“We gave Mira a mild sedative. Just to keep her calm,” one of the paramedics told Shannon.
“Who are you?” Shannon heard and turned, her eyes meeting Charlie Abbott’s.
It angered Shannon to see the cheerleader hadn’t changed much and wasn’t the dowdy housewife she hoped to see. “I’m Shannon Patterson.” Briefly, she looked to Clint and felt her face flush. “I’m with DHS.”
“DHS?” Charlie asked.
“Department of Human Services.” Shannon glanced back down at Mira. “I protect children.”
Charlie’s red-rimmed eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting that Mira needs protection?”
Shannon looked to Jergens, who stood staunchly in the doorway, and then looked back at Charlie. “I was called to assess if your child needs help.”
Clint put his arm around Charlie, which made Shannon’s skin crawl.
“I can assure you Mira is safe with us,” Charlie retorted.
“Can you tell me what happened here?” Shannon asked, trying to remain professional in spite of the fact that Clint made her knees weak.
“We don’t know,” Clint told her. “We were downstairs when Mira started screaming and when we got to her, she looked like she was having some kind of a seizure.”
Shannon had to stay focused. Being this close to Clint, she could hardly think. “Are you saying that your little girl…”
“Mira,” Charlie interrupted.
Shut up, bitch. “Mira,” Shannon repeated, “did this to herself?”
Charlie put her hands out to her sides. “We don’t know what happened.”
Shannon looked to a paramedic, hoping for input. The medic shifted from one foot to the other. “We’ll be taking your daughter to the hospital.’
“Hospital?” Clint asked, his face turning red. “But she’s fine now. We’ll take care of her.”
“She wasn’t breathing when we arrived, Mr. Abbott,” the EMS worker responded. “We need to check her out and…” He looked away.
“And?” Clint probed.
“I’ll have to do a report,” Shannon responded.
“What?” Charlie took two giant steps toward her, her face within inches of Shannon’s. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Shannon put her hands up in front of her defensively, stepping back away from Charlie. “Ma’am,” she said sternly, “I don’t need trouble.”
Jergens marched to Shannon’s side. “Step away, Mrs. Abbott,” he ordered Charlie.
Charlie spun around toward Clint. “Do something.” Charlie started toward Mira, but the officer pushed his arm in front of her, stopping Charlie.
“Mira,” Charlie said tearfully, “tell them Daddy and I didn’t hurt you.”
But Mira was quiet, her eyes glassy and her demeanor docile.
Staring coldly at Charlie, Jergens said, “Your child told me that you did this to her.”
“What?” Charlie grasped Clint’s arm. “I wasn’t even in the room when this…”
“She whispered it to me, too, ma’am,” the paramedic offered, putting his medical equipment back into a black case. “Before I gave her a sedative to calm her down.”
“I don’t believe you.” Panic stricken, Charlie looked to Mira, but she wouldn’t look at her. “Mira?”
“She told us, ‘My Mommy hurt me.’” The paramedic nodded at his partner. “We’re going to need the stretcher, Joe.”
“Clint, tell them,” Charlie pleaded. “Tell them I wasn’t even with Mira.”
The officer stood guard as Charlie and Clint told Shannon how they were both in the kitchen and how Charlie’s mother had been here and could attest to what happened. Shannon was quiet, knowing this wasn’t the time to speak. She’d have her turn in court to tell the judge that Charlie Abbott was a monster.
After Mira was strapped into the mobile bed, Shannon led the way down the stairs with Officer Jergens sandwiched between Mira and her parents.
“When can she come home?” Charlie asked, weeping.
“That will be decided in court,” Shannon said.
“Are you serious?” Charlie asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Shannon answered.
When they reached the living room, Shannon heard, “Ms. Patterson.” Shannon turned around and looked up into Clint’s dreamy eyes.
“Is this really necessary?” He combed his fingers through his dark hair, which sent shivers down Shannon’s spine. He was so damn gorgeous. “Charlie and I… we would never hurt Mira.”
Shannon wanted to reach out and touch him, tell him everything would be all right for him, but not his malicious wife. She’d make sure of that. She looked to Charlie. “Well, someone hurt her,” Shannon said in a no nonsense tone. “And she said it was you.”
“Please don’t take her away. I promise…” Charlie whimpered. “I didn’t hurt her. I give you my word.”
Shannon ignored Charlie and opened the back door for the paramedics to take Mira to the ambulance. “I’ll let you know about the hearing. It will be sometime tomorrow.”
“Hearing?” Clint asked.
“Yes, hearing.” She looked down her nose at Charlie, who was a good four inches shorter than Shannon. “The judge will hear the facts and then decide what happens next.”
“Wait,” Charlie said to Shannon. “Can I speak with you privately?”
Shannon let out her breath. “What is it?”
Charlie stepped out on the stoop and closed the screen door. As Mira was being taken to the ambulance, she whispered, “Mira’s been diagnosed with a mental disorder.”
Shannon raised an eyebrow. “What kind of disorder?”
Charlie looked up, trying to remember what Harper had told her. “DOD, or something like that.”
“DID?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” Shannon said calmly. “I’m familiar with the condition.”
“I just found out today,” Charlie said, glancing at the door. “Maybe that has something to do with what happened tonight.”
“You’re more than welcome to have whoever saw Mira send his diagnosis to me, but”—Shannon started toward the ambulance—“I highly doubt it will explain how Mira got all the bruises and the marks on her neck.”
Just before the paramedics slid Mira into the van, the little girl looked up at Shannon with innocent, blue eyes.
“You okay, sweetie?” Shannon asked.
“She knows,” she told Shannon, her voice weak.
Shannon bent over so she could hear what Mira was saying. Mira was sedated and having a difficult time staying awake. “Who knows what, honey?”
“Charlie… she knows.”
Did she just call her mother ‘Charlie’? Good God, Shannon thought, Clint Abbott’s family was totally screwed up.
“Mommies always know.” Fighting to keep her eyes open, she said sleepily, “Charlie knows… I’m not… her.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHARLIE AND CLINT SAT QUIETLY IN THE COURTROOM listening to Shannon Patterson present her case to the judge. She used intimidating words like “imminent danger” and “child endangerment.”
Everything seemed a blur, and without sleep, Charlie couldn’t think straight.
When the judge agreed that Mira was not safe to return home, Charlie burst into tears.
In the hallway after court, an anxious Charlie asked Shannon, “Where is she?”
“Mira is safe,” Shannon responded coldly. “That’s all I can tell you.”
“But why can’t she stay with my parents?” Charlie asked, gulping back emotion.
“Mira says she’s afraid of your mother, Charlie,” Shannon told her flatly. “She doesn’t want to go there.”
“I put a call into Mister Harper,” Charlie told Shannon. “He’s going to send you his diagnosis.”
“Fine,” Shannon responded flatly. “I’ll put it in the file.”
“And the judge will see it?” Charlie asked.
Shannon no
dded. “But again, I’ll tell you right now it will have no bearing on the decision. There is no way Mira caused all the bruises and stopped breathing on her own. Maybe you were tired of dealing with Mira’s issues and things got out of control.” Shannon put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “None of us is perfect and it would be difficult to deal with a child who—”
“How dare you!” Irate, Charlie shirked Shannon’s hand off of her. She slapped her hand over a hip and stepped close to Shannon, her face only a few inches from Shannon’s. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me, or Clint, or Mira. Who the hell do you think you are and just what right—”
“Charlie.” Clint put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her gently away from Shannon. “This isn’t helping.”
Shannon looked to Clint, ignoring Charlie. “I’ll be coming up with a plan.”
“There's a plan?" Clint asked.
“Yes, a plan. You’ll have to complete several things before the judge will even consider Mira coming back to—”
“Like what?” Clint interrupted.
Shannon’s looked to Charlie. “Like anger management classes.”
Charlie’s temper flared again. “Look, you stup—”
Clint jostled Charlie’s shoulder. “Just let us know what we need to do.”
On the way home, Charlie stared out the window, her arms folded across her chest. She turned toward Clint. “Why the hell did you go along with that cow? A plan? Really?”
Clint stared straight ahead out the windshield.
“Everyone in this town knows me, Clint. They know I wouldn’t hurt Mira.”
“But that’s not what Mira’s saying,” Clint said flatly. “You just gave Shannon Patterson reason to believe that you can’t control your temper.”
“Screw Shannon Patterson.” She turned her head toward the window.
What the hell was going on? Charlie racked her brain. They’d found Mira’s room in shambles. Had she fallen out of bed? Maybe that’s what caused the bruises. And maybe she’d hit her head that caused a concussion. And she’d been disoriented and confused when she’d told the paramedics that Charlie hurt her.
Was Mira angry with Charlie for taking her to see Harper and this was her way of getting back at her? What if Mira did have DID? And that alter ego, as Harper had called it, hated Charlie for some reason. Charlie had wrestled with what she’d been told, but was starting to believe that Mira could have a mental disorder.
She took to her bed the rest of the day, trying to read, but stared at the phone willing it to ring. Shannon Patterson told them she’d call this afternoon to review all that needed to be done before going back to court.
When the phone rang, she hurried to the phone. “Hello?” she answered.
“Mrs. Abbott, this is Shannon Patterson with the DHS,” Shannon said in monotone. “Can I speak with Clint please?”
“Clint’s not available right now. I’ve been waiting for your call and—”
“Then just have him call me when he has time.”
“But I don’t under—” Hearing the dial tone, she said, “Hello? Are you there, Ms. Patterson?”
“Damn you.” She picked up Shannon Patterson’s card by and started to dial, but then stopped. Clint was right. Charlie had alienated her and now Charlie was going to pay the price.
She went down the stairs and into the kitchen. The moment Clint came through the door from the fields, she said, “Clint, you’re supposed to call Shannon Patterson.”
“Why?” Clint asked, stocking footed. When it rained, he always left his muddied boots outside so as not to track in.
“She said she would only talk to you.”
He held up his dirty hands. “Need to wash up first.”
Charlie sat at the table listening as Clint talked to Shannon, pacing the kitchen as far as the phone cord would take him and back. All he said was, “Okay,” like a jillion times.
When he hung up, Charlie said, “What’d she say?”
“The first thing is that you have to see a court-appointed therapist.” Clint sat down at the table across from Charlie.
She leaned back, trying not to get defensive. “What else?”
“She had a bunch of other stuff, but to tell you the truth, I kind of tuned her out. She said she’d mail the paperwork.”
“She didn’t say anything about Mira? Or where she is?”
Clint shook his head. “No.”
Charlie made an appointment immediately, but found she’d have to wait a week to meet with the court appointed therapist.
After the first session, what she’d thought would be a one-time meeting turned into three long, harrowing sessions. He’d asked about Charlie’s past, her home life, her mental state, and if she had ever been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, or manic depression.
Waiting for the next hearing had been pure torture. Clint had been unusually distant, and the only time Charlie felt more alone is when she gave birth to the girls.
Charlie had spoken with Jason Harper directly and asked he send a report to Shannon, giving him Shannon’s name and business address.
After Charlie told him about Mira’s episode, Harper’s tone changed. He seemed cold and distant as if he, too, believed Charlie hurt Mira.
When she’d asked him if he felt that the mental illness had something to do with Mira’s bruises, he fell silent for a few seconds, and then told her he’d ask a colleague who specialized in DID cases about it.
But when Charlie received a copy of the letter Harper sent to Shannon Patterson, her heart dropped. Harper wrote that he’d consulted a specialist in DID and that it was his professional opinion that Dissociative Identity Disorder had nothing to do with the bruising, marks on Mira’s neck or would stop her breathing.
Today was the adjudication hearing, which would establish if the allegations of child endangerment were true or false. And she’d hoped that Harper’s report would help, but there was no use to even bring it up. If the judge, however, found that no evidence that led him to believe Charlie had hurt Mira, she would be coming home. The psychologist Charlie met with seemed empathetic, nodding in agreement when a tearful Charlie explained she would never hurt her little girl.
God willing, this would all be behind them soon.
“You sleep okay?” Charlie asked Clint as she poured a cup of steaming coffee into a mug.
“No,” he answered, pushed back his chair at the kitchen table and stood.
“Wait,” she told him. She walked to him, stood on her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek. “We’re going to be okay.”
No response. No, we’ll get through this or hang in there, honey. Nothing.
By the time they reached town, Charlie’s muscles were so tight they felt as if they were going to snap. Her eyes moved over the connected buildings that stair-stepped up Main Street. A few years ago the community had pulled a committee together to beautify the quaint town. Charlie had helped paint the storefronts in a vibrant red, dark gold, or deep rust, trimmed in one of the other colors on the palette that was patterned after a small town on Martha’s Vineyard.
When they passed Glenn’s Goodies, she glanced into the picture window and saw a display of donuts, cookies, and pies. The bakery was Mira’s favorite place to pick out a treat. A piece of Charlie’s heart left with Mira. God, how she missed her baby.
When the two-story courthouse came into view, Charlie’s stomach balled up into a knot. It seemed every small town in Iowa had a courthouse in the middle of the square. She stared blankly at the impressive building constructed of stucco and stone with wide concrete steps that led up to the double-door entrance. Grand turrets topped in bright red shake shingles jutted out of either side of the building. Both the American and Iowa flags hung from tall, steel poles, swaying lazily in the cool, fall breeze. Liberty and justice for all? She prayed that would happen today.
“Do you think we should have gotten a lawyer?” Charlie asked before they stepped out of the truck.
Cli
nt shook his head. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You and I know that, but—”
“Let’s just see what the judge says,” Clint cut her off.
His quick response made Charlie see red, but she held her tongue. She knew Clint needed his space and handled a tense situation differently than Charlie. But God, she wished he’d just hold her. He didn’t have to say anything, just show her some kind of affection.
Robotically they walked beside each other up the steps, through the door, and security check. It was as if Charlie was having an out-of-body experience watching herself going through the motions, yet feeling numb.
As they made their way to the wide staircase in the middle of the first floor, she spotted a high school friend coming their way. Clint stopped to say hello, but Jerry Butler turned his head and kept on walking. The gossip was out. For some reason, people were inclined to believe lies instead of searching for the truth.
Incensed, Charlie wanted to scream at Butler, telling him what a lowlife douche bag he was and that everyone in town knew he cheated on his wife. Clint took hold of her arm and squeezed gently, silently telling Charlie to let it go.
The sideway glances Charlie got at the local grocery store, gas station, and even at church made her feel she didn’t belong in the town she’d lived in all her life. It was painful to realize that the people she’d trusted most had turned on her.
When they reached the door of courtroom 3A, Charlie glanced through the small window and saw a dozen or more people inside. A cold shiver went through her knowing that everyone in town knew their business and maybe they were here to find out more about the Mira Abbott case. She reminded herself that saving face wasn’t important. The only thing that mattered was getting Mira back.
They quietly slid into a pew at the back of the domed ceiling room. Judge Milo Davis was perched on his podium, shuffling through papers. The court reporter’s hands were perched over his stenotype machine as a uniformed officer stood at attention a few feet away from the witness stand.
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