Spilled Milk: Based on a true story (27 page)

“Me and you
kiddo, we did it!” Gina rocked all over the car as we sped away from the
courthouse. “Oh, I am
so
happy for you. Thank the Lord, thank God you
got the justice you deserve.”

I pushed a C.D
into my stereo system and sounds of the Dixie Chicks filled the car. Gina
turned it up when she realized what song it was and started to sing along, “Cause
Earl had to die na na na na naaaa naaa naaa.”

 Lights disappeared
behind us on the highway as we approached the county jail just off the main
interstate. It would be Earl’s new home away from home. I beamed at Gina and
stuck my hand out the window as we passed, passionately giving the jail the
middle finger.

Court was over
but I still had to wait two months to find out how long of a sentence he would
get. Each charge carried a minimum and maximum amount of time and since there
were twenty one counts, the time could greatly vary.

“You, everyone
in your family, anyone who knows your character should write an impact
statement.” Heather’s voice broke up as I walked across campus so I pressed my
phone to my ear.

“What are they
for? Like what should they say?”

“Victim impact
statements are just letters written by anyone who knows you well about what
they think should happen to David, based on what they know of the situation.
The judge takes them into consideration for sentencing. You get a lot of people
to vouch for you and insist he be put away a long time, it’ll just be better
for you. It doesn’t mean it will definitely help, but we encourage people to
write them. You need to write one too.”

“All right.
I’ll let everyone know.”

Over the next
few weeks I collected more than twenty five impact statements. Mine was the
last to be added to the pile. Exams and projects piled up as the end of my
sophomore semester came to a close. Jason offered to go grocery shopping so I
could get my letter done. Two hours later, I sat cross legged on my bed to
re-read what I wrote:

 
I do not
think of myself as being heroic for telling on my father.  I did not tell with
the intent of making our lives harder.  I simply wanted him out of our lives so
we could live, and grow, like children are supposed to. Not in fear. I don’t
think it’s fair that I lost my virginity to my father.

I thumped my
pen anxiously on the paper and looked away. Even after two years of court, that
thought still screamed in my head.

I also do
not think it’s fair that my siblings and I had to grow as much as we did not
knowing a father’s love. Without him in the home, a drastic change has
occurred. We never stop laughing with each other and we joke around and are
loud and carefree, not nervous and timid.

It was not
until I got my very first boyfriend that my attitude started to change. At his
house, there was no yelling or screaming. I remember on an occasion where his
little brother spilled a glass of milk at dinner, and I gasped and jumped from
the table. Everyone looked at me so weird, because I expected his father to go
into a rage like mine would have done. But he never did, and it was unusual
behavior to me, and the more I was surrounded by it, the more I realized that
it was MY house that was unusual.

My mind flashed
to how many times my brothers had flinched at the sight of Earl’s hand being
raised, even if it was just to stick a fork full of food in his bearded mouth at
the dinner table.

Who knew that Adam
could tell such hysterically funny jokes instead of being so quiet? And that Kat
wanted to be a cheerleader instead of hiding in her bedroom closet, etching new
scars across her wrists? The first time Kat showed me her scars, she was almost
proud of them. “I wish they would just…go away,” she would mumble now, rubbing
her pink polished fingers over the damage.

There is,
however, the constant fear that he will someday return to our home, and
everything will be back to the way it was. I fear the day I am in a public
place and see his face in a crowd. I do not want to ever feel the heart
dropping dread I have for this man ever again.

I bent my head
down and read the finishing words to my letter.

Your Honor,
I am requesting that you serve David Nolan with the maximum amount of time
allowed by law. If there is one decent thing that that man has ever done for
his family, it was that he left our lives. And now that he has, please do not
let him come back.

I re-read it
two more times and flipped the pages over to make sure everything was perfect
before tucking it into my book bag.

“Hey, how’s it
coming?” Jason pushed the door open carrying a pizza box and two plates. He
moved a pillow aside and put the box down between us. My stomach growled in
response.

“Good.
Finished.” I pulled two slices apart and handed him one. “Can I ask you
something?”

Jason grunted
between bites.

“I’ll take that
as a yes. I know I didn’t want you to come to the trials and stuff, you know,
so you didn’t have to listen to those things.”

“Yea, that’s
okay. I understand.”

“I know. But
can you come with me to the sentencing?”

Paul had
started this journey with me. His mom offered me support the whole way through,
inside and outside the courtroom.

I couldn’t
imagine Jason not being there for when this chapter of my life finally came to
an end, especially with how understanding and supportive he was the entire
time. Jason took me back in a heartbeat after our fight, just like Gina told me
he would.

He bent forward
and planted a greasy kiss on my lips. “If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

***

I didn’t have
to point out Earl when we entered the courtroom since he was the only one there
in handcuffs. Jason never saw him before, even all the childhood pictures I had
were devoid of his face due to some skillful scissor work.

“Not what I
expected,” he whispered as the judge was announced into the courtroom.

“What’d you
expect?” I whispered back.

“I don’t know.
He just looks… normal.”

Judge Wilkin
addressed the court to say why we were there. After a few formalities she spoke
about the impact statements.

“There were
thirty-two in all, and I read every one. But I must say.” She glanced at me
sitting in the back row of the courtroom. “I find it unbelievable that a glass
of spilled milk is what gave one little girl more strength and poise than I
have ever seen in this courtroom.”

She shuffled
papers in front of her. “With that being said, it is the court’s decision that
David Nolan spend no less than eight years with a maximum of sixteen years in a
correctional facility.”

Heathers mouth
dropped and Rob’s head shook back and forth; disbelief portrayed on everyone’s
faces. David was sentenced to the maximum amount of jail time allowed by law for
his crimes.

I was tackled
by almost everyone as I buried my face deep into arms, tears, and hair.
Everyone was crying, and smiling, and nodding their heads. A few of the jury
members looked over at me as I mouthed Thank you. A surge of relief encouraged
me to smile for the first time inside the courtroom. Finally, Earl was going to
a place where he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

I would be
almost thirty five years old by the time he would be released if he served the
maximum time. I knew parole and other factors went into what his actual release
date would be, but right in that moment, my face lit up the courtroom as David
was escorted away.

Jason squeezed
my hand three times to say I love you, and I squeezed his back. We made our way
to Heather’s office. “For the first time I am leaving this courthouse with a
smile,” I said.

“I don’t
believe it. It’s great, don’t get me wrong. But wow you must have made an
impression.” Heather pulled me off to the side as we approached the front lobby
of the courthouse. “Brooke, can you come to my office for a minute? I want to
show you something.”

I looked at
Jason. “Go ahead, I’ll be right there.” He kissed my cheek and followed my mom
outside.

Heather pulled
a file from a tall oak bookcase on the back wall of her office. She flipped
through some papers and pulled one out. “I wanted you to read this. I thought
you should know.”

“What is it?”

“An impact
statement we got. For you.”

The letter was
printed, and I didn’t recognize the name at the top.

“I’ll give you
a minute.” Heather’s weak smile and quick shuffle out the door made me think I
didn’t want to know what the letter said, but I started reading anyway.

Dear
Honorable Judge Wilkin, it is with deep regret that I write this letter
nineteen years too late. When I was twelve years old, and coming from Molly’s
side of the family, I was asked to babysit Adam and Brooke Nolan from the time
they were three and four years old.

I glanced up at
the name again, it still didn’t look familiar.

It was great
money, and I loved taking care of them. When Molly’s shift at the hospital
changed, David Nolan started to drive me home from babysitting. I’ll never
forget the first time he walked into the living room naked, touching himself. I
was terrified. He told me that he could teach me how to feel good, but if I
told anyone he would make sure that everyone knew about our secret. For eight
months I was trapped. I was asked to do unimaginable things with him and to him
while Brooke and Adam played in the next room. I finally told an older cousin
what was going on; I wanted help. That cousin told me to never repeat what I
just told him, and that it would put our family to shame if I did. My father’s
relocation of a job is the only thing that saved me since we had to move away.

I never told
anyone else what happened during that time in my life. I never sought
counseling or help as I got older. I moved several states away, putting
thousands of miles between me and my past. When I heard about what happened to
Brooke, I blamed myself. I attempted suicide, and wound up in a mental health
institution for over a year. I thought that if I had been a braver boy than I
was, if I had told just one more person, or done something more, this never
would have happened to her. I blame myself for the years of torture I am sure
she had to withstand, and I can only hope that she gets the help she needs to
grow into the healthy and successful woman I know she’ll be.

I didn’t
speak up then, so I’m speaking up now. I owe it to Brooke, and Adam, Thomas and
Kat. I owe it to myself. I am asking that you issue the maximum sentence to
David Nolan. Please do not let my failure to act repeat on generations to come.

I stared at the
letter a long time until I heard a silent knock on the door. Heather appeared
and she leaned against the desk, taking the letter from my hand. “You got
justice for more than one person in that courtroom today Brooke. You should be
so proud of yourself.”

I nodded,
stunned. “Yea, but that means someone in my family knew what kind of person he
was even back then. And they did nothing about it?”

My heart ached.
Who could leave two little children in the care of that monster, knowingly? I
didn’t even recognize the name on the letter. Whoever he was, he was obviously
so ashamed of what he went through that he couldn’t even bring himself to be
around family anymore. Was a family’s reputation that important?

Heather nodded.
“The important part is that you knew what kind of person he was and you did
something about it.”

“How many more
people Heather? Who else’s life did he ruin?”

Heather
shrugged. “I don’t think we’ll ever know, honey. But he’s in a place where he
can’t hurt anyone anymore. Including you. Your life is far from ruined, it’s
just starting.”

“I wish I knew
who it was so I could thank him.”

“Thank him?”

“For his
letter, for coming forward so many years later. It’s not his fault. He told
someone, and they didn’t listen. I don’t blame him. But I don’t regret what’s
happened. I don’t think I’d be the person I am right now if I didn’t go through
that. Maybe I would have just run off to college, ran away like he did.”

Heather cocked
her head to one side. “You’re the exception to every rule, you know that?” She
reached out for a hug. “Now go, you have some celebrating to do.”

A Saylorsburg man
was found guilty with raping a girl at his Kunkletown home twice on two
separate occasions. David Nolan, 48, was found guilty after the jury
deliberated for more than an hour following a two-day trial. Nolan, who had no
prior criminal record, will be sentenced at a later date.

I pushed the
headline away after reading it for the hundredth time. There was so much
missing information and emotion intertwined in those three unimpressive
sentences.

The newspaper lingered
above the trash can as I looked down at the print suspended in air. I grabbed a
pair of scissors and snipped out the article before I could change my mind,
folding it in half. Maybe I would need a reminder now and then that he really
was in jail, and this all really did happen.

Two weeks later
I got that reminder, in the form of a panicked phone call from Mom. “Brooke,
did you get an unmarked letter in the mail?”

“No, why?”

“Your brothers
did. And your sister. I got one too.”

“What is it?”

“Maybe you
should come read it.”

When I opened
the front door at my mom’s she was one the phone. “I know, I know everyone got
them. Just throw it out, if you want. Hey, Brooke is here, let me go.” She hung
up the phone and pointed to the end of the table. A cigarette dangled from the
corner of her mouth.