Kyle thought it wouldn’t be the worst thing for his mother to meet a nice dad. Maybe starting over was this easy. Join a dad team. Rescue a friendly cat. Meet a beautiful girl. Life could change for the better.
“Excellent!” Berman clapped him on the shoulder. “You want a ride, Kyle? I’ll take you home.”
“No, thanks. I have my bike.”
“Okay, hurry, go ask her. Gimme your phone number, and we’ll call in an hour.”
Kyle gave it to him, excited. He jogged off the court with his ball, jumped on his bike, and pedaled home, his heart pumping. It was a short ride, and he steered around the corner in no time. He waved to an older neighbor like he was Mr. Brandywine Hunt. He spotted his mother’s car, so she was home from shopping, and Sharon’s Honda was there, too. Kyle dismounted on the fly, running with his bike to the door, leaving it against the wall, and hustling inside, since the front door was unlocked.
“Hi, Mom! Hey, Sharon!” he called out, hustling toward the kitchen with the ball.
His mother looked up from the nook, where she was sitting with Sharon, and something was wrong. His mother had been crying, her eyes watery and puffy, and crumpled tissues sat next to a Kleenex box and a glass of water. Sharon turned to face Kyle, her expression was pained.
“What’s the matter?” Kyle asked, his mouth dry. Buddy came over, wagging his tail.
“Your father,” his mother answered, her voice soft. She pushed back a strand of hair.
“What?” Kyle set the ball down, stricken. It was his worst fear. “He’s not . . . dead, is he?”
“I wish.” His mother snorted. “He gave an interview from jail to the Dispatch. Now everybody knows about us. Reporters from Philly got our number and address. They’ve been calling for the past hour. See for yourself.” His mother slid a paper across the table, a faxed copy of a newspaper article from home, with a headline that made his stomach drop. DR. BRIAN HAMMOND “DR. DIRTBAG” TELLS ALL, EXCLUSIVE JAILHOUSE INTERVIEW, SOON AN EPISODE OF DATELINE ON NBC-TV.
“Oh, no.” Kyle controlled his reaction because his mother was so upset. This couldn’t be happening. He had just met Sasha. He had just had one good day. Sadness washed over him. And shame. Everybody would know what his father had done. The newspapers had called his father Dr. Dirtbag and said he fingered cancer kids. Kyle put his hand on her shoulder, reading the article:
. . . Dr. Brian Hammond, 47, once a trusted and respected pediatric oncologist at New Albany General, is serving twenty-five years in prison for twelve counts of unlawful sexual conduct with a minor, gross sexual imposition, and sexual battery . . .
. . . Dr. Hammond was found guilty of sexually abusing twelve female patients between the ages of nine months to seven years old . . .
. . . the crimes took place on hospital grounds and were discovered by his wife, Barbara, nee Gallagher, who reported her husband to local authorities . . .
. . . civil lawsuits brought by outraged parents bankrupted Dr. Hammond and have cost New Albany General over seven million dollars in negligence lawsuits . . .
. . . New Albany General has been found liable for negligent supervision of Dr. Hammond and with respect to security procedures . . .
. . . Barbara Gallagher divorced Dr. Hammond and returned to her hometown of Bakerton, Pennsylvania, with their son, Kyle.
His mother sniffled. “The reporters faxed it to Sharon, since we don’t have a fax.”
“How did they know? How did they find us?”
“Your father gave them an earful, all of it lies, like that I lied on the stand to ruin him, and he only pleaded guilty because his lawyer coerced him, and he’s unjustly accused. The Philly newspapers are going to print everything, that we moved here, that we changed your name, that you’re going to Bakerton High in September.”
“I’m so sorry, Mom.” Kyle sank into a chair, and his mother’s expression showed a familiar anguish, her eyebrows sloping down like a collapsed roof, her cheeks slack, her mouth downturned, her lips trembling.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this is happening all over again, and to you.”
Sharon interjected, “You guys will get through this. Don’t talk to the reporter, and that will shut it down.”
“That won’t shut it down, Sharon.” His mother reached for a Kleenex and mopped her eyes, leaving reddish streaks. “The mistake I made