Under Her Care(63)

He stops me. “Honey, with all due respect, I don’t think this is the best time to be worried about her sleep hygiene. The goal is to get her to sleep. A couple of nights in a recliner with an iPad isn’t going to hurt her.”

“How many more nights do you think it’ll be?”

“You’re the expert; what do you think?”

“I think this entire situation sucks and I just want her home. I can’t believe someone would do something so spiteful and mean.” I struggle to hold back tears. He’s already got so much on his emotional plate, and I’m not trying to add more to it.

“People who are in lots of pain react in all kinds of crazy ways. Do all kinds of crazy things. Genevieve must be hurting really bad to be carrying on the way she is.”

Normally, I’d agree with him. He gave me his soft heart and optimistic spirit, but Genevieve’s hardened me in such a short time, especially after the stunt she just pulled with Harper. At least Harper will be able to easily set things straight during her interview with social services tomorrow.

She’s been doing my “Making Friends and Staying Safe” group since she was in kindergarten. Children with developmental disabilities are at an increased risk for victimization, so at least once a year I facilitate a group for kids and their caregivers on how to reduce that likelihood. Harper knows more about body rights and personal safety skills than most adults. Dad will make sure he shows them how to use TouchChat, too, so she’ll be able to speak in pictures, since that’s her preferred language.

I’ve imagined this moment with Harper so many times before that it’s filled with a strange déjà vu feeling. No awareness of her body and little reaction to physical pain means she’s continually covered in bruises in various stages of healing. I’ve always worried someone would notice and report their concerns to authorities because that’s the right thing to do when a child continually shows up with bruising. I was especially paranoid when she was still mainstream in school, but it’s better with her current teachers. They’re more understanding because they know her and her issues, but other people don’t have that same awareness. At least I don’t have to worry about Harper answering their questions. She’s had plenty of practice.

“It’s going to be okay.” Dad’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

“I know.” I sigh. “Part of me wishes I’d never gotten involved in any of this in the first place.”

“Maybe it’s time to think about getting out. Seems like this might be crossing the line into some pretty personal spaces,” he says softly.

He’s right. This case has consumed me, and Genevieve’s intent on making me pay for my involvement in Mason being taken away from her. I want to step away. I do. And I probably should, but I can’t. Not when an innocent kid is caught in the middle of this web. Even if he’s not mine. It’s my job to give voice to the voiceless.





THEN



Just like this. Peekaboo. Baby.

Peekaboo baby. I see you.

That’s all you have to play.

I don’t want to play anymore. I keep telling her that. She doesn’t listen.

You.

Can’t make me.

Liar. Liar. Pants on fire.

Ask. Me. About it. Please. I want to tell you.

Just this once.

Don’t make me go silent.

Not again.

You promised.

Just this last time.

One more time you said.

Not two. Not three. Not four or five.

Just one you said.

But we aren’t done.

You never stop. Not once.

Can we be done?

I don’t want to play. This game.

I never did.





TWENTY-NINE


GENEVIEVE HILL



I hope she’s over there crying a bucket of tears in her wine tonight. Serves her right for thinking she can stick her nose into where it doesn’t belong. The look on her face when I told her about Savannah was priceless. She has no idea everything I’ve been through with that girl. I bet she thinks twice before agreeing to another one of Detective Layne’s plans.

I’m so sick of him too. He’s just a big old dumb idiot who thinks he’s smart because he was good in football during high school and everyone worshipped him. He can’t see anything. Not even the things that are right underneath his nose.

There’s no way he’s keeping us safe. That much is for sure.

I tried calling the man on the card back. That’s the only way this ends, and I need this to end. I can’t go on like this. But the number has been disconnected or no longer exists. I wish there were a way to make him no longer exist. I wasn’t kidding when I said it.

I need to get out of here. The walls of the living room breathe. It’s like they’re coming to swallow me whole. Everywhere I turn, there’s another picture of what used to be my life. The tears bubble up my throat. John. My sweet John. Our sweet, beautiful life.

That terrible man has heaved all the memories to the surface. He doesn’t know how hard I work to keep them shoved down. Because if I don’t? Then all I do is miss the loving way John used to kiss me every day before he walked out the door for work and every evening when he got home at six. How he used to make me sit on the couch when I was spinning my tail off over something stupid, and he’d rub my feet until I calmed down. He was so good at getting the knot that settles in my arch, where I carry all my stress. How he smelled when he’d come in from playing tennis outside. I just—