“Bruises on her neck. Shoulder. Split lip and black eye. How many times can you get kneed in cheerleading practice or run into a wall?”

Seth frowned. “Black eye? Bruises on her neck?”

Iris nodded. “Troy brought it to my attention and I’ve been watching her. Seth, it’s Sassy’s daughter. And now I know she has a younger brother who could be a bully.”

“Shit,” he said.

Twelve

When Iris was in high school and John Garvey was the school guidance counselor, there was a girl in her class named Laura. She was popular, but not mega popular like the homecoming queens and such. She was a cheerleader, was in lots of clubs and worked hard on school projects, like the dances. As Iris recalled, she rarely dated, which might’ve been one of the reasons they were friendly—it seemed as if it often got down to Laura and Iris stringing up crepe paper and balloons for dances they wouldn’t attend.

Laura came to school one morning crying her eyes out. She was so upset she couldn’t go to first period so she hid out in the bathroom near the gym, a spot no one would really notice because there wasn’t a lot of traffic in there once classes started.

John Garvey, the dumbest counselor who ever lived, summoned her and demanded to know what was wrong. He refused to let her go to class without telling him; he said he’d keep her in his office all day if necessary. Laura said she’d tell him if he promised not to tell her parents what she said.

Laura told Iris about it later. They weren’t really close, not the kind of girlfriends who walked to class together or talked on the phone at night, but they had always liked each other. Mr. Garvey promised never to tell anyone and so Laura told him her father had pitched a fit that morning. He was probably hungover, she said. He was mad about everything and everyone. He’d been out of work for a couple of months and was angry in general. That morning, he screamed at her, grabbed her by the hair and knocked her head into the front door, cracking the glass in the small diamond-shaped window. He was pissed about that and threw her schoolbooks out onto the front lawn, which was very wet and icky. He screamed at her that she was a worthless piece of shit and she walked to school without a coat because she wasn’t going back inside for anything.

Mr. Garvey listened very patiently, Laura said. He comforted her and, within about thirty minutes, she had recovered and went on to class with a late slip written and signed by Mr. Garvey. That afternoon when Laura went home and walked into the house, she walked into a fist. “So I hit you, do I?” her father bellowed. “Now you’re hit, you sniveling little cry baby!”

When Laura went to school with a fat lip the next day, she said her little sister accidentally opened a cupboard door in her face. And she told Iris, “Never trust that bastard Garvey—he’s a liar and a creep.”

When Iris told Seth that story, he was appalled. “My God, don’t you take an oath of confidentiality or something when you become a counselor?”

“If someone is in danger or is a danger to others, we really do have to step in and do something proactive, but tipping off the abuser isn’t on the list of recommended actions. John Garvey thought he knew everything and frankly, he did a lot of damage. I wonder what’s become of Laura? I hope she’s hugely successful and brilliantly happy and sticks pins in a John Garvey doll every day.”

“Do you have any idea how much time Robbie Delaney spends with his kids?” Seth asked.

She shook her head. “He hasn’t lived in Thunder Point for years. I have no idea when he officially left town—I was away at school for a long time after graduation. I heard through gossip that Sassy left, was back, left again, was back. Her sister and parents lived here and when she’s been on her own, she moved in with family. At least that’s what I heard.”

“I might try to have a conversation with Robbie, unless you think that’s a bad idea,” Seth said.

“Handle it delicately,” she said. “We don’t want him to act out on the kids because...” She took a breath. “Because what if he’s the abuser?”

“Well, here’s the thing I can’t do, Iris,” he said. “I can’t have any unnecessary traffic with Sassy. She just gets all the wrong messages.”

* * *

It was nice to have someone like Seth to talk to for a lot of reasons. They were on the same professional team, to start with—both of them concerned about abuse and neglect and all manner of violence. It was also nice to have a friend to talk to about everything from silly, funny things to serious matters to global issues. And someone who shared your past was extremely comforting. The one thing that continued to worry her was that she still had a dangerous attraction to him. She was afraid that when it all played out and he told her the truth, that he wanted to restore their friendship but had no romantic ideas, it was going to sting. And sting bad.

But for now she let that worry slide as she dug into how to handle the situation with Sassy’s bruised daughter.

She waited patiently for another sign, and sadly it didn’t take long. The phys ed teacher reported that Rachel Delaney had dark bruises on her biceps that resembled the strong grip of someone who might’ve grabbed her. Whether the abuser had been male or female wasn’t certain, but four fingers and a thumb on each arm looked pretty obvious.

Iris launched into action. She summoned Cammie Munson. She sent a note asking her to drop by during her study hall or right after classes ended for the day. It was around midday that Cammie stopped by.

“You wanted to see me, Ms. McKinley?” she asked politely.

“Yes, thanks for coming by. Have a seat,” she said, rising to close both her doors—the one that led to the offices and cubicles and the one that opened to the hall where all the students passed. When that outer door was closed, a do-not-disturb sign automatically slid into place. “I was looking at the SAT scores—you did so well. Are you happy with the scores or do you want to try to do better?”

Cammie sighed. “I don’t know,” she said wearily. “I could probably do better, but do I have to? I mean, I can get into an Oregon college with the scores I have, right? Because the thought of another prep course and another whole day of exhausting testing... God, it sounds just awful.”

Iris couldn’t help it, she smiled. “I understand completely. Unless you’re looking for a little additional scholarship help for an out-of-state school.”