“You couldn’t have known,” I assured her, taking my seat again. “You were trying to protect yourself.”
“Protecting me hurt her.” Mary crumpled the tissues, her eyes focused on the table.
“Would you be willing to go on record about the abuse?”
From beside me, I sensed Connor’s side-eye. You work together long enough with someone and reading their thoughts and subtle looks became second nature, the way it did with a spouse.
I gave her a minute to reflect. I’d allow her as much time as she needed, hoping I wouldn’t have to apply any pressure to reach a yes. Two victim’s stories were twice as strong as one victim’s account. A defense attorney worth their weight in pitchforks could latch on to something from Mother Teresa’s past and spin it to make it appear like a consensual encounter. But with two sisters abused by their father . . . not even Satan himself could get him off.
“I’ll do it.” Her voice was small and weak again, bottom lip trembling as she spoke.
“You’ll testify against your father? Be willing to share intimate details about what happened to you?” Twisting off the cap, I slid the water bottle across the table toward her.
She accepted it and took a few sips. “Yes.”
Connor scratched something on his notepad, while I slipped into the standard smile I used on the assault victims I worked with. Part sympathy, mostly apology, the faintest scrap of hope. Hope for justice, hope for recovery, hope for moving on.
A smile.
It wasn’t fucking enough.
Twelve
The temporary high from Noah’s gift reached its expiration at the Marks interview. I’d learned how to distance myself from the victims and my cases in order to take an objective stance, but some victims, some cases, chipped away at that iron resolve.
With my four o’clock meeting rescheduled, and given it was a Friday afternoon, I decided to duck out early to swing by Andee’s school and attempt to ford the icy waters of teenage conversation. Specifically, conversations circling the topic of teenage sex.
I didn’t have enough coffee or moxie in me for this endeavor, so well-intentioned stupidity would have to do. After the scene I’d walked in on last night, I couldn’t stop thinking about my responsibilities as a parent and the repercussions she would face if she and dickwad weren’t careful.
Did she even know about birth control? I knew the schools talked about it, but I’d never breeched the subject with her. Noah certainly hadn’t.
The traffic lights were on my side, so I made a quick stop at her favorite coffee spot in hopes an icy, sugary beverage could serve as an olive branch. I ordered a cake pop at the last minute when I pictured her face as the word crowning spilled from my mouth in my plan to scare the ever-loving hormones out of her.
Students were spilling out of Prescott Prep by the time I pulled into the guest parking lot. Andee would be making her way to the bus loop to climb aboard what she had coined Hell on Wheels ever since she turned thirteen and the novelty of the school bus wore off.
Cutting through waves of students in Prescott’s signature navy-and-emerald-green uniforms, I made it to the bus loop before any had departed for the afternoon. I couldn’t remember the number Andee rode, but only six buses were lined up. Most of the kids had cars—if they were of driving age—or a stay-at-home mom who played carpool duty. Some had personal drivers in black town cars waiting for them.
Pressing up onto my tiptoes to scan the crowd, I knew Andee would be easy to pinpoint. The throng of students was thinning when I caught sight of her inky purple hair cutting across the sidewalk. Back bowed, head down, she didn’t see me waiting for her as she stormed toward one of the buses sandwiched in the middle.
I knew better than to call her name in front of everyone, so I powered in her direction, hoping to catch her before she climbed on her bus. No high schooler, least of all mine, relished their parent stepping onto their bus and collecting them from it.
My pace slowed when I noticed a cluster of boys waiting beside one of the buses. A couple I recognized from sitting outside Principal Severson’s office last week. The handful of others weren’t familiar, but they all had the same look. Attractive, self-assured stances, all donning the same kind of backpack with their last names stitched across the backs. They must have been on the same sports team, I guessed, because these weren’t the type of boys who signed up for band or debate. At least not when I’d been in high school.
When Andee approached, they nudged one another, their attention diverting her way. If she saw them, or cared, she gave no hint. She stormed on, dark boots tromping, the hood of her black raincoat over her head though it wasn’t raining.
From the group of boys, I heard her name called once, then a few more times. She ignored them, her pace hastening as she neared her bus. I’d stopped moving to see what happened, hoping it wouldn’t end with Andee hauling off and decking one of them.
The boys cut off her path to the bus. Their attempts at garnering her attention continued to go unreciprocated. When she was a few strides away, the boys made some bowing type motion at her, whatever they were saying impossible to make out at this distance.
Sliding aside to get past them, Andee was met with the whole line shuffling down, cutting her off. When she attempted to go around from the other side, the same thing happened, the boys continuing to bow at her.
Unlike what Principal Severson had assured me, these boys weren’t merely saying hey in passing. None of them were touching her, but it was evident she wasn’t flattered by the cute-boy bowing reception waiting for her.
Moving toward the procession, I noticed the aid on bus duty paying more attention to the clouds than the kids funneling into the buses. I found myself crossing my fingers in hopes I could intervene before Andee’s knee became responsible for rendering one of those boys sterile. But instead of trying to get past them again, Andee spun around, breaking into a jog in the opposite direction. Rushing after her, I gave the boys a stern look as I passed, which went ignored. They were busy elbowing each other, chuckling.
I lost sight of Andee when she dodged around the side of the building, though it didn’t take more than a few minutes to find her stuffed against a brick wall in the outside courtyard. She was seated, knees tucked to her chest, gathered in a small ball. This was vastly different from the way she presented herself at home, so strong and assertive. She looked more child than woman sitting like this.
“Andee?” I stopped moving toward her when her shoulders stiffened.
“What are you doing here?” Her head remained tucked into the ball, her voice muffled from it.
“I thought I’d pick you up and we could have a talk, you know, about what happened last night. I picked you up a Frappuccino. It’s in the car.”
“That should fix everything.” It almost sounded like a sniff, which could imply crying, though she refused to show her face to me. “And I already know the ins and outs of sex, and how to prevent the spread of STDs and an unwanted pregnancy, so you can check that off your list and get on with the next hundred things in your day.”
The clack of my heels approaching made her tense more, so I settled myself several feet down the brick wall from her. “Those boys back there . . .”