The Kindness of Strangers (30 page)

“She has?” Sarah’s stomach flipped. Was she still searching for signs that Courtney was innocent?

“Yeah. So I’m going to urge for Jordan to be legally freed for adoption.”

She felt so stupid. It’d never crossed her mind that Jordan would need someplace to live
for the rest of his life.

“Sarah, don’t stress about this.” Reece’s forehead creased. “You’re acting as our emergency foster placement until a permanent placement can be found. You can apply to be the permanent placement or not. I don’t want you to think we were going to sneak up on you with this and expect you to keep him forever.”

That muscle spasmed in Sarah’s shoulder again, the tension creeping up her neck. It was one thing to help care for a friend’s child, quite another to
steal
that friend’s child. Would Courtney interpret it that way? And besides, she
wasn’t
Courtney’s friend anymore . . . was she? It now seemed as if they’d never really known each other. That thought exhausted her, made her so heavy and sad that lately she caught herself sometimes crawling back into bed after the boys left for school. She craved the escape of sleep but found her mind relentless at night, affording her no real rest. “But . . . the courts
will
free him for adoption, won’t they?” She didn’t know which answer she feared more.
This is not my problem
, she forced herself to think as concern and protectiveness added weight to her shoulders.

“I hope so, but it would help if we had Courtney in some of the pornography.” He set his silverware down. “But we don’t, so unless Jordan tells us something, which isn’t likely, chances are she’s going to get a second chance. Reunification is a real possibility.”

“But wait, you just said you were recommending termination of her custody.”

“I am. But I don’t get to decide myself. Children’s Services will make a report, but there’s still a trial. And I’ve got to warn you, it’s a lot tougher to get convictions for a female sex offender than a male. No one wants to believe that a woman, especially a kid’s own mother, would do something so horrible.”

“But there’s the drugs. She was treating him for an STD.”

Reece nodded, his eyes sad. “Courtney is attractive, wealthy, articulate. She was well respected at her job and in the community. She’s written Jordan daily since she’s been in custody. She calls the hospital multiple times a day. She asks to speak to him—we’ve managed to prevent that so far—and asks for his medical reports and talks to his nurses. She’s cooperative with her counselor. She’s doing everything right.”

Sarah saw Jordan’s face again, that look he had on that day in the van. The determination in his eyes when he went into that port-o-john. Courtney was doing everything right now that she’d been
caught
. How long would Jordan’s former life have continued if he hadn’t decided to try to end it?

Reece went on, “Without direct evidence of her involvement in the pornography, it’s going to be tough. We don’t always win, Sarah. Sometimes, even
with
convictions, the kids return to the parents.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Reece shook his head. He pointed to a little girl at a nearby table. “If I got up and fondled that girl, you’d call the police and I’d be charged with assault, no question. But if her
parents
do it, you call the social workers. It’s ‘family business,’ and no one wants to interfere. And the same organization that is there to help the little girl has to try to rehabilitate the parents, too. Girl goes home. Gets molested again. Happens more than you want to know. I wish people
did
want to know, actually. Might make it happen less.”

Sarah pictured Courtney and Jordan living in that huge house as if nothing had ever happened. What would you say to a child after something like that? Would Courtney try to sit with the other moms at soccer games? A bitter taste filled Sarah’s mouth, and she gratefully accepted the refill of her coffee.

“But,” Reece said, leaning back in his chair, “let’s not dwell on what’s out of our hands. Helping Jordan is in our hands, so let’s concentrate on that.”

Sarah nodded. She poured the cream and found herself idly trying to match the exact color of Reece’s skin with her coffee. A few more drops and she had it.

“Don’t have any Hallmark visions of Jordan fitting in and you all living happily ever after. I want you to see this for the disruption to your family that it’s likely to be.”

She stirred for a moment. Roy flashed into her mind, dead in the hospital. Her children’s faces as she told them their father was gone. One of the worst things she could imagine had happened to her. And she’d survived. She realized it as if for the first time. She felt unafraid in a way that was totally new to her. “All right. I know it won’t be easy, and I’m trying not to have unrealistic views of it. If there’s trouble, we’ll figure it out.”

He grinned. She was mesmerized by the flash of his white teeth against his skin and neat black goatee. It struck her that not only had she never kissed a black man, she’d never kissed a man with facial hair before.

“You never know unless you try, right?” he asked, and for a horrified moment she feared she’d said that thought out loud. But no, he was talking about Jordan. She nodded. “Okay, then,” he said. “How do you feel about this weekend?”

Sarah’s stomach slid under the table. “Th-that’s tomorrow. Saturday’s tomorrow.”

“Let’s say Sunday morning?”

Her head spun. She was afraid to move, for fear she’d fall out of her chair, but she managed a slight nod. God help her. What had she done?

S
arah was still somewhat dazed when she arrived at Dr. Bryn McConnel’s office. She was surprised to find the woman so young and so
small
. She immediately envied the doctor’s amazing curly hair; she had the most perfect curls Sarah had ever seen on someone not in a movie or an ad.

“Call me Bryn. It’s great to meet you.”

“Reece Carmichael just told me I’m approved,” Sarah blurted. “We’re really going to do this.” She recognized that her voice sounded full of fear. She tried to sound more confident as she added, “He’s supposed to move in on Sunday.” Move in? That sounded wrong.

Bryn laughed. “And it’s terrifying, isn’t it?”

Sarah nodded.

“Do you like coffee?”

“Yes,” Sarah said, although she’d already drunk about a pot today. The aroma of good hazelnut coffee was too tempting. Plus, she wanted something to do with her hands.

“Your family is taking on one of the most difficult jobs in our society,” Bryn said, pouring coffee into a yellow Fiestaware mug. “So you’re smart to be terrified. But I want you to know you’ll have my help.” She handed Sarah the mug and gestured to a turquoise creamer and chartreuse sugar bowl on the table. Sarah stirred in some cream while Bryn told her about some support and discussion groups. Bryn told her how she planned to continue seeing Jordan at least once a week, hopefully twice, when he moved in with the Ladens. How she’d want to touch base with Sarah at least that often.

Sarah found herself looking at Bryn’s face, wanting to be comforted but wondering if she could really trust this woman. How could she know that this person was who she seemed to be? How could Sarah know Reece? Or Kramble for that matter? Courtney had seemed as genuine, as competent, as caring as all of these people.

Bryn pulled her legs up under her on her chair. “What would you like to talk about?”

Sarah had so many questions she wished she’d made a list. “I guess, how
is
he? I . . . I don’t understand how someone could go on after what’s been done to him.”

Bryn nodded. “Kids are amazingly resilient. To a point, of course. He’s terrified of his father finding him. But he’s going on, as you say. He’s very bright. He has this sly sense of humor. You’re right, though: Jordan has been very damaged. When I first got his history, I dreaded meeting him and expected our sessions to be painful for
me.
I thought I’d be rejected by him for a long time. I did discover, though, that there are two things in Jordan’s favor. The first is that it looks likely that the sexual abuse didn’t begin until he was seven or eight, the age when Courtney began to be abused herself. That’s not uncommon. It appears Courtney managed to provide adequate—not great, mind you, but sufficient—mothering during Jordan’s most crucial development. That’s good, because it means Jordan can form attachments. If he’d been abused his entire life, I’d expect to be seeing this boy forever.”

Sarah hadn’t even known what sex was when she was seven.

“He’s been traumatized, of course, and his ability to trust is disrupted, but the fact that he can form attachments is critical. He has even formed relationships here. He seems especially willing to accept your son, Nate.”

Sarah felt lifted, as if her spine had lengthened. “You’ve met Nate?”

Bryn smiled and nodded, those curls bouncing. “He’s a great kid, Sarah.”

“Thanks,” she whispered. “What’s the second thing? You said there were two things in Jordan’s favor?”

Bryn pulled her legs from underneath her and leaned forward, her face bright. “The second thing is that he loves art. This is great, because he’s not a talker. Kids will rarely talk about their abuse. They need it understood and shared, but not in language. So many kids come in here and won’t do or say anything, but Jordan is always willing to draw or sculpt, and he expresses a lot through his artwork. Actual progress is being made.”

The woman’s happiness was so sincere that Sarah smiled, too. She pulled her own legs up under her and, clutching her mug, asked, “Can . . . can I ask you about Courtney?”

Bryn nodded. “Of course. I understand you were friends?”

Sarah sighed. “I thought we were.” Sarah turned her mug around in her hands and asked, “Have you met her?”

“Oh, yeah. Initially I welcomed her involvement in Jordan’s therapy. But it only took one interview to realize she’s not workable.”

The tiny balloon of hope deflated in Sarah’s belly.

“I told her that since her view of what happened was so different from the caseworker’s and what the medical evidence suggested, I felt it wasn’t in Jordan’s best interest to have her be a part of his therapy.”

“Did you like her?” Sarah asked. She knew that her voice was too high, too girlish.

Bryn cocked her head. “Actually, I didn’t. But I see why others did. She has social skills and a certain charm. But she’s very damaged, Sarah. She uses people.”

Sarah winced. She told Bryn all about Roy’s death, how Courtney had been there for her. “No matter what was going on that I didn’t know about,” Sarah said, “she really helped me. I can’t let go of that.”

“You don’t need to let go of that. She
did
help you. But it’s important for you to also see that helping you was not really her intention. You were an overwhelmed, grieving, single mom. A pedophile’s dream.”

Sarah winced. She mouthed the word: “Pedophile.” She hated when people referred to Courtney as one. Mark was one—no doubt about it. Courtney might be a lot of things: a bad mother, neglectful, abusive . . . but Sarah simply could not make herself imagine Courtney doing the things she’d seen in that photo. Using that word for Courtney shamed Sarah too deeply. Made her feel a bad mother herself.
How could she not have known?

Sarah looked up at Bryn. “Was she only after my son all along?”

“We don’t know that. You do have a child in Jordan’s age range. More probable, though, in your preoccupied state, you were less likely to notice the oddities of the Kendricks. You’re respected and liked in your community. Your friendship with them made them more acceptable, more trusted, more ‘okay.’ ”

Sarah didn’t want to accept this and felt herself draw up her defenses. This woman couldn’t
know
. Sarah couldn’t have been duped so easily. There had to have been some real connection, some genuine thread. There had to be.

Bryn stood and refilled Sarah’s coffee cup, then her own. Gently, she said, “Offenders are misread over and over again because people like you and me expect those who use us to have the decency to feel bad about it.” She shook her head, flouncing those spectacular curls. “But they don’t. Instead of feeling remorse over hurting or deceiving others, most sexual offenders feel satisfaction, a kind of childlike pride in putting one over on people.”

Sarah reached forward for the turquoise creamer. She watched the white cream spiral and blend into the dark coffee. Intellectually she understood what this therapist told her, but emotionally her brain couldn’t wrap around it yet.

She pictured all the times she’d drunk coffee with Courtney. Tears pressed against Sarah’s throat.

Bryn reached across the space between them and squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Hey,” she said. “You’ll be okay.”

And all Sarah could think was that Courtney had performed that very same gesture. Courtney had said those very same words.

Chapter Fifteen
Nate

A
t 2:03
A.M
. Nate woke up and knew he wasn’t going back to sleep. And it wasn’t that awake-because-he-drank-too-much-Coke feeling. It wasn’t the awake that came when he heard something in the house or had a freaky dream. It was simply awake.