The Homecoming
Page 45
Cammie shook her head. “There’s no way I’m going out of state,” she said. “It’s going to be hard enough managing an Oregon school. We don’t have a lot of money. I’m applying for financial aid.”
“I understand that completely,” Iris said. “I got through college on loans and aids. Lucky for me, I chose to stay and work in Oregon. That reduced the balance on state loans. Kind of like working in the trenches, you know?”
“Really? I didn’t know that,” she said, scooting forward in her chair. “Because I don’t want to leave Oregon. To travel, maybe, but not to live!”
“So we’re pretty good on that issue, are we?” Iris asked.
“I think I’m good to go,” she said. “I’d so love to cheer for the Ducks, but I hear it’s really hard to get in that squad.”
“But I’ve watched you and you’re good. I like your chances.”
“Thanks, Ms. McKinley, that’s really nice of you to say.”
“Oh, I’m not just being nice, Cammie—I think you’re very talented in a lot of areas. So, let’s talk about something else, since we have time. Your best friend is Rachel Delaney, am I right?”
“Right, yes,” she said.
“You two could be sisters, you look that much alike. Tell me why you think she has so many accidents,” Iris said, stabbing the subject with a sharp point.
Cammie was momentarily speechless. “I don’t know what you mean,” she finally said.
“Yes, you do, Cammie. She gets hurt a lot. Bruises, black eyes, soreness, one day her lip was cut and swollen. What’s up with that?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug, looking into her lap. “She got hurt in cheer one day....”
“Here’s what we have to do, Cammie. We have to level with each other before something really bad happens. I can help her if she needs help without it coming back on you. She either needs some kind of intervention to stop the abuse or she could use a consultation with a neurologist to find out if she has some condition that throws her off balance, like multiple sclerosis or a brain injury. I suspect, however, that someone is hurting her. And if I’m right, I can give her some ideas of how we can stop it without anyone being mad at her. Okay?”
Iris could barely hear Cammie’s voice, soft as butterfly feet. “I promised,” she whispered.
“And I promise you, Cammie, I will keep your secret.”
“But if I’m the only one who knows—”
“Well, that’s very unlikely. You come to understand that as years go by—there are no secrets. Not really. But that’s beside the point—if someone is hurting her, I can get around the secret part and get her out of a bad situation.”
Cammie shook her head and her pretty blond hair swayed. “I don’t think so. I don’t think you can. I can’t talk about it.”
“Here’s what I want you to do. Think about this for a day or so. Think about what’s more important—telling the counselor so Rachel can be helped or keeping this secret and having something worse happen. And also think about this—it’s part of my job to investigate if I think something dangerous is happening. I don’t have a choice. I have to try to figure out what’s going on.”
“No!” she said, suddenly panicked.
“Yes,” Iris said. “Yes—which is better than having something really bad happen. You can tell Rachel if you feel you need to—tell her that I’m worried about all those accidents and I want to know who’s doing that to her. Tell her she can come to me. She can trust me.”
“She won’t,” Cammie said.
“Don’t let this go on, Cammie. Will you at least think about it?”
She nodded weakly; she looked overwhelmed with doubt.
“Check back with me in a day or so. Let’s get this taken care of for Rachel’s sake. She’s a wonderful, sweet girl. She has such a bright future, just as you do. I want you girls to have it all, you know. A great graduation, a great college experience, good lives, friendship for a long time.”
Cammie stood. “Here’s what you don’t get. If I tell, if someone gets involved, it’s going to be so bad. So much worse.”
“Not always. Sometimes when someone gets involved, solutions are found. You’d be surprised.”
“Do you want me to leave this door open?” Cammie asked.
“Yes, thanks,” she said.
Iris sat at her desk, thinking. She hadn’t been completely honest with Cammie. When a kid was in an abusive situation at home, the child could be saved, but usually at a great cost that would make her wonder just how good that solution was. It often meant breaking apart a family, getting police involved, foster care, all kinds of interventions that, for at least a little while, seemed worse than the abuse. Years later they might look back and think, Thank God someone was brave enough to step in! But getting there often felt like the pain was only escalating.
If Rachel’s twelve-year-old brother was beating her up badly enough to leave black eyes and bruises, the children would have to be separated. Maybe counseling could help both the victim and the abuser, put them on a better path.
Of course, it might not be Bobby at all. Maybe it was Sassy or Rachel’s father or one of the many other family members they lived with. But it was now beyond doubt as far as Iris was concerned. Someone was isolating Rachel and pounding her. Those situations didn’t get better spontaneously.
She heard the laughter of girls and it was like a balm for her worried spirit. She opened her other door, the one that led to the offices and cubicles. She went in search of the laughing and, in a small cubicle set aside for her use, Iris found Krista and Misty sorting and stapling papers and laughing hysterically.
“I must have missed the joke,” she said, leaning into the little room.
Krista looked up and had tears on her cheeks from her laughter. “Oh, Ms. McKinley, it was hilarious!”
“You know Butch Sandler?” Misty asked. “He’s such a slob anyway, but he was making milk come out of his nose! Totally gross.”
“We didn’t laugh in front of him,” Krista said. “That would only encourage him.”
“But we had to bring our ice cream back here to finish because it was just impossible to eat it in the lunchroom with that going on. Really, I thought I was going to die.”
“I understand that completely,” Iris said. “I got through college on loans and aids. Lucky for me, I chose to stay and work in Oregon. That reduced the balance on state loans. Kind of like working in the trenches, you know?”
“Really? I didn’t know that,” she said, scooting forward in her chair. “Because I don’t want to leave Oregon. To travel, maybe, but not to live!”
“So we’re pretty good on that issue, are we?” Iris asked.
“I think I’m good to go,” she said. “I’d so love to cheer for the Ducks, but I hear it’s really hard to get in that squad.”
“But I’ve watched you and you’re good. I like your chances.”
“Thanks, Ms. McKinley, that’s really nice of you to say.”
“Oh, I’m not just being nice, Cammie—I think you’re very talented in a lot of areas. So, let’s talk about something else, since we have time. Your best friend is Rachel Delaney, am I right?”
“Right, yes,” she said.
“You two could be sisters, you look that much alike. Tell me why you think she has so many accidents,” Iris said, stabbing the subject with a sharp point.
Cammie was momentarily speechless. “I don’t know what you mean,” she finally said.
“Yes, you do, Cammie. She gets hurt a lot. Bruises, black eyes, soreness, one day her lip was cut and swollen. What’s up with that?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug, looking into her lap. “She got hurt in cheer one day....”
“Here’s what we have to do, Cammie. We have to level with each other before something really bad happens. I can help her if she needs help without it coming back on you. She either needs some kind of intervention to stop the abuse or she could use a consultation with a neurologist to find out if she has some condition that throws her off balance, like multiple sclerosis or a brain injury. I suspect, however, that someone is hurting her. And if I’m right, I can give her some ideas of how we can stop it without anyone being mad at her. Okay?”
Iris could barely hear Cammie’s voice, soft as butterfly feet. “I promised,” she whispered.
“And I promise you, Cammie, I will keep your secret.”
“But if I’m the only one who knows—”
“Well, that’s very unlikely. You come to understand that as years go by—there are no secrets. Not really. But that’s beside the point—if someone is hurting her, I can get around the secret part and get her out of a bad situation.”
Cammie shook her head and her pretty blond hair swayed. “I don’t think so. I don’t think you can. I can’t talk about it.”
“Here’s what I want you to do. Think about this for a day or so. Think about what’s more important—telling the counselor so Rachel can be helped or keeping this secret and having something worse happen. And also think about this—it’s part of my job to investigate if I think something dangerous is happening. I don’t have a choice. I have to try to figure out what’s going on.”
“No!” she said, suddenly panicked.
“Yes,” Iris said. “Yes—which is better than having something really bad happen. You can tell Rachel if you feel you need to—tell her that I’m worried about all those accidents and I want to know who’s doing that to her. Tell her she can come to me. She can trust me.”
“She won’t,” Cammie said.
“Don’t let this go on, Cammie. Will you at least think about it?”
She nodded weakly; she looked overwhelmed with doubt.
“Check back with me in a day or so. Let’s get this taken care of for Rachel’s sake. She’s a wonderful, sweet girl. She has such a bright future, just as you do. I want you girls to have it all, you know. A great graduation, a great college experience, good lives, friendship for a long time.”
Cammie stood. “Here’s what you don’t get. If I tell, if someone gets involved, it’s going to be so bad. So much worse.”
“Not always. Sometimes when someone gets involved, solutions are found. You’d be surprised.”
“Do you want me to leave this door open?” Cammie asked.
“Yes, thanks,” she said.
Iris sat at her desk, thinking. She hadn’t been completely honest with Cammie. When a kid was in an abusive situation at home, the child could be saved, but usually at a great cost that would make her wonder just how good that solution was. It often meant breaking apart a family, getting police involved, foster care, all kinds of interventions that, for at least a little while, seemed worse than the abuse. Years later they might look back and think, Thank God someone was brave enough to step in! But getting there often felt like the pain was only escalating.
If Rachel’s twelve-year-old brother was beating her up badly enough to leave black eyes and bruises, the children would have to be separated. Maybe counseling could help both the victim and the abuser, put them on a better path.
Of course, it might not be Bobby at all. Maybe it was Sassy or Rachel’s father or one of the many other family members they lived with. But it was now beyond doubt as far as Iris was concerned. Someone was isolating Rachel and pounding her. Those situations didn’t get better spontaneously.
She heard the laughter of girls and it was like a balm for her worried spirit. She opened her other door, the one that led to the offices and cubicles. She went in search of the laughing and, in a small cubicle set aside for her use, Iris found Krista and Misty sorting and stapling papers and laughing hysterically.
“I must have missed the joke,” she said, leaning into the little room.
Krista looked up and had tears on her cheeks from her laughter. “Oh, Ms. McKinley, it was hilarious!”
“You know Butch Sandler?” Misty asked. “He’s such a slob anyway, but he was making milk come out of his nose! Totally gross.”
“We didn’t laugh in front of him,” Krista said. “That would only encourage him.”
“But we had to bring our ice cream back here to finish because it was just impossible to eat it in the lunchroom with that going on. Really, I thought I was going to die.”
