Whittaker 01 The Enemy We Know (19 page)

The viciousness inflicted on the doll fit, too. I picked her up. The sweetness of her face contrasted sharply with the image of the blade slicing through her from back to belly. I’d been ripped apart, too. A standin for someone else, target of an undeserved anger, helpless against the striking fist.

Suddenly determined, I rose and began digging through my junk drawer, searching for needle and thread. Not much for sewing, I dug out white, black, and a strange neon-orange thread that I must have bought when I was drunk. Not satisfied, I went to my bedroom dresser, rooting around the bottom section of my jewelry case where I threw the extra buttons that came with new sweaters. Lots of buttons and several lone, one-of-a-pair earrings, but no thread.

The buttons gave me another idea. I rummaged through the back of my closet, unearthing the heavily embroidered sweater that my brother Neil had given me four Christmases ago. I was pretty sure he had stolen it, and I’d never felt comfortable wearing it. Covered in elaborate, swirly, pink roses, I figured I could scavenge enough thread.

Sitting cross-legged on the couch, trying not to stab myself with the sharp needle, I made two vows. First, no one would
ever
know that I had so identified with a child’s toy that I was driven to repair the damage she’d suffered. I absolutely refused to consider what that meant about my own feelings of vulnerability and victimization.

And, second, that I’d named her Anna.

As I stitched, I brooded over the sonnet. The more I considered Wayne’s warped perception of love, the more worried for Carrie I became. Wayne had said she was no longer important. It didn’t take a master’s degree to understand that stabbing Anna in the back, skewering the sonnet to her chest, probably
didn’t
demonstrate Wayne’s acceptance of the end of their relationship.

Coming to a decision, I called the office and discovered Mary Kate manning the front desk for Saturday’s clients. I had her check Carrie’s file for the emergency contact. As I suspected, Carrie had listed her mother’s name and number. It took some effort to fend off Mary Kate’s curiosity, but I managed.

Feeling clever, I remembered to dial *67 to prevent my number from coming up on Carrie’s mom’s Caller ID. If I got her voice mail, I planned to hang up. My heart started pounding as a woman’s husky, smoker’s voice said, “Hello?”

“
Mrs. Torgenson?”

“
Maybe. Who’s this?”

“
My name is Violet Whittaker. I’ve worked with your daughter Carrie in counseling. She listed you as her emergency contact. Some things have happened recently that make me concerned regarding her physical safety. I understand that you can’t tell me her whereabouts, but do you know if she’s okay?”

She snorted. “Her ‘whereabouts’ ain’t a secret no more. As for if she’s okay, I’d say ‘yes,’ but prob’ly not for long.”

I let that sink in a minute. “She’s back with Wayne?”

“
She is. He’s
sorry
this time. Buncha bullshit, if you ask me. I never raised her to take crap from anyone, so don’t go and blame me. What makes you think she’s in trouble?”

“
Wayne’s been causing trouble for me,” I said. “At first, he was after me to find out where Carrie was, which I didn’t know anyway. But now it seems more … personal.”

“
Yeah, I saw the TV news. Now that he’s got Carrie back, he’s gonna concentrate on making you pay for running her off in the first place. By the way, you did good there. I wouldn’t be talkin’ to you if I wasn’t happy about her cuttin’ loose from him.”

“
Well, if she wants to, please have her call me at the clinic.”

“
Sure, but don’t hold your breath. He’s got her reined in tight all over again. Probably take another six years before she has enough. If she lives that long.”

A click told me she’d hung up, but I’d learned what I needed to know. Carrie was no longer important to Wayne because he had her back under his thumb. I figured his continued harassment served two purposes—revenge toward me for daring to help Carrie and a message to her about what would happen to others if she turned to anyone else in the future.

The next call came in around noon. It was Durrant letting me know that they had met with Wayne at his house.

“
Was he angry?” I asked. Stupid question, but it translated to: is he going to flip out over this, too?

“
He tried to play it off, but, yeah, I’d say so. Of course, he claimed that it was all a big misunderstanding, but they all do that. Nothing new there. Tell you what, though. For what it’s worth, my gut tells me he’ll back off a bit. For a while, anyway. Now, you can’t take that as a guarantee or anything, but he seems like he’s got just enough instinct for self-preservation to know that he’d be stupid to keep it up. He must’ve thought he had your hands tied pretty well over the AA thing—in fact, he brought it up—so he was real surprised that you’d taken this to the next level.”

“
What should I do next?”

“
You got my card. If anything else happens, call me directly and we’ll see what we can do next. And, hey, maybe I’ll stop in for a meeting or two. It’s been a while for me; it couldn’t hurt.”

I smiled. “I, for one, would love to see you there. I’ll save you a seat.” And I’d love to see Wayne’s face if Durrant walked in one night.

I spent the rest of the weekend doing laundry and feeling sorry for Carrie. I couldn’t imagine what had led her back to Wayne after the long, difficult struggle to escape. I hoped she would contact me. Even if I couldn’t work with her myself, I’d have liked to recommend someone else. Maybe even Regina, although I wasn’t sure if my motivation was to enlist her expertise or to sic Wayne on
her
narrow butt. Mostly, I felt horrible about the regret, maybe even shame, that Carrie must be wrestling with after submitting again to her abuser.

My mistake.

If I wanted proof that Wayne had my home phone number, I got it Sunday night. Carrie called around 10:30.
Pissed
.

“
Why are you doing this?” She skipped a greeting, not waiting for an answer. “You have no right to bother my mother! And I can’t believe you called the
police
on Wayne after everything he’s been through. He was your client! Aren’t you supposed to keep his privacy or something?”

“
He saw me under a fake name so he could keep tabs on
you
, Carrie. I only involved the police as a last resort. I’m sorry if you’re upset that I called your mother. I was concerned for your safety and you listed her as your emergency contact person.”

“
My safety is
my
business. I want you to stop harassing Wayne. He’s got enough to deal with and he doesn’t need you spreading lies about him, or following him, or messing with his truck.”

“
What?
Carrie, you know better. I’m not harassing Wayne;
he’s
harassing
me
! He’s furious that I helped you. He wants to keep you—”

“
No!” she interrupted. “He’s changed. He’s sober now. He promised to never get mad at me like that again.”

“
He didn’t just get ‘mad,’ Carrie. He hurt you, and he’ll do it again. I’m really glad that he’s sober and that’s a good first step, but he needs therapy. So do you. If you want, I can—”

“
I don’t want
anything
from you, except to leave us alone. Don’t call my mother, don’t call me, and stay away from Wayne. And if you touch his truck again, I’ll call the cops on you myself.”

Why did everyone hang up on me?

After the weekend, I figured Monday would only get worse, but it started out smoothly. My clients arrived on time, no sleazy magazines were delivered, and there was a delightful hint of spring softening the air.

I actually started relaxing until Hannah caught me between afternoon sessions. “Letty? Got a minute?”

She didn’t look troubled, but then Hannah was one of those innately serene people who smile gently at life and adversity. Even her name was well-balanced. Naturally blond and clear-skinned, she was pretty enough to not wear makeup and had the kind of metabolism that let her eat donuts everyday. Not that she would. She was a nature freak, seeming to subsist on nuts and berries and fiber-y muffins that hurt my teeth to chew. If I didn’t like her so much I would hate her.

“
I understand Mary Kate is having a little trouble transferring to me?”

“
She sure is. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“
We set up three meetings last week, two of which she rescheduled, but she blew off the third. I’ve left messages; she doesn’t call back. I’m tempted to pose as an AVON lady and ring her doorbell, but that seems a bit extreme.”

I grimaced. “I’m sorry, Hannah. We talked about her resistance and I really thought she was on board with the change. She’s coming up on finals and is under a lot of stress, but I think most of it has to do with family history. Navy brat and all that. You might want to keep an eye on her when she has to start the termination process with her own clients.”

“
Can’t very well do that if she won’t even meet with me. I hate to go through Marshall; it’s such a fuss, and I don’t want to cause her any trouble. Maybe you could try meeting with her again. She might just need more closure.”

Blech. But Hannah was right. Mary Kate displayed textbook passive-resistance and it wouldn’t do her—or her internship—any good if she didn’t get back on track. On my next trip up to the front, I asked Lisa to set up another meeting with Mary Kate.

Mary Kate must have jumped at the chance, because she came in from home in order to see me after sessions. At first she claimed her massive workload and school stress prevented her from following through with Hannah. We shoveled through those excuses fairly quickly, however, circling back to her distress at transferring. Although it wasn’t the best move legally, I finally told her about Wayne’s complaint. As she started to express her indignation, I held up a hand.

“
We can’t talk about this! Anything you or I say now might become part of the investigation. In fact, you may end up being called in as a witness to what happened in my office that day. The only reason why I’m telling you now is so that you understand why I
have
to step aside as your supervisor. Not only is it inappropriate for me to mentor you while I’m under investigation, but there is a substantial conflict of interest. This is the last time we can talk about this. Do you understand?”

Eyes wide, she made a tick-a-lock gesture over her mouth, throwing the “key” over her shoulder.

“
So you’ll make an appointment with Hannah and
keep
it?” I pushed.

“
I will. I’ll do it right now. I’m just so relieved that it wasn’t anything I did that made you want to transfer me.”

“
No. Definitely not. I’ve enjoyed working with you very much.”

After another five minutes of reassurances, Mary Kate trotted up to the front to have Lisa fit her into Hannah’s schedule. I clunked my head on the desk and tried to channel acetaminophen psychically. Had to give up and root around in my purse for the real stuff. Mary Kate could be exhausting.

Before leaving the office, I forced myself to follow my own advice, reluctantly asking Lisa to set me up for supervision with Regina. While I was at it, I also had her schedule me in with Marshall. He needed to review my written response to Wayne’s complaint and be updated on the recent events. Lisa hummed “Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum” under her breath as she scanned his calendar.

I ignored her. If I didn’t hurry I’d be late for the AA meeting. Sue was my designated escort, and patience was a vastly overrated virtue in her book. Nonexistent, actually. I risked a speeding ticket, getting there with two minutes to spare.

“
You’re late,” Sue said.

“
I am not. You’re early.”

“
How are you holding up?” she asked.

“
Had the police over Friday night. Somebody stabbed a doll and left it on my doorstep.”

“
But you called the police? About time,” she said.
“Actually, one of the cops was really nice. He’s in recovery, too, or was. I don’t think he comes anymore. Anyway, he and his partner went and talked to Wayne.”

“
Nice-schmice. The important thing is: Is he cute?” Sue asked as we went through the big double doors of the club.

“
Judge for yourself. He’s sitting right there.” I smiled and waved.

Durrant, in jeans and T-shirt, grinned back. He sat at a table with Harry, big hand wrapped around a Styrofoam cup of coffee, looking entirely at home. Which, I supposed, he was. A famous poet once said that “Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” Summed up AA pretty well.

Sue and I joined them, and I felt a wave of comfort wash over me. Apparently my aversion to police was limited to the abstract. Big, sturdy, stand-between-me-and-a-lunatic cops were just peachy.

“
Any new contact?” Durrant asked.

“
None at all. It’s great.”

He nodded. “Hopefully, he got the message.”

That was all that was said, although I noticed Sue look at his butt appreciatively as we headed into the meeting. She made a point of sitting next to him, too. Cheered her up immensely.

When I got into work the next morning, I stopped as usual at the front desk to check my schedule. Marshall had changed our meeting to the hour I normally blocked out for lunch.

“
Was I supposed to brown bag it today?” I asked Lisa.