Scars. Part 23

"I'm sure," I say firmly, and I mean it.

"Good," the detective says, making a note on her pad.

Carolyn squeezes my hand. "I'm proud of you."

And so am I.

40.

Carolyn checks her watch, her face scrunching up. "I really should get going."

"We're just about finished here," the detective a.s.sures her.

"It's okay, really," I say, and give Carolyn a hug.

Carolyn holds my arms, looking deep into my eyes. Rea.s.sured, she nods. "Call me if you need me," she says.

I watch her go, feeling a slight wrench, but I mostly feel okay. Because I know she's going to be part of my life for a long time.

Then I answer a few more questions for the detective.

"Well, I think that's it," she says, putting her notebook down. "You'll just have to wait for your mom. I have some work to do, but you're welcome to stay here in my office with me. If not, you can wait on the bench down the hall."

As nice as the detective's been, it's hard having a stranger probe into things that I've only ever told Carolyn and Meghan.

"Thanks-but the bench will be fine."

She smiles at me, showing she understands, then walks me down the hall.

As we pa.s.s a closed door, I hear Mom screaming and crying. Sounds like they didn't give her sedatives after all.

The detective glances at me and picks up her pace.

The wooden bench is deserted-just the way I want it. I'm done talking to people, at least for now.

"Can I get you anything?" the detective asks. "A soft drink, tea, or a sandwich?"

I shake my head no. I just want to go home. I sink onto the bench, exhausted.

"Your mom shouldn't be much longer." The detective smiles at me, we say good-bye, and she heads back to her office.

I sit and wait. Now that I'm alone, shadows start filling my brain. I tear at the skin around my fingernail.

Everyone's been kind to me, but I can't help feeling like I've done something wrong. Maybe it's because I'm sitting in a police station. Or maybe it's because Dad used to say they'd lock me up if they ever found out. Ha. He's the one who did something wrong.

I listen to the clicking of keyboards, the clatter of footsteps, the voices that rise and fall. And every time a siren wails, I tense up. I have to keep reminding myself that it's over. He can never hurt me again.

Twenty minutes pa.s.s, then a half hour. Then forty-five minutes. I start to feel uneasy and alone.

I wish I could call Carolyn and ask her to come back. But she's already given me so much, and I know I can get through this by myself. I can call her tomorrow-and every day until my session if I want. And maybe I will.

The detective comes back down the hall and sits on the bench beside me. She smooths out her skirt, then says, "Your mom will be out soon; she's just going over some last details."

More like she's still freaking out.

"You sure you don't want anything to eat? Food can be helpful after a shock like this."

I wrap my arms around myself, saying, "No, thanks. I'm okay."

"It'll get better, Kendra. I know it doesn't feel like it right now-but it will."

I smile at the detective and try to keep myself from crying again. My dad's going to be charged, all because of me- No, not because of me. Because of what he did.

"I know it'll get better," I say. And even though I don't really know it, somehow I still believe it.

The detective pats my knee, then stands up. "You're a brave girl, Kendra," she says softly. "I wish there were more like you in the world."

"Thanks." I blink fast and she starts off down the hall. I turn away-and then I see Sandy striding toward me, his face tight and worried.

I stagger to my feet, and he opens his arms, pulling me into a hug. It was never Sandy-just my own jacka.s.s of a dad.

I lean into Sandy, breathing in his clay, soap, and cologne smell, and I feel myself finally relax. I'm so glad it wasn't him. So glad I know for sure now.

"Your mom called me," Sandy says in a choked voice. "I'm so sorry, Kendra. I should have realized-"

"How could you?" I say, pulling away so I can see his face. "I didn't even know it myself. I mean, I shoved it away so far and so deep, I didn't remember-"

Sandy smooths back my hair. "It was in your art, Kendra. Your abuser always in the shadows-I knew it meant you couldn't face who it was. I suspected it was somebody you knew, but I had no idea who. And your dad-he just comes off so well, I never suspected him. If only I'd made you talk about it sooner-"

I shake my head. "I don't think I was ready to face it before today. And you helped me to get there, Sandy. You and Carolyn, Meghan, and Mrs. Archer."

Sandy hugs me again, squeezing the breath out of me. "You two are coming to stay with me tonight. And I won't take no for an answer."

I raise one eyebrow. "My mom agreed?" I can hardly believe it.

"I already told her. She's pretty shaken by this whole thing, but if I know Lori, she'll be back on her feet in no time."

He looks at me steadily. "And you, my girl-you're going to thrive. I can just feel it. And I'm going to be right there with you."

"I know you will." And I'm so glad.

41.

Mom parks in the driveway, and we sit here, staring at our house. I don't think either of us is ready to go in. It's only been a week, but already the place looks dark and abandoned, the yellow police tape flapping in the wind. It looks like a house where something awful happened, a house that's finally telling the truth about all those horrible nights. But something good happened here, too. Without meaning to, Dad gave me my freedom.

I unbuckle my seatbelt. It's not just Carolyn and Meghan, Sandy and Mrs. Archer who'll believe me now. Everyone who was here that night, everyone who reads the newspaper or watches the news will get a glimpse of what really went on here. Even Mr. Blair called; he'd known something was wrong, but he didn't suspect this. Now he knows. Everyone knows. And it's all because of Dad and his gun.

It's ironic. The man who was trying so hard to silence me was the one whose actions got our story out to the world. I know that's going to have an impact on me, but somehow I'm not afraid. And I'm not ashamed, either. I just feel a lightness now, like I can breathe easier. And I don't think that's going to go away.

Mom's been different since we talked to the police-quieter, calmer, more thoughtful-and I hope it's a good thing. I hope she's not going to fall apart on me now that we're back here. But if she does, I'll handle it. I know that I can.

"Come on, Mom," I say, lightly touching her arm. "We have to face it sometime."

Mom nods, and we climb the porch stairs together. I can hear the thud of police boots in my mind again and feel Dad's arm against my throat. I wonder if Mom's remembering it, too.

She trembles beside me, and I'm starting to wish I'd let Sandy come along instead of telling him we could handle this on our own. But I wanted to face the house and what happened here by myself. I wanted to know I could do it. We walk into the living room together.

"There's something I have to do by myself, Mom. It has nothing to do with blades, I promise."

"Okay," she says, and she doesn't try to stop me.

I walk down the hall to my room, floorboards creaking as I go. I look at the bed where he raped me and at the desk where I painted; the room was my prison and my sanctuary-that room without a door I could lock. The pain's like a broken bone inside me, dull and ever present. But it doesn't bring me to my knees.

I've got my blade with me. I know I can cut when I need to, and I'll probably cut again. But I don't need to; at least, I don't right now.

I take a deep breath, turn around, and walk back down the hall. I won't sleep in my room tonight. Maybe I never will again. I'll make up the bed in the guest room and take my stuff in there. And if I can't handle that, then I'll crash at Sandy's instead. I know I have a home with him whenever I want it or need it.

But I want to be able to handle this-to face all the secrets that were hidden inside me for such a long time. I don't want anything he did to me left locked away in my mind, waiting to ambush me. I want to face every last memory-when they come. Carolyn says too fast can be too much, so I'll definitely take it slow. But I won't push them away-not completely-not ever again.

I walk into the living room, and the images of what happened there come at me hard. I tremble as I switch on the lights and see the two bullet holes in the wall. I can feel the heat in my bandaged shoulder-see his face again, pleading with me to understand.

Mom's still standing where I left her. She turns to face me. "I know I should have stopped him. I should have protected you."

Yes, you should have.

"We're both alive, Mom. That's what's important."

"I'm so sorry I didn't do anything, Kendra."

I don't know whether she's talking about last week or all those years of Dad coming into my bedroom-but it doesn't really matter anymore. What counts is that she's acknowledging her part in what happened-something I never thought she'd do.

"It's over, Mom. It's all over, now."

But it isn't over, not really. I'll have more memories to face, more feelings I don't want to feel. But now I know who he is, and this time I won't be alone. And this time, I know I'll be safe.

"You're so much stronger than I am," Mom says.

I don't argue with her; it's true.

"I can never make it up to you, Kendra, but I want to try."

"All right," I say. Make it up to me.

A week ago, hearing her say those words, I would've been angry and hopeful at the same time. But now I just feel detached, somehow separate from it all.

I've stopped hoping that Mom'll be the way I need her to be. I just don't think she can. In fact, I've given up expecting anything from her at all.

And though there's such sadness inside me, there's a lot of relief, too. Because I know who I can turn to whenever I need comforting, help, or love. I know it won't be Mom, and I'm actually okay with it now.

"I've been thinking about going into therapy, myself," Mom says. "Carolyn's recommended some counselors for me."

I blink, surprised.

Mom twists her wedding ring, then yanks it off and throws it into the fireplace.

"I saw you blossom through therapy, Kendra. You really did. I saw you grow as soon as you had a little support. I was jealous that someone else could do that for you, especially because I couldn't. And I've decided it's time I took care of myself, so I can take better care of you."

I won't hold my breath. But if it happens, I won't turn her away.

"That's good, Mom-really good."

Mom smiles at me a bit crookedly. "I know I'm way behind you, but I'm going to try to catch up."

"I'm glad."

Mom's hand flutters at her throat. "There's something else I need to tell you. I called the bank the other day and then your father's workplace, too. It turns out he didn't lose his job. He'd cut back on his hours himself, told them he had a family emergency."

I stare at her, letting that news sink in.

It's hard to believe that Dad pretended to lose his job and told us all those lies just to follow me around. He worked hard at trying to keep me quiet; he must've panicked that I'd eventually remember who he was and talk about it. Well, he was right about that part.

I realize Mom's still talking, that I'd totally tuned her out.

She looks at me, her eyes watering. "He never even applied for a loan. The bank says our mortgage is in good shape-and there's more savings than I even knew about. So we don't have to move after all. Not unless you want to."

"I don't have to stop going to therapy? I don't have to pull out of the art group, and I don't have to change schools?"

Or leave Meghan?

"No, Kendra. Definitely not."

My stomach twists, but this time, it's a good feeling.