Had that baby just said memorabilia?
She kept talking. “Now she has an amazing amount. My dad and I stop at every yard sale, looking for more stuff for her. He also surfs the web looking for things to add to her collection.”
“Okay.” I sat, bewildered over her excitement about finding things to delight this woman who’d been so cruel to her.
“She has so much—especially Deion Sanders collectibles—that she uses my mother’s old sewing room to display her collection.” Something flickered in her eyes.
“Are you okay with the Cowboys Room being in your mother’s sewing room?”
“I am. At first, I didn’t know how I felt about it, but her things were so cool, and I wanted my mom to have something special.”
“You’re pretty special yourself, missy,” I said, rocking my green chair. “Who isn’t okay with the sewing-room thing?”
“My grandmother.”
“Your mother’s mom?”
“Yes.”
“You never mention her,” I said. “Do you see her often?”
“Not like before.” Her eyes clouded.
“Before your mother died?”
She leaned back into the comfort of the sofa. “Yes. My grandmother lives in Louisiana, but she used to come over all the time. And we went there often also.” She clasped and unclasped her hands. “After my mother was killed, my grandma stayed at our house for three months.” Derrien smiled.
“She sounds very kind.”
“Yes. She was so sad about her daughter—my mother—but she knew I needed her.” She sucked her lip. “My dad still had to go to work, and we had no mother.”
“I know, baby.” She no longer jumped when I reached across to pat her hand.
“She kept coming every weekend until my dad met Tracia.”
The rain stopped. We waited for a minute to make sure it wouldn’t start again, then Derrien and I looked at each other, grinned and nodded, then stood and left the treatment room, seeking and finding the swing.
Derrien scooted onto the swing, looked like she thought better of it, and stood again. “Can we put more corn on the squirrel feeder? It’s empty.”
“We can.” I stood and walked to the closet, then opened the storage door, and secured a yellow cob. Discussing her grandma appeared to cause Derrien discomfort.
“My grandma thought maybe my dad meeting someone was a good thing.” Derrien took the corn and started toward the feeder, no longer needing assistance as she’d become adept at fastening the cob herself. But she still needed to turn her back to me when she said things that troubled her. “But then they met,” she said over her shoulder.
“Okay. And?”
“That’s what happened. They met.” She snapped the corn into place. “That’s better,” she said, sounding pleased, “the squirrels can have dinner.”
“And so Tracia and Grandma met,” I said, tracking her back to the before-the-corn conversation.
She didn’t turn around. She kept watching the squirrel. “They didn’t like each other.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. My grandma still comes sometimes, but she always leaves crying. And we don’t go there anymore because my mom doesn’t feel welcome.”
“Do you ever go there alone, during the summer or holidays?”
“My grandma invites me often. My dad said I could, but my mom said I couldn’t. So, I don’t.”
“I see. Does that make you sad?”
“Yes.” She turned to me, her eyes misting. “My grandma despises the Dallas Cowboy room.” She turned away again.
“Did she tell you that?”
“Not exactly.”
“Okay.”
“The first time she saw it … the room I mean … after my parents were married—the day of the wedding actually—she was mad. I could tell.”
I waited.
“I asked her if she was mad because that room used to be my mother’s sewing room.” Derrien twisted around to face me.
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘I’m sad because that room was special to your mom. I’m upset because she hasn’t been dead a year yet, and your father is going through your inheritance buying blue and silver trivia. But mostly because he’s married a mean-hearted woman that is breathing in valuable oxygen that a real human being could benefit from.’”
I stood there absorbing Derrien’s words. “You were six when your mother died.”
“She’s said it more than once.” She looked directly into my eyes for a change.
“How do you feel about what your grandma said?”
“I was surprised at first, but my grandma has always had a knack for the truth.”
“You amaze me, Derrien. Maybe I could speak with your father about you going to visit your grandma this summer.”
“I would love to go, but not if it makes my parents fight. It’s not good at my house when they fight.” She shuddered.
“I’ll check.”
“Thank you.”
“So,” I said, “you got to visit the room.”
“I did. And I had fun.” She seemed relieved to move on from the grandma discussion.
“Why couldn’t you touch anything?”
“Oh, my mom wouldn’t let me. It’s all very special stuff.” She sighed. “It’s okay, though, at least I got to go in there.”
“How did you feel?”
“Special.” She smiled. “If she let me in there, she loves me.”
“I’m glad,” I said. Lord, show up in this child’s life.
Derrien continued to see me and, even though she seemed reserved, I felt encouraged. I worried about her but felt convinced we were making progress.
I asked Jim about Derrien visiting with her grandmother, perhaps during the following summer’s break or the upcoming holiday season. He sounded evasive but said he would try to work it out.
I could tell from talking to Derrien during subsequent sessions that there were no upcoming visits.
School resumed, both girls started back. While Bailey blossomed, Derrien regressed. She had become quiet again, not wanting to talk about anything that mattered. Her face started to lose color, and her weight dropped.
I thought of the old punishments. “Derrien, have you been sent to the shed?”
“No.”
“The commode?”
“No, there’s no problem there.”
I asked about punishment, more generally.
“Everything is okay.”
No. No, it’s not.
One Monday, when we’d been outside as we so often were, the session ended, and she started to leave. I asked her to come into my office for a minute. She complied without so much as an “okay.” When she sat on my sofa, she looked incredibly small.
I sat beside her. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“That is the first thing you’ve ever said that I don’t believe.”
“I’m fine,” she assured. But her eyes didn’t meet mine.
“Have you been sent to the shed?”
“Not once since you found out.” That sentence rang with truth.
“Are you being punished about the commode?”
“The commode is no longer a problem.” She studied the painting over my chair, across the room.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
I held up my pinky. “Pinky promise?”
“Pinky promise,” she said but didn’t hold up her little finger.
“Are you not well, Derrien?”
“I have a stomachache, but I’m fine.”
“Girlfriend, do you need help?” I asked.
“I don’t need anything.”
“If you do—”
“I don’t.”
“Okay.”
I pulled her into my arms. She hugged me, but seemed different, somehow. I could feel the tension in her shoulders.
And mine.
We walked into the front area wh
ere Jim stood waiting. I told him I had some concerns about Derrien and that she reported a stomachache. He said he thought she was fine, but his eyes didn’t meet mine either.
After they exited the front door, I looked at Alicia who stood and walked from behind her desk toward me. “Me too,” she said.
I looked at her. “You too what?” But I knew.
“I’m worried about Derrien. She was glad to see Bailey of course. But she kept too quiet. I offered her goldfish and chocolate milk. That’s her very favorite snack. She said she wasn’t hungry. I thought she looked pale. I’ve been thinking something was up for a couple of weeks, but I don’t know for sure.”
“Me too,” I said. “Something’s definitely wrong.”
She propped her hands on her hips. “Did you ask her?”
“Yes, Sherlock, I did.”
“Of course, you did. I knew you would.” She waved her hand dismissively. “You don’t need me to do your job. I was just saying, you know, I’m worried.” She frowned.
I looked around the empty waiting area.
“Oh, she was your last one. Sara Garcia called and canceled. I have Bailey’s stuff ready to go. She’s going with you tonight, right? Isabella said she was, so I put her stuff in your car.”
“Good,” I said, still distracted. “Yes, she’s going with me.”
A short while later, Bailey and I drove toward home. I’d started my fall semester at the university, and Bailey had become a proud second grader. Her arms and legs had sprouted taller, and she’d gained enough weight—by Texas law—to sit in a booster seat in the front passenger’s. My car automatically made the calculation and turned off her airbag. I looked over at her. Time had marched across the months, and she was mine.
My thoughts wandered to Jim and Tracia, Thomas and Jillian, and of course Derrien and Bailey. I peered at Bailey while grappling with a million emotions. Love, anger, outrage, love, confusion, disbelief, disappointment in humanity, love …
Please, God, help her to be happy. Let them both be happy …
Bailey switched on the radio and started ditty-bopping to some country tune. I surprised her by switching off the radio. She looked over at me. “What’s wrong? I was just finding my rhythm.”
“I don’t know, but I’m worried about Derrien and …” Bailey looked away from me, a sure tell. “Bailey, you and Derrien are good friends, and I know she talks to you. Would you tell me if something happened that I should know about?”
She didn’t answer.
“Bailey?”
“I told her you would help her with anything.”
“And?”
“She said she was okay.”
I felt my brows pinch. “Did you believe her?”
“She always tells the truth.”
“I know. I meant did you believe she’s okay?”
“She has lots of tummy aches again,” she offered, wiggling in the seat.
“Bailey, is Derrien getting into trouble about flushing the commode again?”
“The commode is no longer a problem.”
“Good.”
“Can I turn the radio back on?”
I didn’t want to push her. “Sure,” I said. Bailey switched the radio back on. What a doll. We’d put the windows down earlier, and the wind tunneled through our hair. She wore her sunglasses—ones that looked a lot like mine—so we could be “two blonde-haired babes cruising.” Her freckles had lightened as her hair darkened. She bopped in the seat next to me. But she was wrong, she was not finding her rhythm. My clumsy baby.
I laughed and tried to relax.
Chapter 25
Restless, I rolled over until I became a burrito in my covers. Something niggled at my brain. I peeled the covers, left the bed and visited the bathroom, poured and drank three glasses of water, returned to bed and punched my pillow. I turned the ceiling fan on high, but it squawked, so I turned it back to medium. I prayed for everyone I’d ever met and ultimately included the hungry children in Africa and China whom I had not met but cared about anyway. I wondered if Jordan slept. I hoped not.
I sat straight up in bed. The commode is no longer a problem. Derrien and Bailey had used the same exact words.
I scrambled out of bed and down the hall. I never woke a child in the middle of the night, but maybe Bailey’s defenses would be down if she were roused from sleep. I walked into her room and sat on the side of her bed. “Bailey.” I rocked her shoulder gently. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry to awaken you, but we gotta talk.”
“Is it time for school already?” she mumbled. She rolled over. Her eyes remained closed and her breathing heavy.
“Bailey.” I rocked her gently again. “What did you mean when you said ‘the commode is no longer a problem’ for Derrien?”
“Huh?”
“Derrien. The commode is no problem,” I prompted.
“She forgot to flush again, so she can’t use it anymore. Goodnight.”
“She what?” I touched her shoulder.
“She pees and poops in a can in the garage.”
“Why?”
“I forgot.”
“Think. Why does she poop in a can?”
“Cuz she had to pee and poop out in the yard, but her dad got upset when he found out, so her mom said she could use a can if she wouldn’t tell you.”
Blood rushed from my head. That sweet baby. That sweet, sweet child. “Go back to sleep, baby.”
When Bailey’s breathing became deep and steady, I covered her gently and touched my lips to her forehead. I doubted she’d remember the conversation in the morning.
At nine o’clock the next morning, Bailey left with Bella and was off to school, leaving me with the looming task of doing what I should have done in the first place. I’d made the wrong decision about Derrien and wouldn’t do it again. I picked up my phone, dialed Jim’s number, and asked him to meet me at my office at noon.
“Is Tracia coming?” Jim asked, sitting across from me on my office sofa. “I called her after you phoned, but she was busy and hasn’t returned my call.”
I looked at him. Did he know why he was here?
“So …” he continued, “I don’t know if you called her.”
I looked at him some more. I must own a thousand different smiles but didn’t use any of them.
“So … did you?” He coughed. “Is … she coming?”
Jim found the silence troubling. I’d never been described as silent, and he already knew that. His fingers did a little lap dance. He peered at me through squinted eyes, and sweat beads popped onto his forehead. He’d come straight from work.
He started to speak again but decided not to. He looked away.
He knew why he was here.
I narrowed my eyes. “Derrien is urinating and defecating in a can in the garage?”
“She’s what?” He flinched and arched his brows.
“Derrien is peeing and pooping in a can,” I said, sounding for all the world like my little girl.
His eyes snapped toward me. “It’s better than in the backyard,” he shouted.
“Excuse me?”
“She forgot again to flush after you found out she was sleeping in the shed.” He held his palms almost together with his fingertips pointed toward each other, hovering above his lap. He sat before me, a pathetic caricature of the painting, “Praying Hands,” that used to hang in everybody’s kitchen.
“Tracia knew she couldn’t send her to the shed again, so she removed her commode privileges.”
My neck made the turtle stretch. “Her commode privileges?” I was angry and needed to breathe, needed to relax. God help me. I leaned back in my chair, allowing it to rock for a second.
“You can tell me all about it if you want to. Tell me or don’t.” I sighed. “Either way, your reprieve is over.” My folded hands rested in my lap.
He said, “I came home from work a few weeks ago and found Derrien squatting in the backyard, relieving herself.”
“I see. Was she doing anyth
ing else?”
Pain stretched across his face. “Yes. Weeping.”
“Yeah.” I dug my nails into bony fingers.
“I went out to see what was going on. Derrien was embarrassed that I saw her. She is so particular about things. She tried to stop peeing in midstream, but couldn’t.”
There was nothing to say. A familiar sickness set on my shoulder and crawled into my belly. Hands that were usually steady betrayed me.
“In the beginning, I didn’t know that Tracia sent her outside to do her business.” He coughed. “I did know she started acting like something was wrong again.”
“Why didn’t you ask her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bull. You know exactly why you didn’t ask her.”
He dropped his face into his hands.
“You didn’t ask because you didn’t want to know. You didn’t have to deal with anything you didn’t ask about.”
He didn’t look up.
“You really don’t have to sit here and tell me this because nothing you can say will stop me from calling CPS. Perhaps you shouldn’t tell me because I’m not objective concerning you any longer. We had an understanding.” I leaned—no, was pulled—forward in my chair and squeezed my fingers until they ached.
He sat, wordless.
When he could hear me, I addressed him again. “My job was to provide a safe place for Derrien to visit and talk. I took responsibility for helping her rebuild self-esteem and sense of worth, and restoring her trust.”
I leaned back into the comfort of my chair but found no peace. I shoved my short hair behind my ears. For a second, I felt enough tension in my chest to wonder idly about angina. It sure couldn’t be indigestion because I hadn’t eaten a bite. I felt as though I’d never eat again.
“Your job … Jim … was to be her father.”
He made a wailing noise, more animal than human.
I restrained myself from screaming. “You were supposed to protect your child.”
Jim made some garbled sound that could have been a prayer.
“You were to protect her from everybody. If everybody included your wife, then so be it. From the time I met you, there was little doubt that she needed protection from Tracia.”
He tried to pull himself together enough to speak. He blew his nose loudly into a series of tissues. “I tried,” he finally managed to say.
The Children of Main Street Page 23