Part 21 (2/2)
”And you're sure it's Dad?”
”Positive.”
She looked stricken. I felt stricken. I put the paper clip down and started doodling on my desk pad. I drew kites, which were the only thing I ever sketched, and used different colored pens to fill them in.
”It's hard to believe, isn't it?”
”Impossible,” I said wearily. ”Have you had any memories of it?” I asked hopefully.
At first, she didn't reply.
”No. No, I haven't. But it feels like something happened. Ever since you asked me if I thought he molested us, I can't stop feeling like he probably did. Andrea, my therapist, thinks maybe it's time she and I started working on him in our sessions. But just the thought of it makes my stomach hurt. What are we going to do, Kris?”
”I don't know.”
”Do you think you'll confront Dad?”
”Oh, G.o.d, no!” A chill ran up my spine at the very thought. ”I'm not ready for that yet.”
”Good,” she said, much relieved, for she knew that my confrontation would result in hers as well.
”It's funny, Ann, but I don't think that's the most pressing thing. Most of the work has to be done inside me. Before I can confront him, I have to first confront my own feelings.
”You know, I've run all over the city for Destiny, gathering memories and facing people, and I've seen that what I've done for her has helped. But most of what's changed Destiny is Destiny. The day she hired me, she allowed herself to start feeling again a” things she'd blocked twenty-five years ago and even a month ago. I want to start feeling again, too, instead of blocking everything, then maybe I'll be ready to face Dad.”
”You already have started feeling, Kris. We're talking about it, aren't we?”
”We are... and this will probably shock you, but I'm going to take some time off work, time to stop running from it.”
”You can't be serious!”
”I am,” I said quietly, taking my gla.s.ses off to wipe the sweat off my eyebrows. ”G.o.d, it's hot in here, maybe we should turn down the heat.”
”The heat's not on.”
”Huh, well, I'm going to take a few days off, maybe a month.”
”You never take time off, especially not since Gallagher left.”
”Then it's about time I did, right?”
”I don't know,” she replied, the shock still evident on her face. ”I can't picture you not working. You always work.”
”Don't worry,” I a.s.sured her, ”I don't have any firm plans yet. It's just a thought. I'll give you plenty of notice if I decide to do it.”
”You've gone off the deep-end,” Ann said, with more affection than judgment.
”I know,” I laughed. ”It's great, isn't it?”
That night, Destiny and I went to a photography exhibit at the Denver Art Museum. We both pretended to know more about art than we did. We laughed a lot and saw very little. Almost as an afterthought, as she was getting out of the car at her house, she gave me the name of Sister Margaret Kincaid a” the nun who had introduced her to the Greaves family.
I fell asleep that night thinking of what it must have been like to take a four-year-old Destiny from her grandmother's arms. And I dreamed.
J am kissing my father, long and slow on the lips. We are standing up, in the bas.e.m.e.nt by the washer and dryer. lam older, maybe even my own age.
He's telling me how attractive I am. I am putting up with it to get information, to see if he'll really do it, to be able to have proof. It's absolutely revolting.
I got up and took a long, hot bath. I hopped back into bed and for a change, instantly fell into a deep sleep.
I didn't wake up until the alarm went off.
Maybe I was beginning to heal from the wounds of misplaced touch and broken trust. Slowly but surely, maybe I was.
As soon as I arrived at work, I made a few simple, if deceitful, calls to the Archdiocese of Denver and easily located Sister Margaret Kincaid. She was working as a secretary in one of the parish's elementary schools.
In the afternoon, I met her at the school, right before the last bell rang.
We talked in her cramped, windowless office. I sat on the other side of her cluttered desk and tried not to look at her. Her red-orange hair bothered me, as did the black-framed gla.s.ses with half-inch-thick lenses that rested in stark contrast to her pale complexion.
I began by explaining why I was there. I told her I wanted to find out more about the Kenwoods, that I was doing this as a favor to the daughter they left behind when they died. Between pursed lips, she curtly told me she knew who Destiny Greaves was, that she read the papers and watched the evening news.
In a quiet voice, she answered my questions with speed and precision.
”How well did you know the Kenwoods?”
”I knew of them. They'd been active in our parish for several years.”
”Can you tell me what they were like?”
”I believe they were good people. They attended church every Sunday.”
”When did you first meet Destiny?”
”The day after her parents died. Father O'Malley suggested I visit the grandmother and the child a” to offer the church's condolences. He set up the appointment.”
”Were you the one who decided where she'd spend the rest of her life?”
”I decided nothing. I met with the grandmother and she asked for the church's a.s.sistance. We found a suitable family for the child.”
”In the form of Benjamin and Liz Greaves?”
”Yes.”
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