Second Chance Reunion Read online

  “You’re probably right.”

  “God, if I still had the Babemobile, I’d let you borrow that. Simple, just a big bed and a galley kitchen and a head.”

  “And more of your DNA in it than anything else in the world. No thanks, that wouldn’t work, Coop. What are you doing, trying to get me divorced before the wedding?” He was laughing now, at Coop’s expense.

  But the big-hearted man of steel was laughing too.

  “Talk about pasts. See, I wasn’t so bright, was I?”

  “It worked out, though.”

  “As it will for you, son,” he said as he put his arm around Damon’s shoulders. “Can I buy you breakfast? I’m starved.”

  Well, he wasn’t any closer to deciding what to get Martel for Valentine’s Day, but the idea of a hearty breakfast with some decent coffee sounded perfect right now.

  “Coop, you just know the right thing to say, don’t you?” Damon said as they scrambled to their feet.

  “I try. Goddammit, I try.”

  Chapter 2

  Martel waited for the parents of one of her students. Her shared office seemed a little cramped and small today, due to the clutter of papers and reference books she and her office mate and best friend, Kaitlyn, had collected over the school year. It was going to be a task to extricate herself from this little den, where she had shared so much with Kate—the person she came to visit some six years ago—and part of the reason she stayed in Florida, abandoning her California roots.

  The space was filled with as many memories as papers and books.

  This would be the last year she would be teaching here. It was the ending of a long and enjoyable partnership with Kaitlyn. Combined, the two of them were the most popular teachers at the school. A part of her wanted to stay forever here, but her sensible, forward-thinking part knew she belonged in San Diego with Damon and the new life they would be restarting there.

  At least, that’s what she told herself. It was a day-by-day thing. Leaving the Gulf beach community sometimes felt like she was giving up something too precious to be able to recover from—but she’d done that already and survived. If she told herself this over and over again, eventually she’d not have those doubts. But it still felt sometimes like jumping from the skydiving plane into the blue unknown that beautiful day with Damon, flying through the sky in tandem with his careful guidance, then coming to a safe landing. She hoped it would turn out that way. But often hope needed help.

  Tomorrow morning she’d be off to San Diego to spend Valentine’s Day with Damon, and then she’d fly to Palo Alto the day after to visit their daughter for the first time. She was excited, nervous, and now, irritated as she tapped her fingers on the folder she’d prepared for the parent-teacher conference.

  Often, she would meet with parents in the classroom, but in this instance, she needed the privacy of the office where she could close the door. The discussion she needed to have with the parents had to be in private, due to the nature of the meeting. These weren’t what she had expected when she got her teaching credential. She wasn’t basking in the happy, fresh-faced adoring gaze from a room full of active young minds full of life, soaking up her every word. That was the part of teaching she loved.

  This was the hard part. The part no teacher ever wanted to have.

  A full twenty minutes late, the young couple appeared in her doorway. Mrs. Gibbs wore cut-off jeans a little too short for her hefty legs, and a halter top because it was a warm day in February. Mr. Gibbs wore a dirty light green tee shirt with a construction logo on it, and jeans equally as soiled. Even his hands were stained as he extended for the obligatory shake. Mrs. Just sat down in the chair and asked Martel if she could smoke.

  “I’m sorry, no. The whole campus is non-smoking, Mrs. Gibbs.”

  The young mother rolled her dirty blonde head back and forth, the French braid the only part of her appearance that was done with care. Martel immediately had a bad feeling about the outcome of the discussion she needed to have.

  “So, I have some concerning news and I want to let you know that I have not spoken to the administrator about this yet, but I intend to. And, based on our discussion here this afternoon, I may be speaking to other authority as well.”

  “About what?” Mrs. Gibbs barked. Her frown was ugly. Her skin was over-baked from the sun and lined before her years. She was missing two teeth on her upper right side. She would have been pretty if she’d taken a little more care, Martel noted.

  Mr. Gibbs sat stoically like he was about to get hit by a train.

  “I think your daughter is exhibiting behavior I’ve seen before in young preteens who have experienced some kind of sexual abuse, and I—”

  Mrs. Gibbs was on her feet. “No way, missy. You don’t give me that crap. We may be poor, but we’re good people. We don’t abuse our children.”

  Martel knew they had five at home all under the age of ten. Her student, Cora, was their eldest.

  “I didn’t say you abuse your children, Mrs. Gibbs. Now, would you like to sit down, or should we move this discussion to the Administrator’s office?”

  The young mother dutifully sat, her steely eyes struggling with thoughts Martel knew she didn’t want to have. She and her husband avoided each other’s attention.

  “Let me explain. And then maybe, the three of us can figure out what our next step is. First, I’m required by law to report anything I see that could be viewed as abuse to higher authorities. I’m sure you’ve noticed some of the bruises she has on her arms and legs. She came to school last week with a shiner and tried to cover it up with makeup. Several boys from the class teased her about it, and I sat her inside the classroom during recess and tried to have a discussion with her.”

  “You have no right to talk to our daughter without our permission,” the mother started in again. “In fact, maybe we should pull her out and find another school.”

  “I’m not your enemy, Mrs. Gibbs. I’m trying to help Cora. I’m trying to help the two of you. I think we need to pay attention to several things I’ve observed.”

  “So, a kid can’t be clumsy? She runs into things,” said the woman who herself had a very large bruise at her wrist as if someone had yanked on it. Martel knew it was possible the mother didn’t want to come to terms with just what was happening in their home for her own set of reasons.

  “There’s more than just the bruising.” Martel tried to make eye contact with Cora’s father, but was unable to. His eyes were downcast. Martel’s heart sank.

  Mrs. Gibbs stood, nervously. “I gotta have a cigarette. Where can I go?”

  “You can go sit in your car and have one, if you like.”

  “Gimme the keys,” she said to her husband, again without looking him in the eyes. She held her hand out, and Martel saw the obvious signs of a knife cut nearly three inches long, extending from her wrist toward her elbow joint.

  When Mrs. Gibbs left, the door remained open, which was a blessing, Martel thought. She heard sounds of birds who had built nests in the upper reaches of the hallway outside. There were sounds of a lawnmower and a leaf blower, the sounds of children playing outside, and cars from a nearby expressway. She focused on the world going by outside, a world she wanted to run into and enjoy.

  He was silent, crossed his legs, balanced his chin on his fingers and continued to stare at the ground.

  “Are the two of you having troubles?” she asked him. She chastised herself for asking something perhaps too personal.

  He gave her a half smile. “You could say that.” He shifted his legs again. “My wife’s a very disturbed woman. She tries. Good hearted. But she’s damaged goods.” For the first time, he peered back at her. “I didn’t do any of that. I keep the kids away from her family as much as possible.”

  “Her wrist—”

  “Yes, that happened about five years ago. She spent some time in the hospital after our third was born. She even tried to give the baby away.”

  Martel felt the hackles at the back of
her neck rise. Perspiration dripped from her armpits and soaked her silk dress. A dull ache in her belly twisted her insides. She was flooded with visions of holding Ainsley, before she knew she was Ainsley, smelling her little pink face and fingers, heartbroken that she would probably never see her again. Her nineteen-year-old self had suffered too, but in a much different way. But it was still suffering. She’d cried herself to sleep the week before she delivered, wanting to meet her baby, and not wanting to experience the separation she knew was coming, had all been planned out. If she hadn’t made all those arrangements, she never would have been able to say good-bye and hand the baby over to the childless couple who took her.

  The Newbergs.

  She wanted to ask Mr. Gibbs the question she’d heard so often spoken when people talked about adoption. “How could you—” But she knew it was always a different answer for every single person faced with the impossible choice. Polite conversations were had, even though people she talked to never knew she’d experienced it. She’d given her baby up and yet she’d found a way to live with that decision, telling herself it was for the best.

  And it was. It really was.

  But that was her story, just one of thousands every year.

  So, Martel didn’t ask. Instead, she gave Mr. Gibbs the out he probably deserved. “Being a parent can be very difficult. And the two of you have so many. I know it must be a struggle, even on a good day.”

  “There aren’t many good days anymore. Honestly, when I come home, I don’t know if she’ll be there. I think one day she’ll just take off. No warning. Just disappear. She’s not a very happy person.”

  “But your girls—all girls?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We kept trying for a boy. I got the girls genes and no boys in me.”

  “Well, it takes two, you know.”

  “No, it’s me. I can’t have boys. I know I can’t.”

  Martel was trying hard to stay positive, but her lower lip was quivering. She was about to burst into tears. She managed to get out, “Are you able to ask for help? There are agencies that do that, you know. Groups who help people who get overwhelmed with being parents. Classes you can take.”

  “Honey,” he said, his angry grey eyes squinting at her, “I only got a fourth-grade education. My classroom days are over.” He was sullen, then leaned toward the doorway. “Where the hell has she gone?”

  Martel could see Mrs. Gibbs talking to herself, walking across the lawn from the parking lot. “She’s coming. I see her.” Quickly, she drew out a pamphlet from her desk drawer, and handed it to him. “This is a group from a Christian church who help with this sort of thing. No classes. Just help. And no money.”

  He assumed his half smile again. “I don’t need anybody’s goddamned money. I’m no charity case.”

  Martel nodded. “I can clearly see that.” She let him meet her eyes. She wanted to smack him right across the mouth but worked very hard not to show it. But she did give him the stare just to make a point. “No shame in asking for help, think of your girls.”

  Before he could tuck the pamphlet into his pocket, Mrs. Gibbs ripped it from his fingers. “What’s this?”

  “Just a suggestion for the both of you. I know raising children—”

  “Do you have any kids?” Mrs. Gibbs interrupted.

  That was a difficult question to answer.

  “No.”

  “Then you can take your literature and shove it.” Mrs. Gibbs threw it down on the desk. Martel quietly slipped it back into the drawer from where it came.

  “Are you done?” Mr. Gibbs asked her.

  “No, I was just beginning. Please sit,” she directed the mother.

  “This is a fucking waste of time,” she said.

  Martel took a drink of water, sat up straight, and continued. “I found Cora today with her pants down around her ankles, standing behind the field shed. She was letting two boys touch her down there. That’s not the kind of behavior a fifth grader should be exhibiting. It means she’s learned it from someone else, perhaps an older child, or an adult. Probably a male. If I were her parents, I’d want to find out who that male is, and I’d want to get some help for Cora, or it may progress into something else much worse.” She watched the shocked expression on both their faces. She was glad this was news and not something they expected. “Because this person might be preying on others, maybe one of your other girls too. This type of behavior is learned, and it has to stop.”

  Mrs. Gibbs burst into tears. Martel had struck a nerve and the woman appeared to be reliving some pain from her past. She suspected it didn’t have anything to do with Cora, either. And, for the first time, she saw Mr. Gibbs show some tenderness for his wife. He placed his arm around her shoulder and wouldn’t let her shrug it off, even though she tried several times. Finally, she sunk into his shoulder and sobbed.

  He whispered something to her. Mrs. Gibbs shook her head violently in protest.

  He caught Martel’s eye. “So, what’s next? You call the cops? Because I have a past, when I was a dumb stupid kid,” Mr. Gibbs said, settling back into his chair, crossing his arms.

  “I don’t honestly know how all that works, but yes, I have to inform my Administrator, and then yes, the police will be notified. And Child Protective Services will want to interview her. But I’ll let them explain all that to you.” She scanned between the two parents. Mrs. Gibbs was wiping her face, her eyes red and puffy. She was very fragile and barely able to breathe without strain. Martel reached across the desk, holding out her hand for the woman to take. “Can I get you something? Can I call someone? Do you want to talk to someone right now, Mrs. Gibbs?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she quipped. Her legs were crossed, and her foot was bouncing rapidly. “That sonofabitch.” She turned to her husband. “Don’t you lay a hand on him, Roger or you’ll have the lot of them after me and the girls. Don’t you dare. We let the cops take care of him.”

  “So, you know who might have done this?” Martel asked.

  “I’m not admitting nothing,” the mother said. “Not a word of this to the girls,” she scolded her husband.

  “Lorene, they probably already know. Where the fuck have you been?”

  Martel realized she’d have to make a full report and she wished she’d asked her Administrator to sit in. This had been a huge mistake. But, if there was one thing she was thankful for, she didn’t think these two damaged parents were directly responsible for the abuse Cora was suffering under. But Martel guessed they were probably related to someone who was.

  That was going to be very tough for all of them. But it was something that fit an ugly pattern she’d studied.

  “Listen, I have no doubt someone will be in contact with you both very soon, maybe even tonight. Whatever help they offer, please take it. At least, that’s my advice, for what it’s worth.”

  “They’re gonna take the kids away,” Mrs. Gibbs whispered, covering her mouth with her fingers.

  “They’re going to want to protect them. Who is watching them now?”

  “My mom.”

  “You need to go home. And wait for the authorities.”

  “I’m supposed to get back to work, but I’ll pack it in today.”

  “Does Cora come back to school on Monday?” Mrs. Gibbs asked.

  “There’s no reason she can’t. She hasn’t been a danger to anyone but herself. However, we do have to thoroughly investigate, so let’s see what happens over the weekend. I think for her own good, I’ll keep her in with me during recess if she does. I don’t want any bullying or teasing going on at her expense. And of course, I won’t be saying anything to the other kids, just to my Administrator. I do believe the school is a safe place for your daughter. And we’ll keep a special eye on her. But I don’t know what the Administrator will want to do.”

  Mrs. Gibbs nodded.

  “I have your phone number and I’ll call you this weekend, if you want. And here’s my cell phone, give me a call if you need anything.”

&nbs
p; Mr. Gibbs stood and shook Martel’s hand again. “Can I have that brochure back?”

  “You bet. Here you go.”

  After they left, she watched them hug in the parking lot, get into their car, and then drive away. Martel chose to believe the young couple were of the same mind with the same purpose. But that was just a guess on her part.

  She called the Administrator, and after they met, he agreed to call the Pinellas County Sheriff’s department, as well as Social Services. He told her to fill out her incident report at home over a glass of wine and email it to him when she finished and admonished her to get it in this evening.

  “Next time don’t tackle this by yourself. One of the counselors would have sat in with you.”

  “Yes, I couldn’t find anyone, but you’re right. I worried too many strangers in the room would cause a negative reaction. But I can see that was a mistake.”

  “Go home, Martel. But get me that report, agreed?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Her hands were shaking on the drive back to her bungalow. She clutched the steering wheel like it was a lifeline, digging her nails into the black leatherette covering.

  She entered her living room, turned on some peaceful instrumental music, dumped her computer case and purse on the couch, kicked off her shoes, and poured herself a glass of white wine, taking one very long sip. She changed into a pair of sweats and treated her feet to her favorite pair of felt slippers.

  The late afternoon sun was beginning to melt low on the horizon, turning the sand and puffy clouds outside a deep rose-peach color. The bright glow reflected off her walls and warmed her face as she stood facing the sliding glass door overlooking the bay, sipping her wine. Her thoughts drifted back to the recollection she’d had of the baby in her arms all too briefly.

  Now twelve years old, Ainsley was slightly older than Cora was now. The discovery of the abuse today had shaken her all the way to the bottoms of her feet. If she had a magic wand, she could brush over the land, she’d make a perfect world for young girls like her daughter to live a normal life away from the fear of a predator. She had to help nail this person or persons. It was a rescue she was embarking on, even though Cora belonged to another family. She cared enough to stay involved until the case was solved, and then would need to care enough to walk away.