“Because,” was all he said.
“Have the boys finished their homework?”
“Almost—William has a little more to complete.”
“When will you be home, Rick?”
“In about an hour,” he said.
I went home at 8 to see the boys before they went to bed. But when I arrived, the house was empty. They didn’t get back home from Wal-Mart until 10 P.M. When they did straggle in, the boys were arguing with each other.
Apparently, William—my nine-year-old with Attention Deficit Disorder—had been put in charge of watching Timmy in the video section while Rick completed returns at the front desk. It was no surprise to me that William lost track of Timmy after a while. But both William and James were in trouble with their dad for letting their little brother get lost. Because of that, incessant squabbling had erupted between the kids.
We all woke up a little late the next morning. I helped dress the boys so that Rick could get them to school in time. Of course, when they left, homework assignments were not complete.
On Friday of that week, I got home at 5:40 but our youngest son was not there. “Where’s Timmy?” I asked Rick.
“I emailed you and told you to pick him up,” Rick accused.
“I did not get an email.”
“You must have missed it,” he insisted.
I went to pick up Timmy but the next Monday morning, I made it a point to double-check my email box. Nothing from Rick. Once again, he had failed to pick up Timmy before 5:30 and once again he shifted the blame to someone else.
Saturday evening, Rick talked on the phone with William’s teacher, Miss Griffin, for almost an hour. Rick told me that they talked about the difficult time William was having on his ADD medicine holiday.
“Why is William on a holiday?” I asked.
Rick went on the defensive, making arguments that made no sense, but the bottom line was, that without my knowledge, William had not had his ADD medicine since Christmas break.
On Sunday morning, I got up before 7 with Timmy and James. After I fixed their breakfast, they piled on top of me on the sofa and watched a movie. I read about the presidential inauguration in the newspaper.
After the movie was over, I rearranged the art in the living room and cleaned up the kitchen. Around 10, I woke up Rick. “I’m tired. Get up and watch the kids. I want to take a nap after getting up with the boys at dawn.”
Rick was angered by this request and I had to drag him out of bed. I slept until 1 in the afternoon when the boys came and bounced on my bed.
When I went downstairs, the family room was in total disarray. Rick sneered at me and said, “Now, I’m taking a nap since you made me get up.”
“What have you been doing since you got up?” I asked.
“I watched two movies with the kids.”
“It’s after 1 and the leaves still have not been blown or raked.”
“I’ll get to it in the next few days. If that’s a problem for you, you can blow them yourself.”
“Since you have no income, the least you can do is the yard work without constantly being reminded,” I snapped.
He ignored me, went upstairs and went to bed. When he got up, he hassled me about the clean-up I had done. I had to explain each and every item I put in the giveaway or pitch piles. He salvaged useless things from both categories.
On Saturday, January 27, Rick spent the entire day volunteering at the rodeo. Before he left home, I asked him to be home by 6 since we were having guests for dinner. Instead he got home at 7—he just had to go shopping at North Star Mall when he left his volunteer job at the Coliseum.
The next morning, Rick was out in the garage for a long time. I asked him what he was up to.
“I went to Dillard’s at North Star Mall last night and found four scooters for $25 apiece. I’m exchanging the handlebars and wheelie bars on the new ones for the beat up ones on the kids’ scooters. But it’s not going to cost any money because I am returning the new scooters with the old parts to Dillards.”
“Dillards is very picky about returns,” I warned him.
“I’m not worried. I can handle it,” he assured me.
I am becoming very concerned about Rick’s spending habits. He has not posted any activity to the Quicken account since November. He gave a lame excuse about no longer being able to download transactions from 2000, but other folks at work have Quicken Visas and have not had download problems. I am afraid he is lying to me and has racked up so many purchases that he knows I will get mad if I see that.
Later that day, I was disposing of the Adderol that neither William nor James take any longer. Rick stopped me and said not to get rid of it because he was giving it to Timmy.
Giving it to Timmy? He had never cleared this with me or with Dr. Martin. He just began his own experiment. “You know how I feel about you doing this sort of thing without my knowledge or consent.”
“I don’t need your permission on everything,” he snapped back.
On Monday, Rick called me at work. “I phoned the General Manager at Dillard’s and he said that I can return the scooters without a problem. But, maybe, we should call around and see if any of our friends want to buy them since they are such a good deal.”
“Why don’t you spend the afternoon blowing leaves instead of acting like a personal shopper for our friends?”
“Okay. I promise I’ll return the scooters today.”
At 5:20, I called Rick and told him that I was picking up Timmy. We got home at 6. Rick was working on homework with William. By the time I picked up the house and made dinner, Rick had fallen asleep. The boys and I ate together and watched a movie.
At 8, Rick got up and said he was going to Dillard’s. He crawled into bed at midnight that night letting me know that he also spent time at Target.
Susan’s journal entries stopped here on January 29, 2001, and did not resume for sixteen months. Had the situation in the household improved? Or did she just decide to tough it out because an attorney advised her that since Rick had been staying home caring for the boys, he would probably get custody?
2 Sue’s journal excerpts have been edited for clarity and continuity.
11
Despite Rick’s flaws as a parent, the staff at Woodridge Elementary, where William and James attended school, saw him as an involved father. He stood out among the parents of the 900 other students for his willingness to participate.
He volunteered to help teachers with writing workshops and other activities. He came to all the children’s programs from string recitals to Christmas pageants. He attended every school meeting and never missed a summer placement consultation for his boys. He demonstrated the care, concern and love for his sons that educators wanted to see. No one noticed that he was a bit stranger than the average parent.
One spring day in 2001, Charlene spotted Rick McFarland pacing back and forth in his front yard in an obvious state of excitement. He was dressed in navy blue Bermuda shorts, a Henley shirt, a pair of cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. His outfit was comical but his behavior even more so. He bounced around the yard and peered up the street with all the exuberance of a child awaiting Santa’s imminent arrival.
For hours, Charlene made sporadic checks out her window and there was Rick, still keeping vigil. Finally, he was rewarded. Rick’s parents, Mona and Dick, pulled up in front of his home. His outfit and his irrepressible anticipation were all because his parents were coming. How odd.
By the summer of 2001, it was apparent that all was not well at 351 Arcadia. For some time, swim coach Melissa St. John recognized the chaos that swirled around the McFarland boys whenever she saw them with their father. She knew William was intimidated by his dad. She felt Rick pushed his oldest son to excel in areas where William’s only possible response was frustration and failure. But she knew James adored his father, wrapping his arms around him at every opportunity.
One day at swim class, Melissa noticed several small, dark, circular contusions
on William’s face. She asked what happened.
He said that his dad wanted to teach him a lesson because he had not been paying attention during his tennis class. So Dad slammed tennis balls at him while making him stand motionless on the court.
Melissa was horrified, but a niggling doubt about the accuracy of the story wiggled in her head—William had lied to her about less important things before. But she looked at the face of the loving and creative boy and she knew what she saw was unusual and not consistent with a fall or with running into something. She said that his dad was wrong to do that and she would call his mother.
William didn’t think it would do any good.
After talking it over with another coach and her supervisor, Melissa decided to report the incident to Child Protective Services (CPS). She hoped to remain nameless but was informed that CPS does not act on the basis of an anonymous report.
Reluctantly, she identified herself and asked if it would be appropriate for her to talk to Mrs. McFarland to make sure that William would not face disciplinary action for speaking to her. CPS told her that it was her decision to make.
Melissa then called Sue McFarland and told her what William had said and informed her about the call to CPS.
Sue doubted William’s story and never saw the marks on his face.
Melissa insisted that she knew what she saw and that the bruises were not fresh.
Sue dropped her initial disbelief and admitted her sense of helplessness to change the situation. She was powerless, she said, to make Rick take his prescription for his obsessive-compulsive disorder and ineffective in overcoming Rick’s objections to getting treatment for their son.
Melissa urged Sue to get help for William right away—once they get to a certain age, she said, you can’t reach them. You have a limited window of time. She also related other problems that had risen with the boys during swim practice and added that Rick knew about all these things but did not seem to care.
Sue was angry that Rick never mentioned any of them to her. She didn’t ask him to do much more than take the children where they needed to go, she said. She could not keep babysitters because they did not like being around Rick and she was afraid to leave him because she worried about possible joint custody, she added.
She had tried counseling, she said, but each one of the professionals gave up when Rick would not take his medicine or follow their therapeutic advice.
The conversation ended on a brighter note. Melissa invited William to attend her art class that fall at First Presbyterian Church.
“I’ll make every effort to have him there.”
Later that day, Rick called Melissa and accused her of causing problems for him with his wife.
Melissa explained that she had a legal and moral obligation to file the report. She then emphasized the need for William to have consistency and focus in his day-to-day life.
That angered Rick even more. Although he did not deny lobbing tennis balls at William, he insisted that she should have reported this to him first.
Melissa told him that he would have to settle the matter with CPS and then she hung up.
The next practice day, William confronted his coach about turning in his dad. Melissa urged William to think about what he would do if the roles were reversed—if he were the adult. After giving it some thought, William agreed that she had done the right thing.
Soon, Rick was up in Melissa’s face, crowding her personal space although he spoke in a soft voice. Threat bubbled below the surface as he questioned her justification for causing him so much grief.
Melissa did not back down. She reiterated her belief that she was obligated to report the situation to the authorities. She added that she wouldn’t hesitate to do it again if it was necessary. Then she turned and walked away.
Melissa was now concerned about her personal safety and asked her staff and select male parents to keep an eye on Mr. McFarland when he was in the pool complex. She also told her assistant coaches to let her know of questionable markings on William’s body in the future.
At the end of the week, William approached his coach again. “I made a mistake about what I said. I just had an accident. I tripped and fell into the sharp place on the tennis ball machine.”
“Did you do that a bunch of times to get all of those bruises?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” was all William could say.
Sue attended swim practice more often and Rick seemed more attentive to his children. Melissa assumed CPS was providing the necessary intervention. It was an assumption she would later regret.
12
Susan went to St. Louis with her husband and her boys that July. After a few days, she returned to home and work. The rest of the family stayed in Missouri for a four-week visit. She was alone in her home with Sally the dog and Marvin the cat.
Next door, in the wee hours of the night. Susan Schooling was deep in thought, still awake. A woman’s “bloodcurdling scream” ripped her from her reverie. She bolted to her feet and ran to her mother, Charlene.
Charlene maintained that Susan must have been dreaming. Susan insisted that she was awake and it sounded as if someone discovered an intruder with knife in hand.
The next night, Charlene and Susan were concerned as the hours passed and Sue had not returned home from work. When 9:30—Sue’s normal bedtime—came and went, Susan was alarmed. The memory of the scream from the night before made her imagination dwell on the worst possibilities.
At 10:30, Sue pulled into her driveway. Susan rushed over to express her worry and find out if all was well.
“Don’t be silly,” Sue said. “I just went out with some friends from work.”
Timidly, Susan raised the other topic on her mind. “Did you scream last night?”
“No,” Sue said, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“Did you have a bad dream?”
“No.” Sue eyed her young neighbor as if her trolley had slipped off the track.
“Well, last night I heard a scream. It sounded like someone was murdered over here.”
Sue just rolled her eyes and sent Susan home.
In the summer of 2001, one of the Schooling cats had a litter of kittens. William—and every kid in the neighborhood—came by to see the little balls of newborn fur. William wanted a kitten and brought his dad over to look at them. Rick told him he could have the white kitten with the double stripe down its back. Rick asked Susan, “When can we take the kitten home?”
“The kittens are already taken,” Susan said.
As usual when someone said something Rick did not want to hear, he stood and stared as if willing the other person to change the response. Three nights in a row, he repeated his question. Each night, Susan told him that all the kittens were promised to other homes, and he responded in the same way.
Charlene was exasperated with Rick’s refusal to understand Susan’s response. “Just what part of ‘No’ don’t you understand, Rick?”
Rick ranted about how they had disappointed William, then said, “Well, then you’re just going to have to be the one the tells William to his face.” Rick stomped out of the Schooling house, got William and returned. He thrust William in front of Susan and told her to tell him.
“William, my sister Betsy is taking that kitten with her to New York when she goes back to school.”
All that week, William believed it when his dad told him again and again that they would be bringing that kitten home soon. Hurt blanched his young face and drove him to tears.
“See what you made William do?” Rick said.
Susan was too near tears herself to respond. Charlene stepped in and said, “I’m sorry, William, but your dad has known all along that you can’t have that cat. It was promised to someone else.”
Although he did not get one of the Schooling kittens, William soon did have a cat of his own. He called her Ana—naming her after the doomed tsarina Anastasia. Anastasia meant “able to live again.”
Rick visited with a ne
urologist for an evaluation on September 12. He reported that he discontinued his use of Prozac and Adderol months ago. He complained of tingling in his extremities and chest, but no dizziness. He feared some loss of hearing, but said his taste and smell were good, except when he had sinus trouble.
The doctor concluded that Rick had no structural or pathological problems with his neurology, but he did have an anxiety disorder that made him tense, rigid, oversensitive, suspicious and stubborn. He recommended that Rick develop a detailed daily schedule with an hourly grid. He should post it in a conspicuous place and check it every hour. He suggested that Rick wear a wrist watch alarm to remind him to do so.
In the fall, William attended Melissa St. John’s art class. One afternoon, all the other kids had been picked up from class and William volunteered to clean up spilled paint from the tables and floors while he waited for his ride. Rick arrived about a half hour late and exploded in anger—shrieking at William for getting a spot of paint on his shirt. Melissa took William aside to make sure he was all right. That was the last art class William attended that session.
Melissa suspected that CPS was not following through on her report. She called their offices to find out what they had done. The answer she got was disappointing. CPS called Sue McFarland. When she told them it was an accidental injury, Melissa’s report was filed away.
Melissa was incredulous that CPS took the word of the wife of an accused abuser and did not interview William. She asked the CPS worker that if she had any concerns about a child’s safety in the future, should she call the police instead?
The woman at the agency admitted that it would be better. Everyone in CPS knew about the perilous situation at the agency. But it would be three more years before the state stepped in to assist with the case overload and backlog at the Bexar County office.
Melissa was not the only one getting reports of abuse from William. He told neighbor Carrie Miller that his dad had hit him with a baseball bat and the bat had broken. But William, who was wearing Speedos at the time, could not—or would not—point out any bruises on his body. Carrie did not put much credence in his story then, but later, it would come back to haunt her.
Gone Forever Page 6