I painted Noah’s room white too. I had considered painting it a different color, but didn’t want to assume his favorite color was still blue. I would let him choose whatever color he liked, and we could paint it together as a weekend project after he was settled. I’d done my best to make his room look inviting despite how tiny it was.
When we were forced out of our home in Buffalo Grove after his conviction, Lucas put all of his stuff in boxes and never moved them into the new house. They stayed stacked in the garage, the only boxes unmarked. It was like stepping back in time as I sorted through his things. I pulled out trophies and ribbons from his track meets and swimming matches. He was a natural athlete and excelled at sports. We used to joke that he was adopted since Lucas and I were so uncoordinated and clumsy. Lucas loved to watch sports, but he’d never been able to play them well. He beamed with pride whenever he watched Noah compete, vicariously living through him.
I enjoyed watching him too and I didn’t even like sports, but everyone loved to watch Noah swim. He started drawing crowds in middle school because of the way he possessed the water. It was like he understood it in a way nobody else did. There was never any hesitation in his movements. His long and lean body moved through the water with fluidity and grace. His movements were precise, stroke after stroke executed to perfection. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d ever sit in the bleachers again and cheer for him as he finished a race.
I lined his trophies on the shelf I hung yesterday and arranged the ribbons from his track meets on the pegs below. The ribbons were mostly blue with only a few red and green tails peeking out because even though swimming was his best sport, he was a gifted runner too. The hundreds of hours he spent swimming gave him incredible endurance and he’d been running varsity track since eighth grade, leading their distance relay team to a state championship title two years in a row. I fingered his ribbons, whispering a silent prayer to a God I didn’t know if I believed in anymore that he’d find his way back to the sports he used to love.
I untangled the cords from his PlayStation, wondering whether I should figure out how to hook it up or leave it in the box. His probation forbade Internet use, and I didn’t know if it required a connection to work, but I was pretty sure it did. What would he do without his video games? They unwound him after school or any other time he was stressed. I tucked the console in the back of his closet and stacked his games next to it because he didn’t need another reminder of something he’d lost staring him in the face every day.
I made and remade his bed, trying to make it look perfect, but it didn’t look right. His old red comforter lined with navy-blue stripes seemed juvenile and out of place in his new room. It no longer fit. I wanted to buy him a new comforter, but couldn’t afford it until after I got paid next Friday. It had taken me a long time to learn how to live paycheck to paycheck since I hadn’t had to do it since early in my marriage. It felt weird to be working again even though it had been nine months. I was forced to go back to work to help pay for Noah’s rehabilitation because all of our accounts were drained on lawyer costs and court fees. Treatment was court-ordered, but the family was responsible for paying part of the cost and it wasn’t cheap.
I worked full-time as a nurse at Providence Hospital prior to Noah being born, but had been a stay-at-home mom ever since. I loved being a nurse, but as soon as the pregnancy stick showed two red lines, I started planning my career as a stay-at-home mom. I’d always wanted to be a mom. I grew up playing house and secretly played with dolls long after my other friends had given them up.
The day I found out I was pregnant was one of the happiest days of my life. Lots of women complained about having to stay at home and take care of their kids or how much they missed their jobs and old life, but I never did even when it was hard. I cherished being the most important caregiver in my children’s lives and couldn’t imagine giving them to someone else to raise while I went to work. I got to be the one who gave them their first bites of solid food and clap when they took their first steps rather than having to hear about it secondhand from someone else. I wanted to know my children better than anyone, and it was impossible to be that close when you only saw them for a few hours a day.
As the bills and past-due notices piled up, Lucas started hinting it was time for me to go back to work. His hints grew into demands the higher the numbers climbed, but I couldn’t bring myself to go back to work at the hospital because of the effect it would have on Katie. I wanted to be home with her and as involved in her life as I’d been with Noah. I got lucky and found a job as a medical transcriptionist that allowed me to work from home. It didn’t pay nearly as much as nursing, but it was enough to offset the bills and keep us afloat.
I wandered into my bedroom. Noah had all his furniture from his old room, but I didn’t have any. I couldn’t justify buying a new bedroom set for a temporary situation. If things went as planned, we would only be in the apartment for a year until he went to college, and I could sacrifice until then. My bed was the blow-up air mattress we used on camping trips with an extra comforter thrown over it. My clothes were folded in hanging organizers in the closet since I didn’t have a dresser.
For a moment, I allowed myself to remember what our home used to be like, something I rarely let myself do because it made me so sad. My life was forever divided into a distinct before-and-after sequence. I hated this new life, but I loved my life before in Buffalo Grove, back when I was living my happily ever after and had everything I wanted—a devoted husband, two healthy, adorable children, and a life centered on taking care of them.
Lucas and I met the summer of my freshman year in college while we were building a house for Habitat for Humanity. He was the project manager, and we worked side by side for weeks before he talked to me about something other than construction. I was surprised to discover he’d grown up a few hours south of the small town in Wisconsin where I spent my childhood. Most of the volunteers came from all over the country and since we were the only two locals, we bonded over our shared Midwestern upbringing and being the only children in our families. Our relationship developed slowly and as the summer went on I started wondering if he was ever going to ask me out on an official date.
I’d spent all my high school years in a relationship with my childhood sweetheart, whom I’d been sure I was going to marry since I was thirteen. He was a year older than me and broke up with me a week after his high school graduation. He said he wanted to be free to enjoy college life, but I was crushed because I knew it was code for hooking up with other girls. I spent my senior year heartbroken and refusing to date anyone.
I started dating again once I got to college, and it didn’t take me long to figure out I hated it. I had no interest in one-night stands or casual dating. It was old-fashioned, but I viewed dating as shopping for my future husband and didn’t want to waste time on anyone who wasn’t interested in a committed relationship. But Lucas wasn’t like other guys I met. He made references to marriage and having a family all the time. He was focused and driven with no time for any of the distractions college life provided. He was practical and straitlaced, majoring in accounting. Just when I thought I’d been permanently placed in the friend category, he asked me out to dinner.
There weren’t any fireworks or starry-eyed looks, but I knew after our first dinner that he was the one. He was like curling up on the couch with a blanket and stepping into my favorite book. We slid into a relationship easily and effortlessly and he brought me home to meet his parents that Christmas. We were engaged within six months. He was as eager to start building a life together as I was.
At the time, we lived in downtown Chicago, but planned to live in the northern suburbs after we got married because we wanted our children to grow up where they could play in the streets and walk to the store to pick up milk by themselves like we did when we were kids. It was important for us to give them the experiences we cherished from our childhood, like running through the neighborhood unencumbered, climbing tree
s, catching lightning bugs, and having lemonade stands on the sidewalk. A place where police officers were friends and you hailed them down to give you football cards during football season. We both knew the world wasn’t a safe place but wanted to protect their innocence for as long as we could.
Buffalo Grove was the perfect spot to raise our family. It was a nice middle-class neighborhood thirty miles outside of Chicago, and we moved as soon as I graduated. Our house was a large split-level at the end of cul-de-sac where all the houses looked the same. It was a tight-knit community with picturesque tree-lined streets. It was exactly what we wanted with its beautiful homes, safe neighborhoods, and friendly faces. We were close enough to the excitement of the city but far enough away to be insulated from the dangers of it.
I naively thought nobody would find out about what Noah had done because he was the small-town star and everyone loved him. He’d been featured in the local newspaper since he was nine for all the athletic awards he’d won and the attention he’d drawn from scouts at such an early age. People thought he was going to become the next Michael Phelps. Our church raised money through garage sales and car washes to send him to expensive tournaments and hire private coaches we wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise. He wasn’t just our son—he was everyone’s, so I assumed his troubles would be a private matter we’d work out between our families. I expected the girls’ parents to have a measure of understanding and compassion since Noah was a kid and wasn’t even at the age of consent himself.
I second-guessed every decision we made after Noah’s confession, and telling the parents of the girls wasn’t any different. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. We had no idea the chain reaction it would set off. I would always wonder what would’ve happened if we’d never had that dinner or had handled things differently, but we didn’t, and we could never go back.
I made the decision to tell the parents without any input from Lucas because he was still reeling from Noah’s confession. He barely moved and shuffled through the house like someone died. His eyes stricken. He didn’t hear me when I talked. My questions were met with blank stares and the sentences he managed to string together were mostly incoherent. I should’ve given him more time, but I was determined to resolve things quickly, get everyone the help they needed, and move forward with our lives.
It seemed silly now. I looked back on who I was then and couldn’t help but feel sorry for myself. I was so clueless. I still believed in compassion and that doing the right thing was rewarded, and telling the girls’ parents was the right thing to do even if the way we did it was wrong.
I didn’t know either of the parents well. Our kids weren’t near enough in age to spend a lot of time together, but both girls went to the same elementary school as Katie. We all attended Sacred Heart, but we went to early mass and they went to the afternoon mass so we only saw them at Christmas and Easter or other special occasions when the entire congregation came together. I couldn’t call them up and invite them to dinner without giving them a reason, so I told them we were inviting them over to talk about something that happened during their daughters’ swimming class without giving them the specific details. I stressed it was an adults-only dinner. Both mothers pressed me for more information but I dodged their questions and assured them things would be okay once we sat down and talked.
The Johnsons and Williams arrived together, obviously having talked to each other beforehand to time their arrival. The husbands, Jim and Michael, each had a protective arm slung around their wife’s waist, gripping them close to their bodies. Normally, we would’ve had a few drinks in the living room before moving into the dining room for dinner, but nothing about the dinner was normal and we all knew it even though we tried to act casual as I ushered them into the dining room. The mothers, Nora and Cheryl, kept exchanging glances with each other from across the table as I chattered away about the upcoming school play and how I hoped winter would hold off as long as possible. Each couple sat on one side of the table while Lucas and I perched at each end. It was more awkward than any first date I’d been on.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked. The air was thick with tension.
“I’ll have some water,” Nora’s husband, Jim, said.
“Of course. Anyone else?” I prattled off the list of options. Nora stopped me when I got to wine.
“I’ll take a glass,” she said.
“Me too,” Cheryl said, flashing me a nervous smile.
“Can I change my order?” Jim laughed. “Do you have any hard stuff?”
“Absolutely.” I motioned to Lucas to follow me into the kitchen. So far, he’d been staring at the framed art on the wall as if it was the first time he’d seen it and not making any effort at small talk to help put them at ease. He hadn’t said a word since the formal introductions at the front door.
I pulled out our best wine and bourbon, the ones we reserved for holidays and special occasions. Lucas helped as I fumbled around in the kitchen as if it wasn’t mine.
“This is insane,” he hissed in my ear.
I handed him the bourbon. “You could be a little more helpful with all this. Maybe if you said something.”
“I’m not going to pretend like this is some kind of social event. I just want to get this over with.” He grabbed the bourbon, turned, and headed back into the dining room.
I followed, carrying the glasses and wine bottle. I placed them on the table, filling the ladies’ glasses with red wine while he filled the men’s with bourbon. After he poured their glasses, he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long pull. I’d never seen him drink straight from the bottle. He shuddered with revulsion, then took another swig. He didn’t shudder this time. He wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve.
“Good stuff,” he said.
Our eyes were glued to him.
“Honey, why don’t you take a seat?” I said with a fake smile plastered on my face.
He cocked his head to the side, and his eyes filled with challenge. For a minute, I thought he was going to remain standing, but he sank into his chair slowly, never taking his eyes off me.
“What’s going on here?” Jim asked. He raised his eyebrows and stared at Lucas. Lucas returned his stare with a blank expression on his face.
I stepped in, breaking the awkward stare down. “I’m sorry this is so weird. We wanted to tell you together—”
“Please, just tell us what’s going on.” Cheryl’s newly manicured red nails gripped her husband Michael’s arm.
I looked toward Lucas. He shrugged his shoulders and drained what was left in his glass like he was at a fraternity party.
“Lucas and I have talked about it, and we want you to know we’re willing to do anything to help your girls and make this right.” My voice shook. “All our kids are going to need help to work through this, and it’s important we decide together how we want to talk to them about it, what we want to say, and how we’ll handle things from here.” I looked toward Lucas for help again. This time, he looked away. “We’ll pay for both your girls to see a therapist for as long as it takes. Seriously, you don’t have to worry about the money.”
“What are you talking about?” Jim pushed his chair back from the table, hard enough to make the glasses shake.
“Why would you pay for our kids to see a therapist?” Cheryl asked. Her eyes filled with confusion.
“It’s hard to know the right things to say. I don’t think any of us have ever dealt with anything like this,” I said.
I still thought of us as a team and on the same side. We were a group of parents whose kids had gone through something terrible and would work together to get them through it because we all wanted the same things for them or so I thought. How foolish of me.
Cheryl’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What are we dealing with?”
Lucas stared into his glass of bourbon. I wished I was close enough to kick him underneath the table. I swallowed the lump in my throat. My throat was so dry. I pi
cked up my glass of wine and took a sip, hoping it would help. It didn’t. I cleared my throat. Cleared it again. “You have such great girls. Noah has really enjoyed working with them. I—”
“Tell us what is going on.” Michael’s voice was firm, any pretense of a social gathering gone.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I kept trying, but couldn’t bring myself to speak the words. Saying it out loud would make it a reality I couldn’t take back. Everyone’s eyes bored into me.
“Our son molested your daughters during swim practice,” Lucas announced.
The room spun and then stilled. Lucas’s words hung in the air. Nobody spoke. At first, nobody moved. Jim unfroze first and started looking behind him and leaning forward to peek out into the hallway as if he was waiting for someone to come in with a video camera and tell him it was a joke. Nora sat next to him with a strange smile stuck on her face and stared at Lucas without blinking. Cheryl jerked on Michael’s arm, trying to get him to snap out of his shock, begging him to do something.
Lucas stood and pushed in his chair. “I’m sorry. Like Adrianne said, we’ll do whatever we can to help your girls. Pay for their counseling. Anything.” His shoulders sagged and he hung his head. “Sorry.”
He grabbed the bottle from the table and walked out of the room while we stared at his back. Where was he going? What was he doing? The front door opened and then closed, followed by the sound of his car starting. I frantically looked around the room, searching for the right thing to say as if the secret was written on the wall somewhere.
“We’re leaving too.” Michael reached down and pulled Cheryl up from her chair. She leaned against him for support, and he helped her walk to the door. She looked like she might fall over if he didn’t. I trailed after them, mumbling apologies.
Saving Noah Page 2