The Tiger's Child (19 page)

S
heila roused late the next morning and stumbled out into the living room like an old she-bear just coming out of hibernation. It was past eleven o’clock and I was sitting on the floor reading the Sunday newspapers. She flopped into the armchair and regarded me amidst my sea of newspapers.

“God, how many papers do you get?” she asked and sleepily rubbed her face.

“You want some orange juice?”

She yawned and rubbed her face again. “I’m all stiff. I don’t think I moved all night.” Then suddenly, realization crossed her features. She glanced around my apartment, then back at me. “I almost don’t remember how I got here,” she murmured. “But then again, how could I forget?”

“Yes,” I said, “we have some serious sorting out to do.”

“Yeah,” Sheila muttered, “heap big trouble, eh?”

The one person I hadn’t called the night before was Sheila’s father. I know I should have, but it was very late by then and I reckoned he probably wasn’t losing any sleep over his daughter’s absence. However, once Sheila was up and moving, I insisted she phone him.

“Do I have to go home right away?” she asked, when I made it plain that she was doing nothing else until she let her father know where she was.

“Don’t you want to?”

“Couldn’t I just stay here for a little bit? Please?”

“Look,” I said, “we’ll get you sorted out first, all right? You have a shower and clean up. I’ll make you some breakfast and then we’ll see what’s going to happen with this mess. Then maybe I can run you home later on. Okay? But
phone
your dad
now.
”

Begrudgingly, Sheila agreed.

There was something unusually defenseless about Sheila that morning. Perhaps it was just the rigors of her experiences with Alejo leaving her so tired and hungry. For whatever reason, she left her neediness undisguised.

One of the most poignant moments came when she went in to get cleaned up. She had no clean clothes, so I suggested she put on an old jogging suit of mine, while I washed her things. Hearing she was out of the shower, I came into the bathroom
to collect the dirty laundry. Sheila stood in front of the mirror, her hair dripping wet.

“Do you like my hair like this?” she asked, as she pulled the comb through.

I hesitated, wondering whether to lie for politeness’s sake or gently tell the truth.

“You don’t, do you?” she replied, reading my hesitation. “You think it looks stupid.”

“No, not really. It’s just that I always thought you had very beautiful hair. I’ve always wanted straight hair myself and had to put up with curly, and yours was so shiny and nice.”

Pulling her hair back from her face and into a ponytail, Sheila regarded her reflection. She looked much more like her childhood self that way. For the first time, I saw the little girl I’d known looking back at me. “I don’t know why I do this, why I make myself look like I do. Nobody likes it.”

“I think you’ve got quite a good fashion sense,” I said. “
I
rather like it. It’s different, but there’s nothing wrong with being different, and it is quite good.”

“I wanted you to like me so much,” she said quietly. “I want everybody to like me, but then just as I get to where I think I can do that, I stop myself. I don’t know why. I think, I can put this on—like it’s some dress or something—and everyone will think it’s very pretty. But then some other part of me stops me. I put it away and try something different, something I know is going to drive everyone nuts. I
know
what to do. I
want
to do it. But I never can.”

I smiled gently. “That’s just being a teenager. It goes with the territory.”

“No,” she replied. “Maybe in most cases, but not in mine. Because I’ve done it all my life. Even when I was little, even when I was dying inside for people to like me, I never could do those things that would make it easy for them.”

Afternoon came and with it the need to confront and resolve Alejo’s abduction. The phone had been ringing all morning and it was finally decided that everyone, including Sheila, would meet at the clinic. Feelings were still running high and I sensed that police action remained a distinct possibility, but I took it as a good sign that everyone wanted to meet and talk the matter through before turning it over to the authorities.

At home with me, Sheila was visibly worried. If the term “clingy” could be applied to a fourteen-year-old, that’s what she was, trailing after me from room to room in the apartment. She worried about her hair and her clothes, bit her fingernails and wrung her hands, although she never directly addressed the matter on any more than a superficial level.

“We’ll take it one moment at a time,” I said, as we got into the car.

“I was just trying to do what I thought was right,” she murmured. “That’s what’s so awful. I wanted to do the right thing.”

“I know, lovey.” Putting the key into the ignition, I reached across the seat to her. “Come here.” I drew her in close in a hug. The years melted away when I did that. Suddenly she was
tiny again and the need to protect her made me feel tigerish.

The hug had the same effect on Sheila. She looked at me as I started the car and pulled out of the drive. “Know what that reminds me of? Remember that time I got into that teacher’s classroom and wrecked it?”

“Yes.”

“Remember afterward? You took me into that little teensy room and I can remember sitting on your lap. I was so scared. What happened? Did the principal whack me or something? I don’t really remember that, but I remember it being afterward and you took me in there and held me on your lap.”

I nodded.

“I felt so horrible. Just empty inside, like someone had pulled all my guts out. And then you held me. It was dark in there, I can remember that, and I can remember laying against you and feeling your arms, and how you just slowly sort of filled me up again.”

Looking across at her, I smiled. “Yes, I remember that well.”

A silence came then. It was bright and sunny, the kind of summer day meant for going out on the lake or having a church picnic, and it contrasted sharply with the tense mood in the car. I was watching the traffic and thinking loosely about picnics and how hot it might get, while at the same time never losing completely the reverberations of Sheila’s earlier conversation.

“You remember that well,” I said suddenly, as the realization dawned on me. “I mean, given how little you were remembering.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “It comes back to me. Not in continuous memories, but jigs and jags of it. I don’t know why. Things just turn up in my mind.”

The meeting included the Banks-Smiths, of course, along with Dr. Rosenthal, Jeff and Dr. Freeman, as well as Sheila’s father. Much to their credit, Mr. and Dr. Banks-Smith greeted Sheila with calm understanding. Dr. Rosenthal presided over the small group around the conference table, his soft-spoken civility contributing significantly to the overall composure of the group, but Mr. and Dr. Banks-Smith impressed me.

From them we heard that Alejo was home, tired but safe and happy. He had spent a good night, eaten well that morning and was enjoying cartoons now at his grandmother’s house. Dr. Freeman had stopped over just after lunch to chat with Alejo and he felt that Alejo was none the worse for his ordeal. Indeed, he said he found Alejo friendly and chatty, wanting to show him a new toy.

“What we need to understand, Sheila, is why this happened,” Dr. Rosenthal said.

Sheila, beside me, lowered her head. She didn’t speak.

“It was wrong. I can see you know that already. Taking Alejo caused his parents a great deal of worry and we were very worried for your safety, as well as Alejo’s.”

“I know I caused a lot of trouble,” she mumbled, her head still down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Why did it happen?” Dr. Rosenthal asked.

“Because I thought …” She lifted her head and looked pointedly across the conference table at the Banks-Smiths. “Because I thought they were going to send Alejo away.”

“So you thought taking him would be better?”

Sheila nodded.

“Do you still think that?” Dr. Rosenthal asked.

For a long moment, Sheila didn’t answer. Hands in her lap, she twisted them and watched as her knuckles went white. Then finally she looked back over at him. “Yeah, I still think so.”

“What were you going to do with him?” Dr. Rosenthal asked Sheila.

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. But I wasn’t going to hurt him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, I didn’t think you would,” Dr. Rosenthal replied.

Taking a deep breath, Sheila looked up. “I’m already in trouble, so I might as well say what I think.” She turned to the Banks-Smiths. “Don’t send Alejo back. He can’t help the way he is. He’s just a little boy. He doesn’t know that not being smart isn’t acceptable, that because things happened to him to make him damaged, he isn’t as good as other boys.”

It was the Banks-Smiths’ turn to lower their heads. I saw Dr. Banks-Smith’s eyes fill with tears.

“I didn’t mean to cause a lot of upset. I didn’t think I would, because I thought you didn’t want him anymore anyway,” she said.

“That isn’t true,” Dr. Banks-Smith said tearfully. “We do love him. We’re not sending him anywhere.”

Mr. Banks-Smith nodded. “I’m sorry we made you think we didn’t love him, Sheila. I suppose if there’s any good to come out of this, it’s been to show us how much we do.”

In the end, the Banks-Smiths decided not to press any charges against Sheila. Indeed, they responded generously to her throughout the meeting, making me suspect that perhaps Dr. Rosenthal had had a private discussion with them about Sheila’s own circumstances. Whatever, it was one of those rare occasions when pain and fear give way to growth. I think we all came out of the experience better people.

In talking to Sheila’s dad after the meeting ended, I offered to let Sheila come back with me for the rest of the day and said I would drive her home to Broadview that evening. He had been totally silent throughout the whole proceedings, and his reticence remained. I suspect he had been braced for trouble with the authorities and hadn’t quite taken in the fact that things had come out all right. Whatever, he appeared vaguely confused by the whole works and seemed not to care too much one way or another where or when Sheila turned up. It did cross my mind then to wonder whether or not he was high or coming off a high.

Sheila, too, seemed stunned by the decision to let things drop. I had expected jubilation from her and the desire to celebrate, but found instead a deep
quietness. That, and a desire to touch me. Standing in the conference room as we talked to her father, she slipped her arm through mine and leaned against me. Smiling, I put my arm around her shoulder and she then grabbed me in a warm hug.

I hugged her back, but then started to pull apart. Sheila kept ahold of me. “This feels good,” she murmured. “Don’t let go. I don’t want to lose you again.”

I fell back on old favorites and took Sheila out for a pizza, then bowling. I think she was probably still exhausted from her ordeal, because she didn’t play at all well, but she seemed to have a good time. Coming out of the bowling alley, I noticed Walt Disney’s
Jungle Book
advertised at the multiplex theater across the street at the shopping mall. Impulsively, I asked her if she wanted to go see it. So we did.

By the time we came out from the movie it was dark, and I knew I ought to get Sheila home, particularly as it was a good hour’s drive down to Broadview.

The first ten minutes of the drive passed in pleasant chatter, as we discussed the movie, but then silence descended on us. I could sense Sheila’s tiredness by that point and, lulled by the ride, I felt no need to talk. The miles ticked by. I came to the outskirts of the city. The freeway lighting ceased and we plunged into country darkness.

I was thinking as we sped through the darkness, and it occurred to me that despite the traumas of
the last few days, or perhaps because of them, my relationship with Sheila was the best it had been since we were reunited. While it had been a harrowing day in many ways, it had been emotionally rewarding as well.

“You won’t do it again, will you?” Sheila asked softly. “That’s all behind us now, huh?”

I looked over at her.

She sat with her head resting against the shoulder strap. She gazed ahead into the darkness. “I remember that night.”

Racking my brain to recall what she might be referring to, I finally gave up. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” I said.

“Well, you know. That night you left me. When you went.”

“When I went? Where?”

Sheila straightened up in her seat and looked over at me. “You remember, of course you do. Remember, I was fooling around in the car and you stopped it and made me get out.”

“When?”

“When I was little. When I was in your class, when the class was over. That night.” An agitated note had come into her voice. “You had me in the car, you had everybody in the car. What were you doing?” She asked this last question more of herself than me. “Taking us out? For a good time? Like tonight. Like you’re doing tonight.”

I puzzled a moment, trying to recollect what she might be talking about, but the only time I had ever had Sheila out in a car at night was when
Chad and I had taken her for pizza after the hearing. “I don’t think that was me,” I ventured.