The Child Comes First (15 page)

She drove out to the suburbs gripping the steering wheel and reviewing the issue of how she would tell Simon about her uncle. There would be happiness at breakfast with the people she was going to see, and she didn't want to ruin that. She'd wait until she and Simon were alone. Later in the day, perhaps. Maybe tomorrow.
Never
sounded even better, though she knew that wasn't really an option.

Driving up to the house, Jayda noted the Honda was missing from its usual parking spot. Perhaps Simon had decided to leave before she arrived.

As she walked up to the door, however, she could hear a masculine voice speaking loudly. So Simon was still here. But what was he shouting about? She drew closer and her blood seemed to freeze in her veins as she heard Tiffany scream.

Running now, crashing through the front door, hearing a struggle upstairs and acting on instinct.

“Stop it, it's going to hurt!” cried Tiffany. “Don't!”

“Be still, Tif. You have to cooperate,” Simon ordered.

Jayda's heart hammered as she flew up the stairs and adrenaline coursed through her veins. She wasn't even aware of racing down the hall. She only knew that she would save this girl, the one who was crying out for help, the one just like the girl she had been.

Jayda heard Tiffany's cries and the memory of pleading with her uncle joined with Tiffany's voice until they were inseparable. The bedroom she entered took on the scent and color of the bedroom she'd had all those years ago. At that moment, Jayda became an avenging angel rushing onto the scene, barely registering that the man held the girl only by one of her feet. He looked up at Jayda with a deer-in-the-headlights expression of complete astonishment.

“Let go of her!” Jayda shouted as she reached for Simon, clutched his T-shirt and pulled for all she was worth. He didn't resist, as she'd expected him to, but rose from the bed too fast and stumbled away. Something clattered to the floor as he shifted to keep himself from falling. In the red haze of her anger, she saw her uncle's face. Her fury felt exactly the same, too.

“How
could
you? How could you touch a little girl?” Jayda shouted at Simon. “I won't let you hurt her. I won't let you near her.” And she stood there trembling with fury. A glance over her shoulder told her that the child was huddled against her pillows, curled almost into a fetal position except for the one foot sticking straight out. The one the man had been holding.

“Stop it, Jayda,” she heard Simon say calmly but firmly. “You don't understand.”

“Get out!” she shrieked. “Get out of her bedroom this instant!” She approached him, very nearly growling. Then she lashed out with both fists, beating against his chest.

He didn't budge, but his eyes widened in horrified surprise. He held her wrists to stop the attack. But he couldn't quell the mayhem inside Jayda. She twisted away and yelled once more for him to get out.

“Stop it!” came a high-pitched voice from the bed. “Stop fighting!”

Simon glanced over Jayda's shoulder at Tiffany, then put his hands up in surrender and backed toward the door. “Get hold of yourself,” he said.

“Don't go!” the girl called. “Simon, come back.”

“Don't leave me!” cried Tiffany as Simon backed out of the room and into the hall.

He stood there looking in. “Stop this right now, Jayda. You're scaring her,” he said, gesturing toward the bed.

Jayda spared Tiffany a glance and saw the terrified expression on her face. “
You're
the one who scared her. I got here just in time. Don't worry, honey,” she said without taking her eyes off Simon. “I won't let him hurt you.”

“Will you listen? He was just trying to
help,
” Tiffany shouted.

Slowly Jayda turned, horrified that a victim would take the predator's side. But as she came about, her mind began to register certain facts.

There were tweezers on the floor that had clattered to the hardwood when she'd first accosted Simon. A needle rested on the bedside table, along with a box of Band-Aids and antibacterial cream. An open sewing box was there as well, the source of the needle, most likely. And an open bottle of rubbing alcohol and some cotton swabs rested nearby.

“Oh, God,” she said as the awful truth sank in. After all her years in counseling, after all the work to let go and move on, after all the pains she'd taken to identify herself as so much more than someone who had been sexually abused by a relative, she still hadn't been able to perceive reality and instead she'd replaced Tiffany with her youthful self. Had she been taking on the role of protector that she'd wished so hard her mother had accepted?

“What's going on here?” said Barbara from the hallway. Jayda looked to see the older woman standing with a bag from Krispy Kreme in one hand and a set of car keys dangling from her fingers. “I could hear the yelling from the street, for heaven's sake.”

“We've had a terrible misunderstanding,” Simon said stiffly. “But I think we all see things more clearly now.” He stepped into the bedroom, slipped past Jayda eyeing her warily, and sat down next to Tiffany. “We have a serious splinter to get out of Tiffany's foot. Maybe you could give me a hand, Mom.”

Barbara stepped around Jayda, too, her expression puzzled. Jayda felt paralyzed by the horrific depths of her mistake. “Oh, God,” she said again.

“I'll take care of Tiffany's splinter,” Barbara offered. Nodding toward Jayda, she added, “You go take care of her.”

Jayda could only see Simon in a blur, because her eyes were filled with tears. She felt his hand on her upper arm as he turned her toward the door and led her away. She had no volition of her own anymore. All her energy had been spent on her unforgivable mistake.

S
IMON DREW
J
AYDA ALONG
gently until she wouldn't move anymore. She came to a standstill in the hallway, then slumped to one side and slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor with her knees up and her chin down. Simon dropped to the floor and sat next to her. Staying silent was hard to do.

He wanted to demand an explanation, make her see how hurtful her assumption had been and hear a heartfelt apology. But he knew Jayda's behavior had to be related to the things she hadn't told him about her childhood. Railing at her wouldn't help. So he waited.

It didn't take long before she curled up even tighter, with her forehead on her knees and her arms wrapped around her legs, as closed off and protective of herself as she could be. In the other room, they could hear Tiffany sobbing that it was going to hurt as Barbara implored her to hold still.

“There, see? You survived and the splinter is out,” the older woman said a moment later. “Now, let me clean and bandage it. Then we'll dive into the doughnuts.”

“Okay,” agreed Tiffany in a tremulous voice. She sounded so much younger than her usual self, and Simon's heart ached a little. He wanted to be there with her, hugging her and letting her know that it was okay to be a kid sometimes, even if it made the removal of a splinter more difficult. He'd have to remember to tell her that after he'd done whatever he could for Jayda.

Tiffany and Barbara emerged from the bedroom and headed for the stairs. “Sorry, Simon,” Tiffany said as she passed. “I didn't mean to cause trouble.” She gave a darting glance toward Jayda.

“It's okay. You're no trouble,” he said, and his throat went tight as he registered her expression of remorse. “I would have made a much bigger fuss,” he joked, and Tiffany cracked a tentative smile. But then her expression became worried when her gaze drifted back to Jayda.

The social worker lifted her head from her knees and tried to give Tiffany a reassuring look before the child disappeared down the stairs. After another moment, when they were alone and could hear Barbara and Tiffany moving around in the kitchen, Jayda began to talk.

“I'm so sorry,” she said. “I can hardly believe I said those things to you, that I thought…” She seemed unable to go on.

“Can you tell me why you leaped to that conclusion?” He had to force himself to say the words that would have come easily enough in court, in reference to someone else. “Why you thought that I was molesting Tiffany.” He fought off a shudder.

“You've probably already guessed,” she said.

“You were the victim of a sexual predator when you were a kid,” he offered, trying to make it easier.

“Right.” She sighed. “My mother had a brother, Wayne, who liked underage girls way too much. Or at least he liked me too much. But honestly, that wasn't the worst of it. It was the fact that my mother always dismissed my complaints that messed me up so completely. We lived in a crowded house with some relatives, and my bedroom was in the basement. It was a tiny room, but I had it all to myself. That was wonderful, having a place of my own, until my uncle realized how easy it would be to visit me there.”

She stared into space, and Simon understood she didn't want to make eye contact. He didn't speak, just hoped she would be able to get the story out. Surely she would feel a little better once she did.

“I told my mother,” Jayda said, with an edge of anger in her voice. “But she just asked if he'd put himself inside me, if he'd raped me. And when I said no, she told me to stop whining. Can you believe that? I was a little older than Tiffany is, so I knew what rape meant. But I also knew that having a grown man touch my body and wanting me to sit on his lap was wrong. I knew he shouldn't be telling me the petting could be our little secret, that no one had to know, and that if I let him feel my private places he'd keep on lending my mother money and buying me nice things.” Tears filled her eyes.

“I didn't want
things,
” she said. “I just wanted to be a kid, to be left alone. But most of all I wanted my mother to take care of me, protect me.”

Simon wanted to put his arm around her. His own parental instincts had been kicking in overtime as he worked toward adopting Tiffany, and this story of a young girl left to fend for herself was heartbreaking. He longed to do something to show he cared and to comfort the child still suffering inside of this woman. But he held back, certain his touch would be unwelcome at this moment and hoping that listening would be enough.

“Mom had a drinking problem. I see that now. But when I was younger I didn't focus on the possibility she had her own demons to deal with. I just knew she'd let me down. I was trapped there, and so Wayne did what he wanted. At least until I was about fifteen, and I threatened to slit his throat if he ever came near me again. I'd gotten my hands on a big, sharp knife to help me make my point.”

Simon couldn't keep himself from saying, “Good for you.” He actually wished Wayne had pressed his luck and the knife had done some damage. His comment won a weak smile from Jayda. He took this as permission to ask, “Where is Wayne now?” He wanted to kill the bastard with his bare hands.

“Dead. I went to his funeral just to make sure it was really true. That was the last time I saw my mother.”

“How long ago?”

“Seven years.”

A long time, he thought. But with a mother like hers, maybe Jayda was better off this way. “What did you say to each other when you were at the funeral together?” What he really wanted to know was whether Jayda had gotten any closure from that meeting.

“I didn't say anything. She looked at me so accusingly, as if I'd killed her brother. Maybe I did, in a way. He was drunk and he drove into a tree. I used to think maybe he felt guilty about me and that made him an alcoholic. But now I can see he was a mess his entire life. Alcoholism seemed to run in the family. How the hell could a crazy, child-molesting drunk be so damned successful in your profession? How could he get away with it over the years?”

Simon reacted as if she'd slapped him. “Wait. Go back a second. Are you saying this monster was an attorney?”

She nodded and more tears fell from her eyes, sliding down her cheeks and onto her knees. “He made partner in his firm before he died.”

“Shit,” he whispered. The two of us never had a chance, he thought silently. Jayda was never going to choose him—if his profession reminded her of her predatory uncle. And as hard as he tried to keep his focus on this wounded woman sitting beside him, tried to remember that Jayda was baring her soul and deserved his undivided sympathy, he couldn't ignore the sensation of his heart being crushed.

“So now you know my dark secret. I hope you can begin to understand those childhood experiences shaded what I saw, what I
thought
I saw in Tiffany's room this morning.” She sounded more in control of herself now, more like the social worker he knew.

He managed to make his words come out evenly, devoid of any hint of the emotions churning inside. “Yes, I can understand that. Still, I'm sorry that you would ever associate me with someone like Wayne.” That was where the pain in his heart must be coming from, he decided. How could she have ever mistaken him for a child molester? The concept was beyond him.

“I didn't really see you,” she explained. “I didn't even see Tiffany today. I heard her crying and pleading with you, and it sounded exactly like what used to go on inside my head with Wayne. I would get slapped if I cried out loud, but that didn't stop me from screaming in my mind. And Tiffany became me and you became Wayne, and it all just got muddled inside me. I'm so sorry. You must be so hurt.”

He nodded, acknowledging the apology, but unable to trust his voice.

She looked away, off into the distance again. “I thought I'd worked my way past this. I've seen therapists, practiced letting go, worked on myself so hard. Obviously, I still have issues.”

“Don't give up on yourself,” he said. What he really wanted to say was, “Don't give up on us,” which shocked him. That was something he wouldn't dare say aloud, even if he understood it. Her response might increase that horrific heart-crushing sensation he was trying so hard to ignore.

“I won't. If I did, I'd be giving in to him and letting him control me, even from his grave. As long as I breathe, I'll work on shaking loose from those awful memories. I think this experience today may be the kick I've needed to get me moving again toward healing myself.”

“I'm not going anywhere, Jayda. I'm here if you need someone to talk to,” he said.

She stared at him for a few moments, but her eyes were unreadable. “You're crazier than I am,” she said, but a glimmer of humor lit her watery eyes. “And you don't know what you'd be getting into. I don't even know what will happen next.”

“None of us really does,” he said, thinking of how he could never have predicted a month ago that he would be sitting here with a woman such as Jayda, on the verge of abandoning his career in favor of adopting a child. Life took crazy turns sometimes.

Another sad smile from Jayda. “I have to go now,” she said as she got to her feet. “I have some things to think over.”

“You came to tell me about your trip to Pennsylvania.”

“I'll send you an e-mail. Right now, I need to be…not with other people. Maybe for a long time.”

“You'll be in court on Monday, right? It would confuse the jury if you didn't come back,” he said, grasping for one more straw.

She seemed to think about this and remained silent for a long moment. At last, she said, “Yes, I'll be there. You shouldn't have to work with me, but I don't want to do anything to jeopardize Tiffany's case.” And with that promise, she left.

He stood in the hallway, his fists clenched at his sides, and listened to her footsteps go all the way down the stairs and across to the front entrance. He heard the rasp of the door, as it opened, and the thud of it being closed again. She was gone.

 

J
AYDA DROVE TO HER APARTMENT
on automatic. Exhaustion was overtaking her rapidly, but there remained a seething undercurrent of anger—only now the rage was directed toward herself. She'd made an unforgivable mistake. It could never be undone.
No backsies,
as the kids said. She'd have to live with the consequences, just one more side effect of her screwed-up childhood. Resentment toward a dead man welled up in her heart, right alongside the sadness regarding Simon.

Her eyes filled again with hot, stinging tears. She wiped them away, then picked up her empty suitcase and carried it into the closet to put it away on the shelf. Something to do.

But fate wasn't done with Jayda for the day, because as she shoved the suitcase onto the shelf it dislodged a shoe box, which came tumbling down. The contents scattered. Not shoes. Photographs. She wanted to leave them where they were. Instead she knelt and began to gather them together, refusing to look as she replaced them in the box. But as she began to place the cover back on the cardboard container, her gaze fell on one photo that protruded from the others just enough to show the image she most wanted to avoid.

She sat down hard on the floor. The box came to rest between her legs, and her mother's smiling face looked up at her from the snapshots. Taken when her mother had been a few years younger than Jayda was now, the photo made Margaret Kavanagh seem so confident and bold. Her eyes blazed with intelligence, her hair was glossy, her skin fresh and unweathered. This was not the woman Jayda remembered from her childhood. This was a stranger. And yet she knew it was her mother—it said so on the back of the picture.

The woman Jayda had known during her childhood had been weighed down, with world-weary eyes and a lined face. She'd had a smoker's cough that had worried Jayda as a child. Margaret Kavanagh hadn't been among the worst of all mothers. But the betrayal she'd perpetrated when Jayda had spoken up about her uncle, the refusal to offer protection…That had left deep, jagged wounds that had never really healed. Something had to change. Jayda sighed heavily, weary and heartsick and perplexed.

Her cell phone beeped and she pulled it out of her pocket automatically to find a text message there. “Please let me know you got home safely,” it said. She saw that it had come from Simon. As she thumbed in a reply, she wondered at a man who could be so thoughtful about her welfare after she'd just insulted him beyond imagining. “Yes, got home. Plan to stay here and think,” she typed.

She didn't have much time to do that, however. In the next instant, the phone rang. Her heart skittered as she looked at the caller ID, both hoping and dreading that it would be Simon. But the name that lit up in the tiny window was Marla's. Unusual for her to call on a Saturday, so Jayda answered.

“Hi, Jayda,” Marla began cheerfully. “Did you find anything out about Derek's mother?”

Jayda had told Marla about the reason for her trip and her boss had given her the go-ahead to leave the area in the middle of the work week to pursue Patricia Baldridge. “I persuaded Ms. Baldridge to return to Baltimore with me and I have her in rehab.” She named the facility.