She went and opened it, surprised to see Sam’s mom. “Miss Schechter . . .”
Sam’s mom walked in. “I hope it’s okay for me to come. I just . . .”
She started shaking, and Stephanie took her into her arms as she broke down. A few inches shorter than Stephanie, she sobbed into her chest, and all Stephanie could say through her own tears was, “I know . . . I know . . .”
“I’m sorry,” Sam’s mother said. She took a step back, wiping tears, chest heaving still.
“I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling,” Stephanie said. “Let’s sit down.”
Stephanie led her by hand to the sofa, grabbing the box of tissues from the coffee table and placing it between them.
Sam’s mother blew her nose, then wiped more tears. Stephanie waited.
“I guess I want to say thank you for . . . for what you did for my little girl. I was reading this yesterday”—she dug into her purse and pulled out a journal—“and she said . . . she wished you were her mother.”
“Oh, Miss Schechter, I’m so sorry. I never meant for her to—”
“No, no.” She shook her head. “And call me Teri. No, it’s my fault. She wrote everything in there. I had no idea. All about what a terrible mother I am. I mean, she didn’t
say
that. She made excuses for me half the time. But when I read the things I said and did, I said to myself, what kind of mother was I?” More tears came. “And there’s nothing I can do about it now.”
“Teri, please don’t do this to yourself. Any mistakes you made are behind you now.”
She was shaking her head again. “They’re not behind me.” She sniffed. “A reporter called yesterday and said something about me finding her and calling the ambulance. He just assumed I had, and I didn’t correct him.” She was lightly wringing her hands. “I didn’t want to admit I was with my boyfriend. When she needed me most, I wasn’t there . . . again.”
“There was no way you could have known she needed you,” Stephanie said.
“You did.” She gave Stephanie a quick glance and went back to focusing on her hands. “You were tuned in. And the bad part is I cut her off from you because I was jealous that she liked you better.”
“No, Teri, that’s not true. She loved you. She wanted to please you. I was simply able to be there for her as a friend.”
“Well . . . that’s sort of why I’m here,” she said. “I wondered if I could ask you a favor.”
“Anything,” Stephanie said.
“I’m planning a memorial service at the funeral home for Friday. I wondered if you could give the message . . . or whatever they call it . . . say some words about Sam.”
Stephanie’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m not a minister or any kind of speaker. I couldn’t do that.”
“But you knew my Sam, and she loved you.” Teri looked at her. “Doesn’t have to be fancy. Just words from your heart.”
Stephanie suddenly had a different reason for turning it down.
Just thinking about it made her emotional. There was no way she could get through something like that. Still, how could she say no to speaking from the heart about Sam?
She sighed. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“And I have a bigger favor.”
“Okay . . .”
“You know how sometimes on the news when something happens, a family friend talks to the news people?”
Stephanie had no clue where this was going. “Yes, I’m familiar with that.”
“I wondered if you could be the family friend.”
It took a moment for her request to register. “You want me to talk to the news people?”
“I can’t take all the phone calls, and some of ‘em even come to the house. I don’t know what to say or how to say it.” She looked intently at Stephanie. “You would represent my Sam well.”
“Teri, I don’t have experience with that. I’ve never been on the news, wouldn’t know how to handle the questions . . . That’s way too much.”
“I just thought,” she said, “you could tell people who she was.”
Whether she knew it or not, Teri had aimed straight for Stephanie’s heart. She also heard Libby’s words from yesterday.
“You
can tell her story.”
Stephanie nodded. “When you put it that way,” she said, “I’d love to represent Sam. I’m honored that you trust me to do that.”
“I want to warn you,” Teri said. “There’ll be a lot of calls and such.”
“I know. Let me get my phone, and we’ll exchange contact information.”
She got it, and the women took one another’s phones and put in their own information.
“I want you to have this.” Teri put the journal in her hands. “That’ll tell you who Sam was like nothing else.”
Stephanie held it gently. “You want me to . . .
have
it, as in keep it? I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can.” Teri got up to leave. “When you read it, you’ll see why you can.” She headed for the door.
“Teri, can I ask you a question?”
She turned. “Yeah?”
“What happened that turned you against the churches in town?”
“It’s a pretty straight story,” she said. “I got pregnant senior year in high school, and my momma sent me to Hope Springs to live with my grandma, who went to Calvary. I got stares for being pregnant, and more stares when they saw Sam had some color to her.” She took out cigarettes and held them. “I stopped going. Decided to try New Jerusalem. Got stares like people were wondering if I took a wrong turn or something.” She threw up her hands. “I said, I don’t need none of y’all.”
Stephanie nodded. “I would’ve said the same thing. But I sure wish you’d give either one a try again. You’re more than welcome to come with me to New Jerusalem one Sunday. If you get one stare, I’ll punch ‘em in the nose.”
Teri’s eyes smiled. “I see why Sam loved you.” She opened the door—“I’ll be in touch”—and was gone.
Stephanie stared at the journal in her hands. She’d curl up with it in a quiet place with some hot tea . . . and a box of tissues.
C
harley walked in from a long and heart-wrenching day at school, their first since the tragedy. On her way upstairs to her room, she heard animated voices in the kitchen and stopped. Sounded like her mom and Grandpa Skip were going at it with Ben. No telling what the latest was. She went to see.
“How could you be so stupid?” Grandpa Skip was saying. “You’ve ruined your life. You know that, don’t you? Bad enough you were expelled from school, football future gone. Now this? Your life is over.”
Ben sat slumped at the kitchen table, arms crossed, legs fully extended, saying nothing.
“Son, what do you have to say about this?” Dottie said. “Tell us you have a defense. Tell us it’s not what it seems.”
Ben cut his eyes over at her. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It is what it is, Mom.”
Charley was standing in the middle of the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
Her mom turned to her. “Your brother’s attorney just left.
Apparently the video that was confiscated from Ben’s room clearly shows him forcing himself upon that girl despite her pleas for him to stop.” She looked at Ben. “Of course he edited all of that out when he posted it online. Oh, and the other nice revelation was that he’d recorded himself and Kelsey too.” She eyed her son. “Probably the same night he claimed they were only watching a movie.”
“You are an absolute idiot,” Grandpa Skip said. “You filmed your own crime. You
handed
them evidence against you.”
Ben was stoic, refusing to look at him.
Charley joined them at the table. “So what happens now?”
“Lawyer’s talking plea agreement,” Dottie said. “But Ben will likely still have to serve several years.”
“I don’t know if we give up like that, though,” Grandpa Skip said. “I believe in fighting to the bitter end.”
“You’ve got to be kidding, Skip,” Dottie said. “If he takes it to trial, he’ll get nailed. It’ll be about more than the sexual assault. It’ll be about the video and the suicide. They’ll throw the book at him.” Her head fell in her hands. “I can’t believe this is happening. It’s an absolute nightmare.” She looked at Charley. “We got more hateful phone calls today from area codes all over the country. I don’t even know how they’re getting our number. I’m afraid for Ben’s life.”
“That Stephanie London’s to blame, if you ask me,” Skip said. “How did she get a voice in this thing, anyway? The minute she started carrying on about this girl’s life, the media blew it up into a big sympathetic story.” He looked up at the television in the kitchen where the news was on but the sound turned down. “Why do you keep this on? It’s maddening.”
“I want to hear what they’re saying,” Dottie said. “
I’m
moved by this poor girl’s story. We’re saying Ben’s life is ruined. At least he’s still got a life.” She turned to Ben. “How could you
do
that to her?”
Skip stared at her. “This is not the time to get emotional, Dottie. We’ve got to stay focused on the task at hand—”
“Well, what exactly is the task at hand, Skip?” Dottie said. “Protect Ben at all cost? Or no, protect the family. Right? Because everything’s justifiable if done in the name of protecting family. Even threatening a young man’s life with a gun to his face.”
“I told you I only
showed
him the gun.”
Charley was ready to get up and leave. She couldn’t bear to hear any justification for what he’d done.
“
Showing
the gun was despicable enough,” Dottie said. “But I’m sorry, I have a hard time believing your version of the events after talking to Marcus.”
“What?” Charley turned to her mother. “When did you talk to Marcus?”
“I met with him at the school today,” Dottie said. “And that was
after
I met with Pastor Todd.”
Skip looked incensed. “Now wait a minute, Dottie. Just what do you think you’re doing?”
Dottie gave an exasperated sigh. “What I’m doing is getting a handle on my family.” Her voice broke. “For too long, I looked to you to lead this family in George’s stead. I
trusted
you. But my eyes are opened now, Skip. You haven’t even led Calvary well.” She looked pained. “I talked to Todd about the decision to remove you as elder—”
“Which they won’t get away with,” Skip said.
“And he gave me an earful about a visit you paid to his granddad over thirty years ago. Remember that? About the relationship between Todd’s father, Jim, and Gwynn Sanders next door?”
“Of course I remember it. What about it?”
“What about it? You said the relationship had to end. And it worked, Skip. It ended. And do you know what the result was?”
Skip only looked at her.
“The result was that Gwynn left, had her baby up north, and neither she nor her daughter have had any real relationship with the rest of their family.”
Skip’s expression was dismissive. “Surely Todd doesn’t have a problem with the fact that I intervened. If it weren’t for me, his dad and Gwynn would’ve gotten married, and Todd would’ve never been born.”
The look in her mom’s eyes was one Charley had never seen. “That’s just it, Skip. It’s not up to you to determine people’s futures. I guess you think it all worked out just fine that Charley and Marcus broke up. So what if you threatened a man’s life to make it happen.”
Charley had to interject. “What happened with you and Marcus?”
“I asked for his side of the story,” Dottie said, “and despite what he’d been through, he was calm and respectful. Said he’d never had a moment of fear like that in his life, gun aimed at his temple, his life at the mercy of another.”
“Give me a break. It wasn’t that dramatic.” Skip looked away. “I never would’ve pulled the trigger.”
Dottie threw up her hands. “So you’re admitting you aimed it at him?” She sighed and turned back to Charley. “Sweetheart, I apologized to Marcus, and I’m apologizing to you, for my part. He seems to be a wonderful man. I’m sorry for not embracing him from the start. Maybe the two of you could’ve weathered all of this if you’d had more support.”
Charley had thought the same herself. “I appreciate that, Mom, but I don’t know. Maybe I was being naïve to think it could work.”
The television screen caught her eye. “Hey, look, there’s Stephanie.” Charley looked for the remote. “I haven’t caught her on TV yet.”
Skip groaned. “I’m heading home.”
Charley found it and turned it up.
“You had gotten close to her in the last two months of her life,” the reporter was saying.
The camera had a close shot of him with Stephanie, but Charley could tell they were in front of Sam’s house.
“Yes, that’s right.” Stephanie faced the reporter. “I was a substitute teacher at the high school, and the very first day we had lunch together. A little while after that, she began spending time at my home.”
“When we see her picture with that infectious smile and that gorgeous curly hair, it’s hard to believe she was apparently quiet, shy, and practically friendless. What drew you to her?”
“This is so wild,” Charley muttered. “Stephanie’s on CNN.”
Stephanie smiled at the memory. “At first my heart went out to her because she was alone,” she said. “But as I got to know her, and she started coming out of her shell, and that infectious smile turned to infectious laughter, I fell in love with that girl. And what I loved about her was she didn’t mind being a girl, acting silly, playing dolls with younger girls. She was just . . . so sweet . . .” She fought the emotion. “I’m sorry. You’d think I’d stop getting choked up talking about her.”