In early July, Grace was notified that she would be moving to a group home in Brooklyn the following week. The good news was that Valerie would be going with her. They both knew the group home was temporary, but it was, at least, a short-term victory.
She packed her trunk with all of her journals and sketchbooks, Theodore Izzle, and her other belongings, and secured the lock. They arrived at the group home that afternoon, along with two other girls from St. Andrews, and met the other six girls who already lived there. None of the girls were particularly friendly. They weren't mean, it was just, like, why should they make friends when they knew they wouldn't be there long? Except for Valerie, it was more like a hotel than a home. Only this was no vacation.
Some of the girls there had already been to foster homes and had returned when the situations didn't work out. At night, she prayed to be overlooked and allowed to stay at the group home indefinitely, preferably with Valerie, but it turned out that God had other plans.
Before the school year started, Grace would be transferred to the home of Mike and Rose Smith and their sixteen-year-old son, Joey. The Smiths lived in a nice neighborhood in Brooklyn, but Grace was nervous about living with such a small family. At least at the orphanage, if you didn't like someone, you could avoid them. She hoped they would be nice to her.
As she lay in her bed the night before she was to leave, she couldn't help but think about the night before Maggie left. Fear and uncertainty crept into her veins just as it had that night. She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand but there was no stopping them. She clutched Theodore Izzle to her and pressed her face into her pillow to stifle the sobs.
In the morning, she and Valerie clung to each other and vowed once again to stay in touch. She waved to her friend from the back window of the van until she could no longer see her. Then she sat down in her seat and stared blankly out the window.
It became harder and harder to sit still, and as they got closer to the Smiths' home, a thousand thoughts collided in her mind. What would it be like living in a home where she was the only outsider? What if they didn't like her? What if she didn''t like them? She remembered Maggie's last letter, telling her to be brave, and God knew she was trying, but as they pulled into the Smiths' driveway, her stomach heaved.
Thankful that her stomach was empty--she'd skipped both dinner the night before and breakfast that morning--she wiped the sweat from her forehead and yanked the door handle with a shaky hand, sliding the side door of the van open.
The Smiths lived in a modest-sized, two-story home with a brick face on the lower half and white wood siding on the top. As Grace stepped out of the car on wobbly legs, the family came out to greet her.
She met Mike first. He seemed nervous and had an edge to his voice that made her wary.
Her stomach made waves again.
She turned to Joey, who held out his hand to her and smiled.
"Hi, welcome to the family." He was tall and skinny with brown hair like his father, but he looked more like his mother.
A small, tentative smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she shook his hand. "Thanks," she said politely and turned finally to Rose.
"Hi sweetheart," Rose said. "Welcome to our home." Rose was thin, with light green eyes, like a cat, and blonde hair cut into a shoulder-length bob. She gave Grace a warm hug, which took her by surprise. She hoped Rose hadn't noticed her flinch.
She flashed an exaggerated smile in an attempt to mask her discomfort, and as she once more took in each member of the Smith family, a momentary flash of hope washed over her.
The counselor from the group home left, and they showed her to her room. She hadn't realized that moving in with a family would mean she'd have her own room--a place she could escape to when she needed it. She had never even imagined the possibilities that were now opening up. She unpacked the trunk Mike had brought up, and went downstairs to see if Rose needed any help with dinner.
When she climbed into bed that first night, she realized that she had never slept in a room by herself. It was exhilarating. She felt safer than she ever had at the orphanage. She knew Robert Sampson was locked up, but she'd never felt fully safe since the night of the attack. Until now. Maybe now her nightmares would finally go away.
She thought about Joey, probably sleeping soundly in his own bed down the hall, and she wondered what it felt like to go to sleep knowing that you belonged to someone. To a mother and a father. She knew she would never know that feeling, but that never stopped the longing.
Worn out from the events of the day, she pulled the covers up to her chin and sighed into the darkness, feeling a little like Goldilocks, sleeping in someone else's bed in someone else's home.
It turned out that Mike owned his own construction company, which kept him very busy. He was only home for dinner on the weekends, and he spent most of the evening after that with Joey in the den, watching some sporting event or another. She did see a lot of Joey, though, and the two of them got along very well.
Grace was finally starting high school, and would be attending a public school for the first time--another development that was both scary and exhilarating--so Rose took her shopping to buy her some new clothes so she would fit in better. Grace was touched by her kindness, and after a couple of months, she seemed to be settling into her new life and felt very grateful for the Smiths. She knew it didn't always work out so well with foster homes.
She hadn't heard from Valerie yet, and wondered where she was and how she was doing. Maggie was very happy to hear that things were working out for her.
After homework each day, Grace spent time with Rose while Joey watched television. Sometimes they sat in the kitchen and talked, sometimes they took walks around the neighborhood, and sometimes on weekends they went to the movies together. Grace loved scary movies and Rose preferred romantic comedies, so they watched a mix of both. Sometimes Joey joined them, which meant it would be a sci-fi or action thriller.
Rose taught her how to cook and do laundry, and when Mike worked on weekends, she would take Grace into the city to museums or to lunch. Grace was grateful for Rose's kindness, but she still felt like an outsider. They didn't treat her that way, of course, but still, she knew she would only be there for a few years. Assuming that the rug wasn't yanked out from under her--again--and that she'd be sent packing for the next place.
One night, while they were preparing dinner together, Rose began to cough uncontrollably. She coughed a lot, Grace had noticed, but never to the point where she could hardly breathe, like this. "Rose, are you okay?"
"Oh sure, sweetheart. I just had a little something stuck in my throat."
But Grace could see the worry in Rose's eyes.
"You cough a lot, you know. Maybe you should see a doctor. I'd be happy to go with you."
Rose smiled and nodded slightly. "Maybe I will."
Over the next few weeks, Grace noticed that Rose was coughing more than ever. But when she asked her whether she had made a doctor appointment yet, Rose shook her head and said, "But I will, I promise."
Two weeks later, Rose and Mike sat down with Grace and Joey after dinner one night and shared the bad news--Rose had lung cancer.
And there it was. The moment Grace had half expected. She heard almost nothing that was said after that, and when Mike finished speaking, she ran to her room and threw herself onto her bed.
She grabbed Theodore Izzle and squeezed her eyes shut. She knew it was too good to last. She was just starting to believe that things might actually work out.
I should've known better!
She heard a light knock on the door, followed by Rose's voice. "May I come in, Grace?"
Grace sat up as Rose came into the room, sat down on the bed, and pulled her into her arms.
Her body stiffened.
"I'm going to be fine, sweetheart," Rose whispered into the young girl's ear.
Grace withdrew from Rose's embrace and searched her eyes. Rose seemed so sure of what she said. Was it possibl
e? She wanted to believe that everything was going to be okay, but she felt a slight tugging on the rug beneath her.
Chapter Seven
The summons was sitting on the kitchen table when Grace got home from school. The official-looking letter from the New York Criminal Court shook in her hands as she opened it. The subject of the letter was, the State of New York versus Robert John Sampson.
The air rushed from her lungs as she saw the name. When she read that she was being called to testify at his upcoming trial, her legs buckled and she dropped her into the chair behind her. She sucked in a breath through the narrow opening in her throat and clutched the letter in her hand.
By the time Rose came into the kitchen, Grace was nearly hyperventilating. She ran to Grace and knelt in front of her. "Sweetheart, what's the matter?"
Grace was still trembling when she looked up at Rose. She launched herself into the woman's arms without saying a word.
"Shh, it's okay, Grace. Whatever it is, it will be okay. I'm here for you."
It will be okay. It was the first thing everybody always said, and it was so rarely true. It took a few minutes for her breathing to return to normal, and when she finally released her grip on Rose, she handed her the letter.
Rose read it.
"Who's this Robert Sampson?"
Grace's lower lip trembled and she hung her head, unable to look Rose in the eye as she told her. "He was a boy from my school. At the orphanage. He...attacked me one night and he...raped me." She looked up at Rose, whose eyes opened wide and round. "And now they want me to testify against him. Rose, I don''t want to see him again. Can they make me go?"
Rose placed a hand on Grace's cheek. "I'm not sure, sweetheart. I'll call our lawyer and find out what our options are. But whatever happens, I will not let you go through this alone, do you hear me?"
After speaking to the lawyer, Rose informed Grace that Robert Sampson had been charged with attacking another girl before her and that, because of the violent nature of the attacks, he had been remanded to adult court to stand trial as an adult for the two crimes he had committed. Grace, unfortunately, would have to testify.
Christmas was fraught with tension, despite the generous stack of gifts she received. The nightmares she'd had after the rape returned, and she sometimes had to summon her old imaginary friend, Fiona, lying next to her, comforting her, in order to go back to sleep.
In early January, the trial date was upon them. Rose drove her to the courthouse while Grace sat silently in the passenger seat, too nervous to talk. The Peekskill Criminal Courthouse was located in the same building as the police department, and the memory of the night she was attacked slammed back to her.
Clutching her sides and squeezing her eyes shut, Grace wished she were anywhere but here. Rose pulled into the parking lot, then rushed around to open the car door for her and held her close as they walked arm in arm into the building.
Minutes passed like hours as they sat together outside the courtroom, waiting to be called. By the time the bailiff called her, she felt as though she might throw up. She shot a quick glance at Rose, who gave her a brave smile.
"You're going to do fine, sweetheart. If you get nervous, just focus on me."
Grace drew in a deep breath and nodded, and they walked into the stately courtroom together. All eyes turned to her as she entered, and she had to fight hard to control her legs enough to make it to the stand. She peered up at the judge and he gave her an encouraging smile as she reluctantly stepped up to the witness stand.
"Place your left hand on the Bible and raise your right hand," the court clerk instructed.
With great effort, she raised her right hand and placed her other one on the Bible.
"Now repeat after me. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
Grace choked down the rising panic and chirped out an unsteady, "Yes."
After being sworn in, the lawyer from the good side asked her a few easy questions. She answered them and felt her courage building. But when the lawyer asked her to point to the man who attacked her, fear rushed through her like a speeding freight train. Up to that point, she had managed to avoid looking at him.
She steeled herself, met Rose's gaze for a long moment, and shifted her eyes over to the table where Robbie sat. He gave her a slow, smug grin.
The rage she'd been suppressing bubbled up inside her. She jabbed a finger toward him, her confidence soaring. "That's him,"" she said as loud and clear as she could. "That's the man who raped me." She never took her eyes off him and Robbie shifted his gaze downward.
The lawyer then asked her to recount the details of the attack. She knew this was coming but it was still difficult to relive the experience, and even harder to tell it to a room full of strangers. She focused on Rose and pretended she was the only one in the courtroom.
In recounting the details of the attack, feelings she hadn't expected rushed forth. She was ashamed for what she'd done to Robbie in the snow cave that day. What he did to her that day had changed both their lives, but was she partly to blame? He would be punished for his actions, but......what about her?
Mercifully, the judge called for a short recess, and she ran to the restroom and threw up. Then she splashed cold water on her face and hid in a bathroom stall until it was time to return to the courtroom.
After the break, Robbie's lawyer strode toward her. "Miss Adams, isn't it true that you humiliated my client in front of the other children at school and accused him of something he didn't do? Specifically, did you not pull his pants down to his ankles one day on the playground and tell one of the nuns that he was trying to assault you?"
She gulped. She had sworn to tell the truth, so help her God. "Yes, it's true, I did pull his pants down, but I never said that he was--"
"And when my client was expelled from school because of your deceit, you stood by and allowed it to happen?"
She opened her mouth to speak, to accept her share of responsibility, but she was interrupted.
"Objection!" the good lawyer said. "He's badgering the witness. Last I heard, pulling a boy's pants down, while possibly a sin, is not against the law. Rape clearly is."
"Sustained," the judge said.
There were a few more questions, which took another hour because of all the arguing by the lawyers, and then Grace was released.
She skipped dinner that night and when she crawled into bed, she held Theodore Izzle and vowed never to think about Robert Sampson again. Ever.
Chapter Eight
In the spring of her freshman year, Grace spotted a poster on the bulletin board outside the English department, announcing the annual essay contest. The contest was open to students in all grades, and the winner would have their essay entered in the National Essay Contest. The national winner's essay would be published in Reader''s Digest.
That night, she and Rose discussed topic ideas for the essay. Once she decided what she was going to write about, she raced up to her room and began writing.
Over the next week, her mind churned with thoughts and ideas, and her teachers admonished her more than usual for her lack of attention in class. Her history teacher even sent her to the principal's office after warning her for the third time, and they told her that they would be sending a letter home to her parents. Grace pleaded with them, but they sent the letter anyway.
It arrived on Saturday. Mike beat her to the mailbox. He sat in the living room watching sports as he opened the mail, and she watched from the kitchen as he read the letter. She held her breath while he read it, and exhaled loudly when he ripped it in half and dropped it onto a small stack of junk mail.
Two days passed and Mike said nothing about the letter. The third night, Mike came home early for dinner, which was something he'd never done since she'd known him. She could feel an odd tension in the air as they sat down to dinner, and her stomach churned.
She pushed her food around on her plate, unable to eat, oppressed by the silenc
e at the table, so different from when Mike ate with them on the weekends. Without realizing it, she put her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand. She looked at Rose, who gave her an odd smile, just as Mike jerked his hand out and knocked her arm off the table. Grace caught herself and sat upright, her eyes wide open and alert.
"You need to learn some manners, young lady, both here and at school. You'd better start paying attention in class, and you'd damn well better not ever put your elbow on my table again. Is that understood?"
A tremor of fear passed through her. "Yes. I'm very sorry, Mike," she said. "It won't happen again, I promise."
"If it does happen again, I'll show you what sorry is. Now go and get me a beer."
Grace noticed the pinched look on Rose's face when Mike spoke, her lips pressed together as if trying to keep herself from speaking out. She'd heard them fight before, and she hoped that she hadn't caused Rose any trouble. But even Joey looked somber, staring at his plate but not eating.
After she finished the dinner dishes that night, she went to her room to finish her homework. Mike and Rose got into a terrible fight that night, and Grace crawled in bed and pulled Theodore Izzle over her ears so she didn't have to hear it. She could hear the shouting anyway, and her body quaked. She couldn't stand to be sent away again. She just couldn't.
The next day, everything seemed back to normal, and over the next couple of weeks Grace worked hard on her essay. She finished it two weeks before the submission deadline, which gave her plenty of time to review and edit it in order to make it as perfect as possible. She was her own toughest critic when it came to her writing, but it showed in her work.
She went downstairs to see whether Rose needed any help with dinner. It was Sunday, and Mike was home watching sports on TV with Joey. He'd been drinking all afternoon and everyone, including Rose, was tense again, like they'd been the other night.
The Many Lives of June Crandall Page 4
