Until Today

by Pam Fluttert

  “How bad is she?”

  “She’s pretty black and blue. She has a concussion and two broken ribs. No child is klutzy enough to fall down the steps twice in such a short period of time. Her arm isn’t even healed yet, for Pete’s sake.”

  Aunt Sheila continues, “Nobody deserves that. Every child is beautiful and special and deserves love and protection. It disgusts me that people can get away with something so terrible.”

  For the first time since I can remember, a sensation of warmth wraps my heart, hugging me and helping me feel safe.

  “Do you really believe that, Aunt Sheila?” My voice cracks with the hope I’m trying to control.

  “Of course, I do. Children are a gift, and it’s our job to teach them, love them, and nurture them.”

  Aunt Sheila would believe me, no matter what. Her words prove it.

  “Aunt Sheila, I need to tell you—” I’m interrupted by the buzz of the paging intercom.

  “Dr. Williams, please report to room two twenty-three. Dr. Williams,” a voice commands.

  Sighing, Aunt Sheila rubs her hand over her face. Is her hand shaking? She looks so pale. The bags under her eyes are larger than usual. She looks ten years older than the last time I saw her.

  “I’m sorry, Kat, but we’ll have to talk about this later. I don’t usually lose it like this but this case gets to me. So many people have children exposed to this monster at the school. Could you work with Taylor today and see if she’ll tell you anything? She really missed you after you left the first time. You two obviously connected.”

  I nod. “Sure, I’ll do what I can.”

  I sit on the bed for a few minutes, trying to digest everything that has happened in the last few minutes, before going to Taylor’s room. I feel like I’ve jumped on an emotional roller coaster. Going from the fear that Sheila knew about Greg to actually wanting to tell her about him was confusing and frightening. This secret that I have guarded for so many years is becoming a heavy burden. Do I have the right to unload it on Aunt Sheila, who is suffering enough with Taylor and all the other kids who depend on her care?

  Aunt Sheila is worried that Mr. Bradford is around other kids all the time. What if my own silence means that Greg has hurt other kids? I’ve been worried about Sarah, but never thought of others I haven’t been able to protect.

  A light knock sounds on the door and Wanda peeks in. “Hi, Kat. Your Aunt asked me to let you know what room Taylor’s in.”

  I follow Wanda down the hall. It’s a quiet day on the ward, with only the sound of the occasional television coming from one or two of the rooms. Usually you can hear a child or baby crying, but not today.

  Wanda stops in front of the last door.

  “Taylor’s alone right now. Her mother hasn’t been here watching over her little lamb this time. Nobody has been up to see the poor kid since she was admitted last night. It’s weird after the last time. Her mother wouldn’t leave her side then.”

  “Thanks, Wanda.” I open the door to peek inside. Wanda’s footsteps fade down the hall while I stand there staring at the still shape on the bed.

  The bed is slightly inclined. Taylor’s head is turned away from me, toward the window. Maybe she’s sleeping. Her hair is spread across the pillow in a tangled mess.

  “Taylor, it’s Kat. Are you awake?” I walk around the bed so I can see her face. Tears are sliding down her cheeks.

  I squat down in front of the bed, wiping her tears away with my finger.

  “Hi, Taylor. I’m going to sit with you, and you can just cry as hard as you want, if it makes you feel better.”

  “I can’t cry. It hurts,” Taylor whispers.

  “Okay.” I run my hand over her hair, flinching at the knots and tangles. Nobody has looked after her in days.

  “How about I brush your hair and we can tell stories? I missed telling stories to you.”

  “I didn’t want the nurses to touch me. They hurt me when they move me around. I don’t want to talk to them.”

  “I know, but they’re just trying to help you.”

  Taylor looks into my eyes. “Will you brush my hair, Kat? You’re nice. You won’t hurt me. You can tell me a story. I liked pretending you were my sister.”

  I close my eyes, my hand resting on the top of Taylor’s head. “You’re right, Taylor. I won’t hurt you. Nobody will hurt you anymore,” I promise.

  Chapter Eleven

  Friday, September 15.

  Taylor’s fear of the nurses really got to me last weekend. She hardly spoke when I brushed her hair. She just lay there.

  I told her a story of a little girl who was special but who was being hurt by a mean man. The little girl was brave because she no longer let the man hurt her.

  I could tell Taylor was listening because she started crying while I talked. She seemed much calmer at the end of the story and fell asleep when I finished.

  I shiver from the cold breeze drifting through the clubhouse window. The hot weather we were having at the beginning of September has given way to cool, wet days.

  I get up to close the window. Sarah is on the swing. What’s she doing outside on a cold day like this? Usually she stays in front of the TV.

  I stand and watch Sarah through the window and picture myself, swinging from the tree. At Sarah’s age, I was in denial that anything Greg was doing could be wrong. I felt strong and loved.

  When Greg married Amy, I began to feel that things weren’t right. I was eight at their wedding and confused. Why was he marrying Amy if he loved me and called me his special girl? I was jealous of Amy and misbehaved when she came to the house.

  Amy was patient and eventually won me over. She’d take me to the movies and do things with me that my parents never had time for. She would talk about Greg and how happy they were.

  That’s when the guilt started. Greg was still calling me his special girl. I felt disloyal to Amy and hated myself for it.

  But it wasn’t your fault, a voice inside me whispers. I’ve heard this voice before, but ignored it, lost in my own guilt and confusion.

  Could it be true? How could it be my fault any more than it is Taylor’s for what her father is doing to her?

  “Hi, Amy!” Sarah’s squeal brings me back to the present.

  Fidgeting with my hands, I watch Amy cross the yard. This can’t be good. Mom and Dad aren’t home, so Amy hasn’t come to see them.

  Amy walks over to Sarah and pushes her on the swing. Sarah giggles at something Amy says, and jumps off the swing. “See you later,” Sarah yells, running toward the house.

  Amy stares at the clubhouse. Can she see me peeking through the curtain? I hold my breath, wondering what she’ll do. If I’m quiet, maybe she’ll go home. No such luck; Amy walks toward the clubhouse.

  I start to panic. I’m sure Amy saw something between Greg and me the other night, even though it was dark. I swallow hard, refusing to let her see me nervous and sick.

  Bracing my hands on the wall in front of me, I try to prepare myself. Play dumb, Kat. Act like everything’s okay.

  When I turn to look toward the door, I realize my journal is still on the table. The blood rushes to my head when I hear Amy’s footsteps outside the door. I have to get rid of it! I grab the journal and throw it behind the milk crates a split second before Amy appears in the door.

  “We need to talk, Kat.”

  Turning to Amy, I try to think of an excuse to avoid this confrontation. I’m shaking and still breathing heavily from the fear that she might have seen my journal. I don’t think she saw me throw it before she came in.

  “Now’s not good, Amy. I have to meet Steph.” I try to walk past her, but she reaches out and grabs my arm.

  “Steph can wait. We need to talk about this.”

  I back away and her hand falls from my ar
m. I feel as if I’ve been burned.

  “I want to know what’s going on. I’ve heard Greg out, now I want to hear what you have to say. You’ve both been acting strange, and I want to know why.”

  A million thoughts race through my head and I can’t hold on to any of them. What do I do? Please let me just disappear. Please let this be a dream. Stall her. Change the subject. Distract her. What did Greg say to her?

  “Now, Kat.”

  “What…what did he say?” My head spins and the floor tilts to one side, trying to tip me over.

  “I want to hear what you have to say. What did I see between you and Greg?”

  “N-n-nothing,” I say, trying to speak past the lump in my throat. How can I describe what’s been happening? How can I explain what would have happened if she hadn’t shown up? The pain in my stomach clinches my insides with every breath, until I can barely stay on my feet.

  “Do you think I’m blind…or stupid?” Amy’s voice rises in frustration. Her arms are on her hips. She looks tense and ready to grab me at any moment. I’ve never seen such a cold look in her eyes.

  I remember the excuse Greg gave when Amy appeared. “He was trying to make me feel better. That’s it, Amy. I don’t know…I don’t know what else you think there could be.” The words gush out so fast I can barely understand them.

  “Do you have feelings for Greg, Kat?”

  “Feelings? What do you mean?”

  “How do you feel toward Greg?” Amy asks again.

  I shrug. How can I tell her how I feel about Greg when I don’t even know? The cramping in my stomach is stronger. I have to fight the urge to drop to my knees and curl into a little ball. My face burns with shame.

  “He’s like an uncle to me, if that’s what you mean.”

  Amy is quiet for a moment. Did she hear me? Does she believe me?

  “Do you feel the same way as you do toward Jared?”

  “I…I guess so,” I reply. I know what she’s getting at.

  “Either you do or you don’t.” Amy clenches her hands into fists and takes a step toward me.

  I back away from her. Will she threaten me like Greg? The wall of the clubhouse blocks me from moving any farther and supports me as I lean against it, my knees no longer able to support all my weight.

  “I saw your hand holding his against you. Can you explain that to me? That’s not something you would do with Jared.”

  Closing my eyes, I try to picture the scene Amy interrupted. Yes, my hand was on Greg’s. I was trying to keep it from touching me; trying to force it away from me. I swallow and fight the blackness whirling around me.

  “That’s not how it was. I was trying—”

  Amy holds up her hand. “Stop, I don’t want to hear lies. Greg told me what’s going on. He explained everything, and I’m disappointed.”

  Thankful for the support of the wall behind me, I close my eyes and sigh. He told her. It’s over. The blackness begins to fade and the pain in my stomach becomes a dull throb.

  “How could you do that to Greg?”

  Shocked at her words, my eyes fly open. “Do…do what?”

  “He told me about your crush and your threats. You need help, Kat. I can understand an innocent crush, but to threaten to tell your parents he’s coming on to you…that’s a terrible thing to do. How could you, after everything we’ve done for you? Greg treats you like he would his own flesh and blood. He’d do anything for you and your family. He really thinks we can help you through this.”

  “It’s not true, Amy…I wouldn’t do that.” I fight to stay above the whirling blackness underneath me. My head pounds and angry tears fall from my eyes.

  “What’s not true? Tell me the truth, Kat. I want to know what’s going on, and I want to know now.”

  I clutch my stomach and groan, “No, no, no, no.”

  The clubhouse is spinning in circles. I close my eyes, trying to drown everything out.

  The rustle of Amy’s coat is closer, but I squeeze my eyes shut, not able to look at her. “It’s over, Kat. No more of this. I’m going to talk to your parents.”

  “No,” I repeat again. “It’s not me. It’s not my fault. It’s him.”

  “No more lies. That’s enough!”

  “He threatens me. He makes me…He touches me.”

  “He told me you’d do this. Even after the way you’ve threatened him, he’s still worried about you and only wants the best for you. He’s trying to help you get through this, and now you say it’s him. How dare you…”

  I open my eyes, blinded for a brief moment by the sudden burst of light. The look of contempt in Amy’s eyes turns me cold inside.

  Greg did this to me. Greg did this to her. I won’t let him come between me and Amy.

  “No! You’re wrong,” I shout, pushing her aside and darting toward the door. Something crashes to the floor, but I don’t stop to look back.

  Sobbing, I stumble along the riverbank, toward the trees. I hardly notice the bare tree branches snagging my hair and scratching my face.

  I stumble over a root and fall to the ground, pain from the impact shooting up my arm. Curling myself into a ball, I burst into a torrent of tears. Everything I’ve trapped inside flows out, leaving me empty, cold, and trembling on the cold ground.

  Hearing the words spoken aloud, in my own voice, has left me incapable of denying the truth. He really does do those terrible things. It’s true, it’s not a dream, and it’s not right.

  It’s his fault, not mine. I was just a little girl. I’m still just a little girl.

  My tears leave angry paths on my cheeks. My body reacts as the anger builds; I stop shaking, my heartbeat becomes less erratic, and the fear in my stomach subsides. I don’t deserve the things that Amy said. I’m better than that. I’m better than him.

  Chapter Twelve

  It’s been two days since Amy confronted me, and now the fear is back, even stronger than before. When is she going to tell my parents all of Greg’s lies? When will I no longer be a part of this family?

  I should just get to Mom and Dad first, and tell them myself. Why don’t I?

  I tried to talk to Mom yesterday, but she was busy with lesson plans. Last night when she asked if anything’s wrong, I chickened out. The guilt was back. I couldn’t destroy her with my problem, or, worse yet, I couldn’t bear hearing her say what Amy said; she doesn’t believe me.

  I called Jared again, and he was actually there for once. I was hoping he would tell me that I’m fine and everything will be okay. But the words lodged in my throat. Jared talked about his perfect, busy life. When I hung up, my secret was still intact.

  How can I find the right words when I’m not even sure I want to say them at all?

  I twist myself around in circles on the swing in the backyard, staring at the dull, brown ground beneath my feet. A picture of Sarah sitting on this swing flashes through my head. She looked so innocent and carefree. Sarah – Daddy’s little pet. If I so much as look at her the wrong way, I get in trouble.

  Lifting my feet off the ground, I hold my legs in front of me and watch the world swirl in dizzying circles as the rope unwinds.

  My hands are numb. The air is crisp and cool. The swing stops its dance and I bring my hands to my mouth to blow on them.

  Sarah gets to be the little girl I never could be. She has the peace that comes with innocence, the trusting nature of somebody who doesn’t have a worry in the world. For now.

  “Kat, I’m driving to the library. Do you want a ride to the hospital?” Mom yells, stepping out onto the patio.

  I glance at my watch. Wow. I’m supposed to be at work in fifteen minutes. I jump off the swing and rush past my mom, “Just give me a second to change.”

  The drive to the hospital is quiet. It’s like we’re two strangers, not k
nowing what to say to each other.

  “See you,” I say before slamming the door and running through the hospital entrance. I can’t shake the feeling that I just gave up a perfect opportunity to make things better.

  Sighing, I head for the elevators.

  Wanda is sitting at the nurses’ station.

  “Hey, Wanda. How’s your little one?” I ask, eager for a distraction.

  Wanda’s eyes always light up when she talks about her daughter. “She said a new word last night. After dumping her bowl of spaghetti over her head, and onto the floor, she looked at me and said ‘bad.’ She had spaghetti in her ear, on her clothes, in her nose, hanging from her hair, and on the dog. I didn’t know what to clean up first.”

  I smile at the image of Wanda’s one-year-old covered in spaghetti.

  “I’m wrapped around her little finger. But she has her daddy right where she wants him, too. He just goes to mush when she turns those baby blues on him, no matter what she’s done.”

  “Too bad all dads can’t be like that with their little girls.”

  “You’re not kidding. Your little friend is still here.” Wanda looks down the hall at Taylor’s room.

  “She won’t talk to any of us. Her family still hasn’t been in to see her, which is really odd. We’ve all tried to talk to her, but she doesn’t want anything to do with us. She’s closed herself off.”

  “What does Aunt Sheila say?” I ask.

  “She’s at a loss. I don’t think Taylor said one word to the social worker who was here.”

  “What will happen?”

  “I think that they’ll try to assess what kind of risk Taylor is facing, especially since this is the second time we’ve called. I don’t know what will happen if she doesn’t talk, though.”

  I nod and look toward Taylor’s closed door. “Should I go see her, or let her be?”

  “It can’t hurt to try. If she doesn’t want you there, you’ll know soon enough.”

  “That’s true, I guess. See you later.”