills from my handbag. I dropped them in the mortar and began to grind them with the pestle. They were harder to pulverize than I’d anticipated. They didn’t crumble like aspirin would. Other than one or two splitting into jagged halves, most kept their solid shape. I stared down at the contents of the mortar, sweat beading on my forehead, wondering what to try next.
Maybe I should use a coffee grinder? I wondered. We had a small electric one, but I wasn’t sure if that would be effective grinding pills, which were quite a bit smaller than coffee beans. I could pound them with a hammer, but that would risk spraying bits of the very expensive pills about the kitchen.
I redoubled my efforts, grinding down with as much force as I could exert. But finally, I began to make progress. The pills began to give way, first breaking into larger granules, from which point I was able to grind them into a pale blue and hopefully lethal dust. I worried a bit about the color, but I had to believe it would be masked by the dark amber of the bourbon.
The task finally completed, I carefully scraped the oxy powder back into the sandwich bag with a butter knife, then secured it in the zip pocket inside my handbag. I thoroughly washed the mortar and pestle in warm, soapy water before loading both into the dishwasher and setting it to run on the power scrub cycle.
Will returned with the pizza just as I was finishing up.
“Dinner is here,” he announced.
I nodded. “In a minute. I just need to wipe down the counters.”
At Will’s entrance, Rocket had stood and stretched, giving himself a vigorous full-body shake. He trotted over to Will and looked up hopefully, staring meaningfully at the pizza box.
“Not for you, buddy,” Will said. “This is human food.”
“Will you call up to Charlie, and tell him the pizza’s here?”
“In a minute. I just wanted to ask you first...” Will hesitated, rubbing his face with one hand. He looked weary. I supposed neither one of us had been sleeping well. “How do you think Charlie is doing? I mean, really doing. He just seems so...” His voice trailed off again.
“Normal?”
Will nodded. “It’s not like I want him to be upset, obviously.”
“No, I know what you mean.” I spritzed some cleanser on the counter and wiped at it with a paper towel. “I keep watching for signs that he’s stressed or unhappy, but so far he seems okay. He had fun in karate class and said he did well on his math test today. He’s excited about going to see my mom this weekend.”
“That’s encouraging, right?”
“Sure. But he didn’t want to talk about what happened with the therapist at all today.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot his appointment was today. What’s the therapist’s name again?”
“Camilla Wilson.”
“Did you like her?”
“I did. She seemed smart and compassionate. And she was great with Charlie. He just wasn’t ready to talk to her yet. Of course, he’d just met her, so that may change over time.”
“He shut me down when I tried to ask him about it,” Will admitted.
“How so?”
“I just told him that I loved him and I was here for him if he ever wanted to talk about what happened. He shrugged, said he didn’t. So I didn’t push it.”
“That’s probably the best strategy for now.” I tossed the paper towel in the trash and set the bottle of cleanser down on the counter. “I just worry that if he keeps his feelings buried, it will cause problems in the long run. I’m hoping Camilla will be able to help him with that.”
“Did you talk to her about what we should do legally? Does she think we should go to the police?”
“She agreed with me that forcing kids to testify against their abuser isn’t always in their best interest. Although she did say that it can help sometimes.”
“Really? How so?” Will’s voice was suddenly eager.
“It depends on the circumstances. But for some kids, it may help to know that they’re helping to keep their abuser from hurting other kids.”
Will exhaled. “What if that’s true for Charlie? If Tate Mason’s case doesn’t hold up and Robert isn’t prosecuted? Is it possible he could go back to his job? Would the school board let that happen?”
I won’t let that happen, I thought. But out loud, I said, “I just don’t know. I don’t think there’s any rush to make a decision. Why don’t we let Camilla work with Charlie for awhile so we can get a clearer picture of how he’s doing?”
“That’s true.” Will nodded eagerly. “It might help to get her opinion on whether she thinks Charlie is up to being part of a criminal prosecution. I know that’s what you’re worried about. But if we both think that he seems to be handling all of this really well, and the therapist agrees, then maybe we should move forward with it.”
I should have let it go. After all, I was lying to him when I said that we could wait to make any decisions until Camilla had a chance to evaluate Charlie. No matter what she said, I had no intention of ever letting him make a formal complaint.
But it irked me that Will still didn’t get why I refused to toss Charlie into the jagged-toothed maw that was our modern criminal judicial system, a world I knew far better than he did. So I didn’t let it go. Instead, I placed both hands flat down on the top of the counter and looked my husband in the eye.
“When I was in fourth grade, Barb Hemmings told me that her uncle molested her. I remember it like it was yesterday. We were at a sleepover birthday party, and we were the only two girls still awake. She didn’t even know the name for what had happened to her. Instead, she whispered to me that he put his train into her tunnel.”
Will paled. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Barb and I went on to go to the same high school and graduated together and now we’re both on the same alumni Facebook page. And every single time I see her name, whether she’s posting about her kids or their new puppy or photographs of her family’s latest vacation, I think about what she told me that night.”
“Nat.”
“Every single time.”
“It sounds like your friend turned out all right.”
“Who knows? It’s possible she has lingering issues related to the abuse and just doesn’t want to post about it on Facebook. But even if she went on to have a great life, an amazing life—and I certainly hope she did—it’s still how I’ll always remember her. As a victim. As the girl who was molested and didn’t even have the words to describe what had happened to her. And I’m not going to let that happen to Charlie. I will not let this define how he’s seen for the rest of his life by every single person he grew up with.”
“The identity of the victim is is supposed to be kept secret,” Will said helplessly.
“Go ask Tate Mason’s foster parents how that worked out for them.”
Will was silent. He slipped his hands into his pants pockets and stared down at our cream tiled floor. “Every time I think about what he did to Charlie, I just... I want to throw up. And then I want to find Robert and I want to hurt him. Badly.” He looked up at me, his eyes bright with anger and pain. “Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes,” I said, turning away from my husband. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Chapter 15
It was raining heavily when I pulled into my mother’s driveway Friday afternoon. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. The squall was typical of Florida weather, where one moment you were blinded by the intense sunlight, and the next it was storming violently. I put my car into Park, but didn’t turn it off. Instead, I sat motionless for a few moments while listening to the rhythmic click-clack of the windshield wipers.
“Why are we just sitting here?” Charlie asked from the passenger seat.
“Are you sure you want to stay at Gram’s this weekend? I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”
Charlie looked at me like I was nuts. “Of course I want to stay. We just drove all the way here. Besides, I want to swim in the pool.”
