The Drowning Girls

by Paula Treick DeBoard

“Of course.” I gestured to my office and he led the way, settling himself instantly into the chair across from my desk. Jenn looked at me with a puzzled smile, her head cocked. My armpits were already damp when I pulled the door shut. This was the third member of the Jorgensen family to visit me at work, and I wasn’t expecting anything pleasant.

  Tim set his briefcase on his knees, popped the latches and removed a slim manila folder. My mouth went dry. I was standing at the door, and it occurred to me that I could still escape this somehow. Slip outside, get into my car, drive away from my life. No—I’d have to grab Danielle first. I could almost imagine myself bursting into her classroom and dragging her out by the arm, being chased by Tim Jorgensen in his long strides. But he was looking up at me expectantly, so I came around my desk and lowered myself into my chair.

  “I hope Kelsey’s doing okay,” I blurted, fumbling for words, as if I could set the course of our conversation. “I heard she was back home.” I hadn’t so much heard this as I’d seen her in the passenger seat of Sonia’s car, rounding the corner at the end of our street. Tim didn’t say anything, and I kept babbling, coming out next with a bald-faced lie. “Danielle and I thought we would visit her someday, when it’s a good time for everyone.”

  He finally spoke. “She’s not okay, Liz. She’s not remotely okay. And you’re not coming anywhere near our house.” He tapped the folder in his hand significantly and set it on the edge of my desk.

  It felt like an absurd game where I had to guess the contents of the folder. Maybe he would give me three chances before I lost. But whatever was inside there, it was bad news.

  He cleared his throat. “Kelsey’s been seeing a therapist. We’re trying to get to the bottom of some of her issues. She’s been— Unfortunately, she’s been easy prey for some of the adults in her life. For a long time, she didn’t want to tell us anything. She would just start crying every time we tried to talk to her. And then finally, yesterday, we had a breakthrough, and she told us about what’s been going on with your husband.”

  The cup of coffee I’d gulped down half an hour ago was suddenly there again, threatening to rise in the back of my throat. I whispered, “What do you mean?”

  Tim flipped open the folder, and there was Phil, standing naked at the edge of our pool in a glossy eight-by-ten. “He sent her this picture,” he snapped. “I saw the email. A grown man sent this to a teenage girl. How would you feel if this were your daughter, Liz? If your sweet, innocent girl opened up her email and had this waiting for her, from the creepy neighbor next door?”

  “But—no,” I said. “He explained it to me. Kelsey got into his email. She sent him that photo—”

  Tim shook his head, as if he were disappointed with me. “You can explain it however you want, Liz. The bottom line is, he took advantage of her. She told us all the things he made her do, right there in his office.”

  My face was hot. “Nothing happened,” I protested. “She was the one who came on to him. She—had a chance to stay away from him, but she came over to our house... My husband had nothing to do with her. He told me it was all one-sided, an obsession.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “Of course.” I thought of the picture on Phil’s phone, the one I’d been so bent on destroying that night with the hammer. If I had it now, that would have proved something. Or would it? It might have only proved he was indeed a pervert, for snapping a photo of a naked girl and storing it for all these months. Suddenly, too late, I understood why Phil had kept quiet. It didn’t matter what the truth was, because there was only one version that everyone would see.

  I looked at the picture again. Phil, naked and beautiful and lost to me now. “Tim, Phil didn’t take this picture, obviously. Your daughter took it. She was outside our house that night, out on the trail, spying on us.”

  Tim closed his eyes and again shook his head. “I wanted to believe this had nothing to do with you, Liz. I really did. I always liked you. You seemed smarter than the other ladies, like someone who wouldn’t let anyone boss her around. I liked that. But clearly you’ll do anything you can to protect him—and yourself. You took this picture, didn’t you? Maybe you meant it as a private thing, but your husband must have liked how he looked in it, because he passed it along to my daughter.”

  “I didn’t...”

  He gave me a look of disgust. “The worst part, Liz, is that she tried to confide in you. She came in here to talk to you about what was happening with your husband, and you made excuses for his behavior, just like you’re doing with me now.”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “She came in here to talk to you, didn’t she? Back in September? Eight months ago. She told you that she was uncomfortable around your husband—”

  “No! She never mentioned anything like that. She’s the one— She left her underwear in my bedroom, she vandalized the bathrooms in the clubhouse.”

  “Your husband forced her to strip in his bedroom. He tried to frame her for the vandalism in the clubhouse, which he did himself.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” I heard the desperation in my voice. “I know about your daughter. I know that she tried this before, only a year ago, with one of her teachers at Ashbury.”

  “Any information relating to that case was sealed via a court order,” Tim said. He pinched the photo of Phil between his thumb and forefinger and placed it back into the folder. “And if there’s any connection, it’s that my daughter continues to be taken advantage of by men in her life who are in positions of trust. Although it’s not just the men, is it? If you’d done your job when she came to you, if you’d taken her concerns seriously, this whole thing could have been prevented.”

  Stop, I wanted to say. He was going too fast, spinning my mind around with his dizzying logic. Everything was wrong. It was like seeing an old film negative, where the white should be black and the black should be white.

  He stood, shaking out the creases in his suit. “As mad as I am, Liz, it’s nothing compared to Sonia. She trusted you, and you had information that we needed to know in order to keep Kelsey safe. I’m pretty sure that that’s your job as a guidance counselor, Liz. To guide. To counsel.” He picked up the folder with the photo and slid it into his briefcase.

  My voice came out as a croak. “What are you going to do?”

  “I think my daughter has been through enough, frankly. I know I could call the police and have your husband arrested, but I’m not sure if that would benefit Kelsey at this point. She’s so fragile right now—to have to relive it would be a nightmare. Plus, from what I understand, your husband is now living in Southern California. As long as he doesn’t come near The Palms or near our daughter, I won’t have him arrested.”

  I waited, knowing that more was coming. Tim looked too satisfied to be finished. He was a lawyer, I reminded myself. He was enjoying the spectacle.

  “But my next stop today is your principal’s office, to explain to him that the person who counseled my daughter was woefully deficient, which may have contributed to her suicide attempt. It’s unconscionable to me that you can sit in here and dispense advice to frightened and worried kids, when my daughter spent a month in a hospital as a result of your incompetence.”

  I understood then why Ashbury had caved, why the teacher had agreed to a dismissal, why everyone kept their mouths shut about Kelsey Jorgensen.

  I understood, finally, why Phil had been running in circles trying to keep a secret even when he was innocent. And I believed that, finally. He was innocent of everything except bad judgment. Without thinking, I was out of my chair, my body sliding between Tim and the door. I was close enough to see the veins in his sclera, red and angry, like little forks of lightning.

  “She’s a liar,” I told him. “She’s manipulative and destructive, and it’s obvious where she gets it from. What are you going to say when she does this again next year,
with someone else? Who will you blame then? How many lives will you let her ruin?”

  It might have been an accident—or it might not, I thought later—but as Tim grabbed the door handle, his briefcase connected with my knee, and I fell back, gasping with pain.

  “What in the world...?” Jenn asked as I hobbled through the lobby. Tim strode across the parking lot, where Sonia was waiting next to his sedan in a dark suit. I almost did a double take when Kelsey came out of the backseat. I’d only seen her in bikinis, tank tops with skinny straps, short skirts, deeply plunging V-necks. Today she wore a gray sweater dress that fell past her knees. A pink scarf was wrapped around her neck. The three of them walked toward the main administrative entrance, Tim and Sonia flanking Kelsey like bodyguards.

  Jenn asked, “Liz? What’s going on? Do you need me to—”

  I hurried back to my office, my knee still smarting. “No, it’s okay. I just have to...” But there were no more words, no means of finishing the sentence. Inside my office, I bent at the waist, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

  Kelsey had played her trump card. Right now, she was sitting in Blaine’s office, summoning the requisite tears and the appropriate shame. I remembered her that day in my office, so earnestly trying to tell me that my daughter had trashed the clubhouse bathrooms.

  She would make an excellent victim.

  I’d been at MLHS for seven years. I’d worked with Blaine long enough to know the date of his anniversary and the names of his grandchildren. I’d outlasted a revolving door of assistant principals, most using MLHS as a stepping stone on their way up and out. It was impossible to be a counselor, to deal with sensitive student information and unhappy parents and not receive a complaint or two each school year. None of these had been serious—just the standard woes about class placement and grade notifications that had slipped through the cracks. No matter who the parent was, no matter how hard they pushed, those complaints amounted to nothing. This was because I documented everything. I crossed my t’s and dotted my i’s, keeping the paperwork, making notes in my files. I had a good reputation. I had a track record of helping students and communicating with parents. I took work home; when I needed to, I came in early and stayed late. I responded to all emails before I left work for the day. No matter what Tim and Sonia and Kelsey were telling Blaine right now, I had nine years of a good service record going for me, too.

  I glanced at the clock. How long would the Jorgensens be in Blaine’s office? How long until he called me in, demanding answers? There were twenty minutes left in fourth period. I consulted the staff phone list and punched in the number of Taryn Edwards, Danielle’s fourth period geometry teacher.

  “Hi, it’s Liz McGinnis,” I said, surprised by how normal I sounded, how clearheaded. “I hope it’s not too inconvenient, but I was wondering if you would send Danielle up to my office before she heads to lunch?”

  * * *

  Danielle knocked once and opened the door, clutching her fat binder to her chest with one arm. Her backpack slung low off her shoulder, weighted down by books. “Did you call for me?”

  I shut the door behind her with a quiet click. “Sit down.”

  She did, too stunned to remove her backpack. “What’s—”

  I sat on the top of my desk, directly in front of Danielle. “I need you to listen to me.”

  Her eyes went wide. “What happened? Is it Grandma?”

  I softened. “No—no, it’s not Grandma. She’s fine. But I need to tell you something, before you hear it from someone else.”

  “Hear what?”

  “There are some rumors going around that there was a relationship between Kelsey and Phil.”

  Her eyes went wider. “Oh, my God.”

  I knew I had to explain fast, before we were interrupted. “It isn’t true, Danielle. Kelsey’s made up the whole thing. I’ve been doing some digging, and she’s sick—she’s seriously disturbed. She made up lies like this at Ashbury, too. Her teacher was engaged, and his fiancée ended up calling off the wedding.”

  “Is that why Phil left?”

  “He needed to get away from the situation. She’d been sending him emails and bothering him at his office. When we were gone for Thanksgiving, she got into our backyard and went swimming in our pool, naked. She was obsessed.”

  “Eww.”

  “I know this is a hard thing to hear about your friend. And I’m sure she has some very nice qualities, but the bottom line is that she’s sick and she needs to get some help.”

  “She’s not my friend. We haven’t even talked in months.”

  “The thing is, right now she’s in Blaine’s office with her parents, and she’s telling them that I knew about the relationship and that I should be fired.”

  I hated what that did to Danielle. She’d acted so casual about Phil leaving, so defiantly nonchalant, as if whatever was going on with us wasn’t possibly going to affect her. And now I’d as good as pulled the rug out from under her feet. I could almost feel her mind spinning, the gears shifting. No more Phil. Mom losing her job.

  “She’s vindictive, Danielle. You know that. When she couldn’t get her way with Phil, she decided to bring me down, too.”

  “And me,” Danielle added.

  “And you. That’s right. And whatever she’s saying right now is going to affect your life, too. That’s why I’m going to ask you something. It’s very important. Do you understand?”

  She stared at me.

  I lowered my voice. “If Mr. Blaine or Mr. Gopal, or if any adult asks you, you’re going to say that Kelsey told you she had a crush on Phil, and that she was starting to creep you out, because she was always asking you questions about him and wanting to get closer to him. Do you understand?”

  “That’s disgusting,” Danielle said. “I’m not going to lie. She never told me anything like that.”

  “You’re not understanding the whole picture, Danielle. She’s telling lies that we can’t prove. We have to do something. I’m going to go to Blaine and tell him that she made it all up, that her parents are protecting her because she’s mentally unstable. But you have to back me on this, too.”

  “There was nothing going on, then? For sure?”

  “Danielle! Of course there wasn’t.” I could see her wavering, processing. She was sorting the evidence, same as I’d done, trying to remember when she’d seen them together, if they’d ever exchanged a significant glance.

  There was a knock on my door.

  “Just a second,” I called.

  “Why do I have to lie about it?” Danielle asked. “Why can’t I just say I didn’t know anything? That’s the truth. I didn’t know anything.”

  “Because that’s not going to be good enough. Listen, I need you to do this. You have to do this. Everything is on the line here.”

  “Liz?” Jenn called. She opened the door an inch. “Blaine’s calling for you. He says he needs to see you right away.”

  I came around to Danielle, leaning down to kiss her on top of the head. And I whispered in her ear, “I’m counting on you.”

  * * *

  I felt like a chastened student in Blaine’s office, where I’d sat a hundred times before and been treated like a professional. A thin manila folder sat on his desk, probably the same one Tim had been holding when he came into my office. I shuddered to think of the picture inside—my husband, naked and grinning.

  I argued my side of things, but he only listened with a tired expression, the lines on his face so deep they might have been etched in with an X-Acto knife. When I finished, he pointed out the obvious. I’d disappointed him, I’d kept things hidden—things that were my responsibility as a counselor to report—for my own self-interested reasons. He’d have to disclose this whole mess to the superintendent, and that would likely mean facing these allegations in front of the school b
oard.

  I didn’t say anything—because of course he was right. I’d circled wagons. I’d been focused on how their possible relationship might affect me, not about the health and well-being of a student under my charge.

  * * *

  Danielle didn’t talk to me on the way home from school. She sat stone-faced, staring out the window when I asked how it had gone with Blaine. When she didn’t look at me, I banged the flat of my palm against the steering wheel. “This is serious. I don’t think you understand how this could affect us. What did you tell him?”

  In response, she unzipped the small pocket at the front of her backpack. I watched carefully, thinking she was going to hand me something, some piece of evidence that related to what we were discussing. But she was untangling the cords of her earbuds from the pens and pencils.

  “You’re not going to put those on,” I snapped. “You’re going to listen to me. You’re going to talk to me.”

  She didn’t look at me as she fitted the buds into her ears, left first, then right, and plugged the cord into her phone.

  “Hey,” I said, louder, my eyes darting between the road and her blank expression. “You’re going to talk to me. This isn’t some kind of game.”

  She fiddled with her phone, adjusting the volume.

  I reached across the console and yanked on the cord, and the earbud came flying.

  Danielle flinched, hand going to her ear. “Mom! That seriously hurt.”

  “I’ll throw it out the window,” I said, still holding on to the cord. It wouldn’t have been hard—one more yank and it would be in my hand. It was strange—I heard my voice, but didn’t believe it was me talking. It was like a nightmare, a daylong waking dream in which everything was real and not real, in which nothing was solid, everything was just outside my grasp.

  “Fine,” she said. “I did it. I lied for you. There, now you can go ahead and award yourself mother of the year.”

  I let the cord go—not sailing out the window, the earbuds flailing through the air like a flimsy stethoscope, but simply falling into her lap. I kept driving, not seeing the foothills or the still-green brush or the wind generators in the distance, although I knew they were there, turning and turning, slicing the air like a knife.