If Loving You Is Wrong (12 page)

There was a price for the charm and personality that made Mrs. Letourneau's reputation as a “fun and creative” teacher. It was a price paid by other teachers. Mary Kay almost never made it to a meeting on time—from the very beginning of her tenure at Shorewood. When she'd arrive late for class, she'd shrug it off with a laugh and the look that all harried mothers know....
Day care problems, you know!

It was nothing for Mary to phone a staff member after eleven in the evening to check on something related to an event or project. In truth, few minded. They understood that with two, three, then four children, she had her hands full at home. From what her colleagues could tell, Steve almost always worked nights and often on the weekends, leaving his wife with the lion's share of the day-to-day family responsibilities. She had to feed the children, put them to bed and get them ready for school the next day. If she was at wit's end getting everything done, then she was like a million other working mothers.

Mary had a reputation for staying up all night working on report cards for conferences and barely finishing them as the parents walked into the classroom. Receipts turned into the office for reimbursement were noted not because of their requested sums, but for the time noted on the bottom: “Kinko's copies, 2 A.M.” According to Mary, late-night hours had been a way of life for her even as young girl. It was the Schmitz way. And later in life, she said, it was nothing for her to call her mother or sister after midnight to find out they were just clearing the dinner dishes. Mary Kay was from a family of night owls.

“But Steve was never a part of that life, that late-night rhythm,” she said later. “Partly because of his work, but also because he just didn't function the way the rest of us did. The kids understood it. We all did.”

One teacher who taught some of Mary's former students noticed that every other paper was wrinkled, and had coffee and food stains spilled onto them. The stack of papers looked more like garbage than a sheaf of schoolwork.

But in time, over the years of missed meetings and unfulfilled staff responsibilities, there was the feeling that Mary Letourneau was given special privileges. She was given more slack than just about anyone at Shorewood. One time when she was scheduled to give a portion of a presentation at a staff meeting, she did not arrive.

“Oh, you know Mary, she's on Mary's time,” said the principal as if being on time was not important. Others had families, too. Others had places to go. It was irritating and unfair. But even so, for the most part, the staff liked her. She was so very likable.

When his wife made the move from one classroom to another, Steve Letourneau came to Shorewood to help. Her room was overloaded with stuff another teacher wouldn't imagine saving.

“There were papers that she had from kids two and three years prior. These kids are fifth-graders now, why do you want to hang on to that? It was something tangible she wanted to keep,” said a teacher who was there the day of a classroom move.

It was also a sign of a woman so on the go she didn't have time for the most rudimentary of housekeeping chores. A cat box in the corner of the classroom was fetid with feces. The cat Mary had adopted to help illustrate a story she was reading with the class had been gone for more than a year.

Chapter 17

IDENTICAL TWINS AMBER and Angie Fish and their mother Joy, and older sister Lisa, were making a fresh start at Carriage Row when they moved into condominium unit 108 in 1990. The Letourneaus, in 109, were their next-door neighbors. That first day, when the twins returned a naked three-year-old Mary Claire home after the little girl went calling for the neighbors that had just vacated the Fish condo, they met Mary Kay. She was pretty and sweet and in need of some help. Too young for mall jobs, too young for boyfriends, and stuck in the south Seattle suburbs, Amber and Angie answered yes in unison when Mary Kay asked if they wanted to baby-sit. And from that day forward, the dark-haired, dark-eyed look-alikes would come to view Mary Kay, Steve, and their growing brood as close as family. But for the twins, the jewel of 109 was Mary Kay. It was more than that she was beautiful and blond, though most preteens would have held her in high regard for the physical perfection she exemplified. For the Fish twins their love of Mary Kay came from how she treated them and the way she showed a personal interest in them. She was more like a friend than some grown-up.

“I thought she was really young,” Amber Fish recalled some years later. “I always thought she was really young in how she looked and acted. She always made us feel older when we talked to her. She respected us. She talked to us all the time. We always felt like we were on a real communicative level with her.”

Angie agreed with her twin.

“She would go down to our level. She made me feel like an adult when I was thirteen or fourteen. I think it was because she asked our opinions about the kids. She didn't just say, 'You need to do this and this... ' She asked for our input. When we were there she had us interact with the family so we felt more superior, on her level.”

The Fish girls also adored Steve Letourneau. At twenty-eight, the handsome man was in perfect shape, outgoing, and fun to be around. Their adoration went deeper. With their father out of the picture, the girls' only male role model was Steve. He was the other half of the perfect family that had been missing in their own lives. Steve spent time with his children, worked in the garage, and redid the kitchen cabinets.

Amber Fish later wondered if what she had seen in those early days was an illusion.

“I thought they were the perfect family. That's what was so shocking about it. We knew there were arguments and disagreements, but they were beautiful, all-American people. I really thought they were honestly the perfect family. They were bustin' ass,” she said.

The condition of the Letourneau household was the opposite of the Fish family's condo. If Joy Fish kept a stable, spotless, and orderly home for her three daughters, Mary Kay's house was utter chaos. All day; all night. Nothing happened on schedule. Dinner was served at ten P.M. SO often that the twins thought nothing of smelling the barbecue smoke wafting into their bedroom at that late hour.

Steve's making dinner again.

Piles of school papers, toys, and books grew in every place possible, from the kitchen to the living room to the bathroom to the risers leading upstairs. Sometimes Mary Kay asked the girls to come over to help her get organized. While the house was cluttered, Mary Kay was positively fanatical about cleanliness at that time.

“She hated dirt and dust. If there were crumbs on the table, the minute she walked into the house she grabbed a sponge to wipe up any crumbs,” Angie said later.

When Mary Kay needed help grading papers, she sometimes turned to the neighbor girls and the three would be up until two A.M. carefully reviewing student papers. A few times the Fish girls stayed the night because it was just too late to go home.

The girls chalked up the perpetual chaos to the different schedules of a two-income family. Steve worked a late shift at Alaska Airlines and Mary Kay was a schoolteacher with work that was carted home because there was not enough time in the day to get it done.

And throughout the maelstrom of their lives, it was clear that Mary Kay had the upper hand. Steve was a follower.

“It was Mary Kay's way or no way, basically,” Amber said later. “They did what Mary Kay wanted to do.”

Only once did the girls see Steve lay down the law. When Mary Kay cut her finger and wanted to go to the emergency room, Steve told her no.

“They fought about it forever. I remember she got so pissed. She was bleeding and bleeding and bleeding. And Steve was, like, 'You're not going to the emergency room for that!' “

The Fish girls figured it was a money thing. Money always seemed to be tight—at least cash was hard to come by. Whenever it came time to pay the girls for baby-sitting Mary Kay would say Steve would pay them. Steve would say Mary Kay would pay them. It was the old “check's in the mail” without the need to involve the postal service.

The girls didn't care. Whenever they were paid they were paid well, but the money didn't matter. The Letourneau condo was a hangout, a place to gather with the all-American family and share their dreams or problems. Mary Kay was always willing to engage in long discussions with the girls.

“We used to talk to her all the time, and she'd get so sidetracked,” Angie recalled. “We'd talk about one thing and five minutes later a whole new subject would come up. We spent a lot of time over there.”

To hear Steve's grandmother tell it, Mary Kay was a selfish girl who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. What she wanted most, besides attention, was money. Grandma Nadine would never forget the time Mary Kay told her and her other daughter that Sharon should fork over the bucks she “should have paid for child support” when Sharon and Dick Letourneau split up.

Nadine bristled. Sharon had paid for plenty, and Steve and Stacy Letourneau never went without anything because she didn't support them. Besides, it wasn't any concern of Mary's.

“But she wanted to make it her business. She wanted the money,” Nadine said later.

“It was money that she should have paid for Steve to go to college,” Mary insisted.

Nadine looked at her and snapped, “Look, Steven is married. What do you mean?”

“She should be paying for his college education.”

“She doesn't owe him anything. For your information, you've got it all wrong. Who paid for yours?”

“Grants, student loans,” Mary Kay said.

“Which Steven is still paying for! Loans after loans!”

“Well, I differ,” Mary Kay said.

Nadine had had it with her grandson's wife.

“You can differ all you want, little girl, but I really don't care,” she said.

By the spring of 1991, Mary Kay was twenty-nine and expecting her third baby. She loved being pregnant. She was not one of those complainers about morning sickness, feeling bloated or fat. In fact, she seemed to thrive on the pregnancies.

“She was cute pregnant,” Angie Fish recalled. “She had all these cool maternity outfits.”

Amber corrected her sister. Those weren't maternity clothes at all.

“All
the clothes she wore could be worn as maternity clothes. A lot of the time she would wear Steve's T-shirt with pants. She wore her 'maternity clothes' even when she wasn't pregnant, like a red jumper. She could pull it off.”

Chapter 18

MANY OF THE neighbors at Carriage Row would agree that Mary Kay and Steve Letourneau and their children were nothing short of a beautiful family, all golden. Even so, no one could deny that the Letourneau children were allowed to run around the complex with little supervision. It wasn't that Mary Kay really lost track of her kids. As one neighbor put it, “They were in different directions.” Life at the Letourneaus' was tumultuous. It would become even more so in September of 1991 when Mary Kay and Steve prepared to welcome their third child. As always, there was never enough time to get everything done. Mary Kay even worked the morning she went into labor.

“Steve,” said Shorewood's principal at the time, when she reached him on the phone, “you better get in here and get Mary and get her to the hospital. If you don't, she's going to have the baby in the classroom.”

At ten pounds, Nicholas was Mary Kay's biggest baby.

Mary Kay told all her sitters that she had some rules. The kids didn't get any junk food. No one could chew mint gum in the house (“I hate the smell!”) No soda pop. For snacks, she preferred graham crackers, honey, and lots of cheese. In fact, the Letourneaus often made the trek to Costco to buy a mammoth brick of cheddar and a stack of tortillas for quesadillas—a family standby. Halloween candy was rationed for more than a month. And the kids seldom had McDonald's or other fast food, unless someone other than their parents took them.

There were plenty more “Letourneauisms,” according to the Fish twins. “Bum” was used for “butt” or “bottom.” Rules were posted on the fridge and children were marched over to the refrigerator for refresher courses in how to get along. Art was loved. Music was played. And fun always ruled.

Amber Fish defended Mary Kay later when people questioned her parenting skills.

“I still think she was an awesome mother, but as far as running the house it was really hectic.”

The family tried having pets a few times, but given the way the Letourneaus ran the house, they couldn't make a go of taking care of anything. It was hard enough to take care of themselves. A pair of rabbits lasted a few months, before going over to live at the Fish condo.

But more than anything, the biggest factor in their lives was their inability to make it anywhere on time. Mary Kay, friends used to joke, would be a day late to her own funeral. Like others who would come in and out of their lives, the twins learned Letourneau Time. No one bore the brunt of the tardiness more than the baby-sitters. They learned to add an hour or two to Steve and Mary Kay's estimated return time, but even that usually wasn't enough. And most annoying of all, there was never a call to say they were running late.

Amber blew it off and accepted the tardiness as “just the way they were,” but Angie let it get to her.

No one else's time seemed to matter.