know I would never kick you out.” Half-nodding, she buried her head against my chest as we both cried.
Rebecca excused herself for a moment as I held my child close and my brain traveled back in time, putting all the pieces together. Right after school had ended that year, Sarah had gone home with Kent for the summer, so even though she’d seemed to become more withdrawn in the fifth grade, I’d chalked it up to hormones, dismissing it. It wasn’t until she was back home earlier in the fall when her behavior escalated that I’d really noticed.
But, Jesus Christ, I should have known. I should have figured this shit out.
I whispered over and over to Sarah, “Honey, you can tell me anything. I love you.”
After a bit, Rebecca came back in and sat across from us once more, but she moved a box of tissue to the table within arm’s reach. As I took one and blew my nose, she said, “I can counsel you and Sarah if you like—or you can speak with another counselor if you prefer.”
I didn’t know what to think at this point, so I simply nodded.
“I do need to inform you that I’m obliged to report this. That said, I don’t want Sarah to be grilled by well-meaning police officers. I have some contacts with Child Protection, so I’ll talk with a caseworker, preferably female, who could meet with us at your earliest convenience. In the meantime, though, let’s keep our appointments as is and, Randi, you can plan to be in our sessions as well.” When I nodded, she then said, “I’ll be in touch once I reach Child Protection.” Next, she shifted her gaze back to my child. “Sarah, you are a brave, strong young woman. I want to remind you that you did nothing wrong. Mr. Buckley should never have asked you to do those things, should never have put you in that position. It was inappropriate and inexcusable. You are not at fault. Don’t ever think that. But talking about it will help you heal, Sarah, so we’re going to keep working through it—and you’re safe here. I’m going to give your mother my cell number, so even if you’re not here in the office but you need to talk, you can call that number anytime and I’ll talk to you. But you can also talk with your mom. We’re both here for you.” Picking up a pad, Rebecca wrote the number on a sheet of paper and ripped it off, handing it to me. “You, too, Randi. Call if you need to. I answer the phone when I can, unless, of course, I’m in a session.”
As we left, picking up with our day where we’d left off, I was so afraid of talking, because what if I said the wrong thing? Sarah and I were silent all afternoon, but I hugged her closely, reminding her that I was there for her. After I picked up Devon, I called my professors, letting them know I wouldn’t be in class that evening—and when I told Noreen she wouldn’t be babysitting that evening, she asked why.
I simply told her I was playing hooky from class.
At dinner, I knew we couldn’t keep everything secret from Devon—but no fucking way was I going to give him details. I wasn’t quite sure what to say and realized, as the words tumbled from my mouth that I hadn’t asked Sarah’s permission, but I hoped she’d be okay with what I was saying. “Son, Sarah had something bad happen to her in school last year.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter what.” Already, though, I could see that, perhaps, that wasn’t going to be enough for Devon. “She had a really bad teacher. But we’re going to start taking care of her. We’re going to take better care of her.”
My sweet little boy sat up straighter in his chair, ready to take on the responsibility. “What do I have to do?”
“Just be a good brother—be nice to Sarah.”
“I’m always nice to her.”
“I know you are. I guess I just wanted to remind you to keep up the good work.” When I glanced over at my daughter, I stared for a moment, absorbing the sight.
Sarah was actually eating her food. She wasn’t picking at it as she’d been doing over the last few months—and, when she asked for seconds, I wondered if maybe the healing was already beginning. I knew, deep in my soul, that it would take a long time to