“What about rape, or some other violent stuff?” I asked, feeling scared again.
“Dr. Sturm says you can’t really depend on anything with men like this. They’re usually not killers. Some of them rape, but most of them just want to fondle the girl, sexually, and maybe take off her clothes ― maybe take off his clothes, too, or at least expose his penis to her. Did Fred ever do that, expose himself to you?” she asked me.
“No!”
I was shocked by the idea of that. I wondered if he would have done that, if Angie hadn’t come home early the last time I babysat. How gross!
“She also said that a lot of them, if they’re married, or have jobs, are pretty careful not to get caught. So if they’re confronted, by a parent, or by the police, even though they deny everything and show a lot of bravado, they’re very frightened about being found out, and they’ll control themselves for a while, out of fear.”
“Why would a grown-up man be like that anyway?” Lisa asked.
“Who knows. Dr. Sturm said there are a lot of theories, but the one that makes the most sense to her has to do with the man feeling very inadequate, and being unable to have a satisfying relationship with an adult.”
“Angie and Fred seemed happy together,” I said. Mom and Lisa both nodded in agreement.
“Yes, but you can never tell, can you, what goes on behind closed doors. It may just have been an act. Dr. Sturm said that sometimes a man will marry someone who also has a lot of hang-ups about sex, but who wants the illusion of a happy marriage. Then they can live in a kind of make-believe world. No pressure on her for sex and no pressure on him to perform for her.”
I was having a hard time thinking about that stuff. It sounded to me like sex was more trouble than it was worth, except maybe for having kids.
Robbie came out from where he’d been watching TV. “Can we go home now, Mom? I don’t like their TV.” Aunt Trudy grabbed Robbie and held him on her lap, tickling him.
“So, thanks a lot, Mr. Slob. What’s so terrible about my TV, huh?”
Robbie was squirming around, trying to get loose, and laughing. “Too small, Aunt Trudy Cootie,” he managed to gasp.
“Get out of here, Mr. Rob Glob,” she said, putting him down on the grass next to her and tousling his hair.
“It really is getting close to dinnertime. I didn’t mean to stay so long,” Mom said.
Lisa walked out to the car with us.
“I can hardly wait for summer,” she told me. “Three more weeks and it’s all over until September.”
“I can’t wait to go to Grammy’s,” I told her. “Are you going to come stay with us, too?”
“I want to,” she said. “I think I may get a part-time job at the bank though, and I want to do that, too. At least I could come down on weekends still.”
“What would Ray Gun say if you were gone on the weekends?” Aunt Trudy teased.
“Mommm,” Lisa whined. “I hate it when you call Raymond by that stupid Ray Gun name.”
“He thinks I’m cute though, doesn’t he?” Aunt Trudy gave me an exaggerated wink. “Huh, Lisa?” Lisa rolled her eyes.
“He only said that once, and I’m sorry I ever told you. It was probably before he knew you very well, anyway,” Lisa said. We all laughed.
On the way home Mom said, “It was a relief to me to hear that most men like Fred Sloane back off once they’ve been confronted by the police. I know nothing’s certain, but I hope he follows the pattern.”
“What pattern?” Robbie asked from the back.
“Oops,” Mom said. “I forgot about the little person in the backseat.” She smiled. I smiled back. I kind of liked it that Mom had forgotten about Robbie. Usually I thought she forgot about me when Robbie was around, instead of forgetting about Robbie when I was around.
“What pattern?” Robbie insisted.
“It’s too grown-up for you, Robbie. Just forget about it,” Mom told him. For once he did.
Later that evening Mom and Daddy and I talked about what to do next. We told Daddy what Aunt Trudy had said, and Daddy told us about what the lawyer had said. We talked for a long time. The lawyer had said a lot depended upon the judge or jury if we pressed charges. It would be harder to get a conviction without any eyewitnesses, but Mandy’s testimony would back me up as far as showing a pattern. Mostly it would hinge on me, if I could keep my story straight, and not be confused by some badgering defense lawyer. There was no certainty of how things would turn out. Even if he was convicted, he could end up with a suspended sentence of some kind of mandatory counseling.
“It’s a dilemma,” Daddy said. “I don’t want to put Cassie through a traumatic trial, and I don’t want Fred Sloane just to go free and keep doing the same routine on twelve-year-olds. I don’t know. What do you think, Cassie?”
“I think I just want to go to Grammy’s in three weeks, and forget everything else,” I said.
“I don’t want her to testify,” Mom said. “Maybe it’s selfish of me, but we’ve had enough agony over this whole thing as it is.”
“But what’s right?” Daddy said. “Is it right just to drop it and do nothing?”
“I don’t know, Les. I love you for always wondering what’s right. But what if we go through all that misery, and he’s not even convicted?”
“Yes, but what about him? What if he keeps preying on innocent young girls?” Daddy said
We went back and forth and round and round, saying the same things for a long time.
Chapter
16
Friday night at the movies with Jason and Eric and Mandy was great. A lot of other kids we knew from school were there, too. When the movie was over we went out the back way. It was real dark in the short walkway. Eric and Mandy were walking ahead of us. Jason and I were holding hands.
Before we reached the back door, Jason pulled me to the side and kissed me. It was more that we just touched lips, really, than it was a kiss. I sort of hugged him, and then we went out the door into the parking lot and caught up with Eric and Mandy. It was nothing like having Fred Sloane’s mouth on mine. It was gentle, and shy, and I liked it. I liked Jason. I thought about him a lot the rest of the weekend ― his eyes, his smile, but mostly his kiss. Maybe I could fall in love someday after all.
Monday my English term paper was due. I finished it in a hurry Sunday night. Jack London was my subject, and I’d started out being interested, going to the library and taking notes and all of that stuff you’re supposed to do. But I ended up doing a sloppy job.
Wednesday afternoon was our first appointment with Dr. Shipper. I called Connie when I got home.
“Is Sergeant Conrad there?” I asked.
When Connie picked up the phone she said, “Cassie, I’m glad you called. I’ve been wondering about you.”
“I decided I don’t want to go to court,” I told her. “Are you mad at me?”
“Of course not,” she told me. “That’s your decision, not mine. How’s life treating you these days?”
“Okay, I guess. I don’t think I’ll get a very good report card this time.”
“Well, you’ve had a lot of other things on your mind. You can make up for it in September. What about the Sloanes? Have you seen any of them since the restraining order was issued last week?”
“No.”
“Good,” she said. “How’s the counseling going?”
“I don’t like it,” I told her.
“How many times have you been?”
“Just once,” I answered.
“Cassie, will you promise me that you’ll see the counselor at least four times?”
“But I don’t like her very much. Besides, what good does it do just to talk?”
“Plenty,” Connie said. “Give it a fair try, will you?”
I did a quick calculation. It was Wednesday, June 3. School would be out on the twelfth, and I was going to Grammy’s the following Monday.
“That means I’d have to see her three more times. I do
n’t know if I’ll have time for that or not,” I said.
“Make time,” Connie told me. “And make one more appointment for when you get back in September. Then quit if it’s no good. But at least try it.”
“Okay,” I said. “I will.”
“If I don’t see you before you go to your grandmother’s, have a good time, will you?”
“It’ll be great. I’m going to swim all day and eat pizza all night,” I said, remembering what Grammy had told me.
“Send me a postcard,” she said. “Or better yet, send me a pizza ― mushrooms and pepperoni.”
I had to see Dr. Shipper again the next Wednesday. The first time I went in with Mom and Daddy, but this time I went in by myself.
We talked about some of the same things I had talked with Connie about at the sheriff’s station. But it wasn’t as easy for me to talk with Dr. Shipper. Maybe because she was older, and she wore big, thick glasses that made her eyes look all funny.
“Cassie, how do you feel about coming here?” she asked me, after a long silence in our conversation.
“I’m really just doing it because Connie wants me to,” I told her.
“Well, that’s an honest answer. What do you want to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Do you usually know what you want to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. Boy, was I sounding dumb.
“How do you decide what you’re going to do, say, on a Friday night?”
“Well, sometimes someone asks me to do something. Like last Friday night I went to the movies with some friends.”
“What if no one asks you to do anything. Then what?”
“Well, then sometimes I do something with my family, or read, or watch TV.”
“Do you ever decide you want to do something, like see a special movie, or go someplace special, or play tennis, anything, and then get someone to do that with you?”
I didn’t say anything. I’d only been there about ten minutes and already I was tired of her questions.
She waited. When I still didn’t answer, she said, “In other words, do you ever make plans yourself? Or do you wait for others to make plans for you?”
That was a hard question, and I didn’t see what it had to do with anything.
“I guess someone else usually makes the plans,” I said.
“Is there something you want to do this weekend? Something you can arrange?”
“I don’t know,” I said. Was this ever boring! All I could think of to say was I don’t know.
“All right, Cassie. I’m going to give you an assignment. Figure out, for yourself, one thing you want to do this weekend. Then you make it happen.”
“Like what?” I said.
“Anything. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It can be something as small as meeting a friend at the mall. It doesn’t even have to include anyone else. Maybe it could be going jogging by yourself. The important thing is that you decide, and that you do it. Understand?”
“I guess,” I said. “But I don’t see what this has to do with the stuff with Fred Sloane.”
“A lot of what we’ll talk about together won’t be directly related to your experiences with Mr. Sloane,” Dr. Shipper said. “But everything is one way or another related to everything else, so we’ll just follow where our conversations naturally take us.”
She lost me with that statement, but I nodded my head anyway.
“The reason for this assignment is that it is important for you to get to know what’s right for you ― not because Sergeant Conrad thinks it’s right, or your parents think it’s right, but because you think it’s right. That’s part of growing up, learning your mind.”
I’d never really thought of it that way. My parents, and teachers, too, seemed to think growing up had to do with getting me to act the way they did. I liked Dr. Shipper’s ideas of growing up better.
“I still don’t see what any of this has to do with Fred Sloane,” I said.
“Learning your own mind has a lot to do with Fred Sloane,” she said. “What would you do if you were starting all over again, that first night when Mr. Sloane became aggressive with you? How would you handle that now?”
I thought about it for a while. “Well, I know for sure I would never babysit there again, after the first time.”
“Would you do anything else differently?”
“If my mom tried to get me to babysit over there, I’d just tell her that I didn’t like the way Fred Sloane was acting, and I wouldn’t go over there anymore.”
“Would that have been easier in the long run than the way it really happened?”
I laughed. “Lots,” I said.
She smiled. “The reason you would do that differently if it happened again is that you know more about yourself now than you did then. You were very confused when all of this started. You had a right to be confused. Any twelve-year-old would be.”
I nodded.
“So getting to know more about yourself, what’s right for you, does relate to your experiences with Fred Sloane. Do you see?”
I nodded again. I really did see what she was getting at, sort of.
Her desk timer went off, which meant my hour was up. She handed me an assignment reminder on a three by five card. It said, “You arrange it ― one thing you want to do.”
“See you next week,” she said.
“Bye, Dr. Shipper,” I said, and walked out to where Mom was waiting.
I wondered a lot about that assignment. I honestly didn’t know what I wanted to do.
I still didn’t have any ideas on Saturday when I ran down to the market to get some milk for lunch. There were two kids out front. They had a big box with six kittens in it.
“Want a kitten?” the girl asked me. She was about eight years old.
“I do want a kitten,” I said. “But my mom won’t let us have pets.”
“Is your mom mean?” the little girl asked.
“No. She just thinks animals are dirty,” I explained.
“Not cats,” the little girl said.
All this time I was looking in the box, watching the kittens. There were four gray ones and two orange and white ones. I wanted the orange one who kept climbing on top of the others, trying to get out of the box.
I looked at cat food and kitty litter on my way to pick up the milk. I looked at the kittens one more time on my way out. I thought about my assignment, to do something I wanted. I really wanted that little orange kitten.
“Will you save this orange one for me, for an hour?” I asked.
“Okay,” the girl said. “When will an hour be?”
“Just save it until I come back,” I told her. “Even if I can’t get it, I’ll come back and tell you.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Be sure not to give it to anyone else,” I insisted.
“I won’t,” she promised.
On the way home I tried to figure out the best way to convince Mom that I should get the kitten. Daddy would be easy. But Mom ...?
“Mom, I saw the cutest little kitten at the market today,”
I said at lunch. “It was orange and white and so playful.” Mom didn’t say anything.
“Cats are clean, Mom, and I’d take care of it.”
“Oh, Cassandra, please,” Mom said. “You know how I feel about pets.”
Robbie started whining. “You never let us have pets. Everyone else gets animals, but not us. You’re not a nice mommy.” He was getting carried away.
“What if we just tried it for a week?” I asked. “Then if I didn’t take care of it, or if it was too dirty, we could take it back.”
“They wouldn’t do that, Cassie. They’re trying to get rid of those cats.”
“But what if they would, Mom? What if they would?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
I felt like jumping up and down and clapping my hands. “I don’t know” was the closest thing to yes she’d ev
er said when it came to getting a cat or a dog. But I stayed cool.
“I’d help,” Robbie said. “I’d even go to bed on time every night if you’d let us get a kitty. Please, Mom. You really are a nice mommy. Please?” he begged.
“What about when you kids go to Santa Monica? Then I’ll be stuck taking care of a kitten,” Mom said.
“We’ll take it with us. I’ll call Grammy right now.”
I ran out of the room before Mom had a chance to say no. Grammy agreed. She said she thought it would be fun.
“Just bring a litter box and a box with a towel or something in it so it will have a warm place to sleep.”
“Thanks, Grammy. Thanks, thanks, thanks!” I said, and hung up. I didn’t even think to say good-bye.
“Grammy says it’s okay with her,” I yelled at Mom from the hallway.
“I’ll go get the kitten right now. Okay? Want to come, Robbie? Okay, Mom?”
Mom sighed. “Oh, okay. I’ll hate myself in the morning, but I guess it’s okay to try. But the minute you don’t feed it or clean up after it, it’s good-bye cat. Do you understand?”
“For sure,” I said, as Robbie and I ran out the door to pick up the kitten.
She was soooo cute. Robbie and I made a place for her to sleep in my bathroom. We put a kitty litter box in there, and some water. We put some tuna-flavored cat food in a saucer and piled some old towels in a corner so she’d have a soft warm place to sleep. Mostly though, we held her and watched her. We got a long piece of string and teased her with it. She ended up getting all tangled up in it, so we named her Tangle.
Mom was in there watching when Tangle knocked over my bathroom wastebasket and crawled inside. She was buried in tissues, with only her fluffy orange tail showing, twitching. Mom laughed so hard, I knew we’d never have to take Tangle back.
Early in the morning Robbie came into my room to check on the kitten. She’d slept all night on the towels in my bathroom, and she even used the litter box, like she was supposed to do. Robbie picked her up and put her on my bed, then he climbed in. She walked on my pillow and started chewing my hair.
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