Pretty Girls Dancing(14)
“On the one hand, I’m disappointed that you engaged in violence, which is never the answer to solving problems. But I’ve known you for four years, Janie.” Lori Rimble clasped her hands on the table separating them and leaned forward. “And I realize what it cost you to stand up for yourself this way when you’re being bullied at school.”
Eyes widening in shock, Janie could only stare. This was definitely not the conversation she’d expected to hear after bloodying Heather Miller’s nose. “I’m not bullied.” Bullied implied victimhood, and she’d never allow herself to be that vulnerable. She might have been powerless to prevent what happened to her sister and the toll it took on her and her parents, but she’d fought for years against the diagnosis that could control her life if she let it. She was nobody’s victim.
“You didn’t let yourself be.” A smile flickered at the corners of the woman’s lips before she firmed them. “But as I mentioned, your response was ill advised. That said, there were several witnesses to the altercation in the hallway and in Mr. Latham’s class before that. I believe Mrs. Booker has been quite thorough in talking to all of them and has a clear picture of what transpired. Would you like to tell your side of things?”
Wary, she remained silent. She was vaguely familiar with the progressive-discipline policy at the school, although she’d never thought to find herself on this end of it.
Rimble smiled wryly. “I thought not. Mrs. Booker has decided—and I agree—that this matter would best be handled at the minimal level of consequences. Neither you nor Heather has ever been in trouble before, and both have distinguished academic records. I will warn you that if there’s another occurrence of this behavior, it will be dealt with more severely. And as your friend, I want to caution you that by allowing yourself to be manipulated into a reaction, you’re playing into Heather’s jealousy of you.”
Manipulated. The arrow hit its mark. It was another moment before the rest of the counselor’s words registered. “Jealousy?” Janie was incredulous. Heather? The idea that anyone would be jealous of her was hard to fathom. That Heather would be was downright unbelievable.
For the first time, the counselor’s expression looked stern. “Don’t sell yourself short, Janie. You and Heather are at the top of your class. Don’t give her an edge.” Without allowing Janie time to digest her advice, she went on. “Heather will serve her after-school suspension tomorrow. Yours will be Friday.” Her smile was back. “Now, is there anything you’d like to say?”
Janie shook her head, still mentally reeling.
“Then you can go. Your father is here and will take you home for the day. But don’t forget what I said. Given the recent news stories, I know this is going to be a difficult time for you and your family. I’m here to help if you’ll let me.”
Blindly, Janie rose, went to the door. She could have told the woman that there was nothing she could do. Nothing anyone could do.
The longer Whitney DeVries remained missing, the worse it was going to get for the Willards.
Claire Willard
November 4
11:35 a.m.
As she sat on the edge of Kelsey’s unmade bed, Claire could feel the tight fist in her chest loosen for the first time since she’d heard the news of Whitney’s disappearance. David had done his usual pulling away after she’d appeared at his office. She’d known better but had been unable to stop herself.
Sipping from her third drink since Janie left that morning, she fingered the pills in the pocket of her robe. She didn’t take them indiscriminately because it was getting harder and harder to find doctors who would prescribe them. Claire still recalled her shock and fury three years ago when her family doctor, Dr. Schultz, had refused to renew the prescription of antidepressants and sedatives he’d begun prescribing after Kelsey had been kidnapped.
His words had slashed like jagged little daggers, even cloaked as they’d been in a kindly manner. The upshot of that appointment had been that even the medical profession placed parameters on suffering. And apparently, she’d hit hers the fourth year after Kelsey was taken.
She squeezed the glass in a grip that made her knuckles ache. Before this, she hadn’t known that grief came with an unwritten statute of limitations. There should be a handbook documenting them for families of victims, so they wouldn’t be blindsided when hit with one. A one-year maximum for a messy divorce, maybe two for the passing of a spouse. Surely the death of a child deserved an extra year or so. No matter. She’d out-grieved the limits, and then she’d been cut off. Claire had been reduced to doctor shopping, like some common junkie desperate for a script. She resented that almost as much as she had Dr. Schultz’s final words.
Claire, you need help that you aren’t going to get from the pills. Why not try therapy again?
She’d listened to enough psychologists jabbering about the seven stages of grief to know that David had worked his way through them all, moving along to acceptance and hope at what medical professionals would approvingly call a healthy pace. Claire brought the glass to her lips and drank deeply. She also knew that David had left her at a distant stage four—depression, reflection, and loneliness—while he’d made his laps. That was, perhaps, the greatest betrayal of all.
“Mrs. Willard, I’m leaving for the day. Unless there’s anything else?”