A Bird Nest On The Ground

By JL Warman

When Carrie Nichols reluctantly accepts the journals of her former social worker, she discovers that sexual abuse is almost certainly still occurring at the church-owned children’s shelter where she had lived as a teenager. Fueled by anger and a passionate commitment to justice, she undertakes the risky job of uncovering the truth. Her actions propel her onto a path she has no way of anticipating and little hope of negotiating successfully. A story of one woman’s courage and determination to save the most helpless and vulnerable among us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JL Warman
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476466378

Book preview

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

Two months had passed before Carrie decided to open the journals. She had found ways to distract herself, quickly diverting her attention from any chance glimpse of the boxes that lay stacked in a corner of her small bedroom. She silently cursed herself for agreeing to accept them in the first place.

She uncharacteristically called her friends and held long, pointless conversations with them. She cleaned out her bookshelves, arranged the books by author, then decided to classify them by subject matter. This took all of one day. The next day she thought her system too conventional and rearranged them by color of their covers. It satisfied her that now they were completely random as to subject and author and that she would have to search for whatever book she wanted to find, which would take a considerable amount of time. She liked the design element that the book covers provided even though she knew that a more sophisticated taste would disapprove. This, too, pleased her. She disliked being classified and frequently found herself unconsciously or deliberately exhibiting behaviors that tended to confuse those who thought they knew her. She found new methods to accomplish this, having nothing else with which to distract herself successfully. She considered altering her wardrobe by dyeing a few of her lighter blouses and sewing some pieces of old scarves onto a couple of her skirts, but this task seemed beyond her talents and she gave up the idea. Instead she went shopping at thrift stores and bought dresses and skirts that were totally unlike any she had owned….empire waists, dirndls , florals. But when she put one of them on at home and started out the door, she simply couldn’t go through with it.

She went to Barnes and Noble with the idea of buying a new best-seller by a popular author, a whodunit that would keep her enthralled for a day or two. Instead she bought a small blank book and went home and started writing in it. She knew she could not continue to ignore the journals gathering dust in the corner, but perhaps if she began writing her own, she wouldn’t need to concern herself with them for a while. At least she would be doing something regarding journaling.

For two weeks she wrote every day. She made lists of things she needed to do (except read the journals): paint the kitchen cabinets; clean out the flower beds; study for the anatomy test she’d have to take one of these days; decide on a vacation destination; research said destination; clean out her closet. She crossed that last task out. She didn’t feel she could face those new used skirts, and now they presented her with something else to avoid. She would go tomorrow to the paint store for paint and get started on those cabinets, but she hadn’t decided on the color she wanted, so she would wait a while before tackling that job. She made new lists of less arduous tasks. By the end of two weeks of list-making she was exhausted and confused. She stopped writing and made up her mind that the only way to end her exhaustion and confusion was to start reading the journals. She had resigned herself and tired herself to the point of not caring what they contained. Or so she thought.

But where to start? There were 41 journals in all, covering a period of 36 years. Should she begin at the beginning or should she find the year she came to the Kinderhome and start there? After removing all 41 journals from the four cardboard boxes they were packed in, in chronological order, she decided she had better take them one by one, from the first entry dated June 3, 1954 to the last entry dated March 29, 1990.

And so she read into the night, getting through the first journal in three hours of steady reading. Lucille had started this journal, which she called simply a notebook, soon after taking the job as the Kinderhome’s only social worker, in May 1954. In it she chronicled the beginning of Kinderhome, its background, development and purpose as it grew that first year of existence. Begun by the Church of the Holy Word’s 13 elders and funded solely by the church over a period of 4 years of fund-raising before the first bungalow was built, it had grown to two more bungalows, the director’s house and a building for offices by the end of 1955. Lucille wrote of these facts and other historically interesting information, but mostly she wrote of her day-to-day job of finding and placing children who had been abandoned, removed from their homes or orphaned. Carrie found all this fairly interesting and Lucille’s style of writing was succinct, clear and detailed enough to give the reader a good sense of how things were for her at that time. But there was nothing there to explain or hint of the things that Carrie knew about Kinderhome. Still, it was only the first 18 months. She would keep reading, but not tonight. She went to bed bleary-eyed and unaccountably depressed.

The next day she called her best friend, Molly Bennett, and asked her if she’d like to meet her for lunch at their usual place, an out-of-the-way cafe called Bender’s. Molly was slumped in the back corner booth reading a People magazine. Her usually frizzy blond hair had been cut and highlighted.

God, you look terrible, Molly said. What’s going on with you? And what’s with that awful skirt? Molly never minced words.

Carrie had decided to wear one of her thrift store purchases in spite of misgivings. I like this skirt, don’t make me explain it, okay? I didn’t invite you to lunch to discuss my wardrobe. She slid into the booth and smoothed her plaid pleated skirt. What had she been thinking? Molly was watching her with an amused expression. Carrie took a deep breath. I started reading the journals last night. Her brown eyes suddenly looked wary. She wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss the journals, after all.

Well, it’s about time. Didn’t you promise Lucille? It’s not like you to break a promise, especially one that....

Okay! I started, isn’t that enough? How about if you don’t give me a hard time?

Molly laughed, her large front teeth bared like a whinnying horse. She liked tiny, fragile-looking Carrie’s willingness to spar with her, the only friend who would take on so massive an opponent. She shifted her considerable weight and smirked at her friend. So, what did you find out?

Nothing. Yet. Carrie suddenly didn’t feel like talking about the journals, even though that was the reason she’d called Molly. Let’s talk about something else. Did you go for the interview?

Yeah, but I want to hear about the journals.

Carrie sighed. Really, Molly, there was nothing. I only read the first one. A year and a half of boring details about how it began.

"How it began? How it began?" Molly’s deep-set gray eyes were wide.

"No. Not that. How Kinderhome started and all. Lucille’s job. Stuff like that, you know? God! You think she’d write about that? If she did, and I doubt it, it wouldn’t be at first. At first she’s so thrilled to have that job that’s all she could write about. Carrie felt terribly tired suddenly and regretted this lunch date. Molly might be her best friend, but she could be awfully pushy at times. I really and truly don’t want to talk about it, okay? I need to pick up some groceries for dinner, so let’s skip this and discuss your job interview."

Uh-huh. Okay. But I just want to remind you, it was you who called me. And I know you well enough to see that this is getting to you. I’m here to talk about it if you want to. So now I’ll drop it. She leaned back in her seat and regarded Carrie with mock seriousness. I got the job. The gleeful smile she had been suppressing broke across her plump-cheeked face.

Oh, Mol! That’s great! Carrie said, relieved to change the subject. Let’s have a toast to celebrate. They each ordered a glass of chardonnay, and then another when they reasoned that they didn’t have to work that afternoon.

The rest of the meal was spent discussing Molly’s new position as human resource director of Melner’s largest medical center. You’ll do great, Carrie said, wiping her mouth and digging in her purse for her credit card. She rose to leave. And, please, I’m sorry I don’t want to talk about the…stuff. You know? Not now. If something comes out, you’ll be the first to know.

Carrie left feeling let down that she had not followed through with her desire to discuss the journals, but she just couldn’t seem to muster the energy. A headache was beginning to throb behind her left temple. Though she was genuinely happy for Molly, who had been out of work for five and a half months and had gotten down to the end of her savings, she regretted that second glass of celebratory wine.

That night she went to bed without looking at the second journal, a tattered spiral notebook, but the night after that she picked it up.

Nov. 23, 1955, Wed. Ah, another notebook to fill. I have spent more than a year and a half writing about the goings-on here at Kinderhome. What I have failed to do is to write of some of the things that have troubled me. I have written about facts, all of which I feel are important in themselves; however, I have purposely neglected writing of things that, if discovered, could cause problems, to say the least. I have hesitated out of concern for my own wellbeing, but perhaps more than that, for the possibility that I may be committing a grievous error in judgment. Nevertheless, since this is a private affair, this business of keeping such a record, I feel that unless I am able to write more honestly of my feelings, in addition to facts, it is a rather pointless enterprise.

For several months I have been beset by suspicions, about which I have prayed intensely. After a great deal of soul-searching, I have decided to write of my concerns, perhaps in anticipation of finding some solace in getting them on paper, perhaps as a record that may, someday, be of use. All right, I shall begin. I am going to write about a situation that concerns me greatly.

Last night when Brother Roger Culp brought Marilyn back to the bungalow, she was upset. Doris called me over there this morning to talk with M. When I went to her room, she was lying in bed with the covers pulled over her head. Marilyn, I said, what’s the matter? She didn’t say anything, just turned more toward the wall. Please, Marilyn, I said, tell me what’s bothering you. I sat there a long time, just waiting. Please, I’m here to help. Did something happen? No, she said. Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t feel good. You don’t feel good? I said. Are you sick? Yeah, my stomach hurts, she said. Well, do you feel like you’re going to throw up, or what? No, she said. I’ll be okay. You don’t need to do anything. I thought that sounded strange. Marilyn, would you tell me if something happened? Like what? she whispered. My heart started beating fast and I didn’t want to pursue this, but I thought I have to. Anything at Brother Culp’s last night? I asked. NO! she said, but then she started to cry. I put my hand on her shoulder and tried to think what to say next. Are you sure? You know you can tell me anything.

I sat there listening to her sniffle and I could see her trying to get in control of herself. No, Miss Turnbow, really. Nothing happened. Look at me, Marilyn, I said. I turned her toward me and could see she didn’t want to look at me. I looked straight into her eyes, willing her to face me. Finally she did, but then looked away. Marilyn, I said, if anything happened at Brother Culp’s I need to know. She pinched up her mouth real tight and shook her head. Okay, I said. If you ever need to talk to me you know you can. I gave her another pat on the shoulder and left. I stopped by and told Doris she seemed okay for the most part, just a stomach ache. That’s the second time she’s been upset that way, Doris said. What way, I asked. After a visit like that, she said. You mean with the Culps? Yes, Doris said. Maybe she just doesn’t like them, I said. Lots of these children have trouble relating to the regular families. Yes, I know, Doris said.

But when I got back to my office and wrote up this visit with Marilyn and Doris in M.’s chart, I didn’t put in the part about our conversation, just the bare facts of M. having an upset stomach. This notebook is where I’ll write those other things. All I’ll say now is I am having some peculiar feelings about Brother Culp. If I am wrong I ask the Lord to forgive me.

Carrie read this with heart pounding. My God, I was Marilyn! That was me, the same as me, she thought. She remembered a scene with Lucille that was similar enough to evoke a déjà vu experience, and she, too, began to feel nauseated. Yet she kept on reading, searching for more about this Marilyn. Nothing. Marilyn was there way before Carrie’s time there, but now at least she knew she wasn’t the first. How many were there? She quickly scanned the entries that followed, looking for further mention of Marilyn. She finally found it.

March 15, 1956, Thurs. Today Marilyn K. was returned to her mother, who had been released from jail, where she had spent several months for alcohol related shoplifting. This was her second offense, for being drunk and disorderly, and possessing stolen goods. Anyhow, I was quite unhappy for M. to go back to her mother, but it’s probably for the best. Although I tried several times to persuade M. to talk with me, she refused. She also refused to go back for a visit with the Culps, who were her sponsor family.

After she left, I went to her room and found the presents the Culps had given her for her birthday last month on the floor…..a patent leather purse and a make-up kit. The mirror in the compact had been broken: it looked like it was deliberately pounded with something. When I looked in the closet, I saw she’d also left the coat they had given her for Christmas. There’s something significant in that, I’m quite sure. But I can’t imagine anything worse than maybe Brother Culp being a little too flirtatious. He tends to be like that with all the young girls and everyone just thinks of him as someone who likes to kid around. Since he’s a brother to elder Joe Culp and is a deacon, no one would ever believe that he would do anything really wrong. I find myself less sure about that. But if I can’t get a child like Marilyn to open up, I certainly can’t go any further. And what if I did know something? What could I do? Dear God, please lead me in the right path with this. I really don’t think anything is going on. These are Christian people who want to help children. If it is wrong of me to be suspicious, I ask the Lord to forgive me.

Carrie slammed the notebook shut. Christian, my ass! She was flushed with anger as she poured herself a glass of wine, trembling with the knowledge of the truth. Yes, it’s as I thought. She gulped the wine and poured another glass. She calmed down eventually, feeling more rational. After all, it was the 1950s, she told herself. No one talked about those things. No one even knew about them back then. Well, maybe they sort of knew, but they couldn’t let themselves really think about it, much less do anything. She was aware of that, having read a great deal about the subject as an adult. I need to be more understanding of Lucille, she told herself. At least she’s starting to face it. Carrie returned to the notebook’s next entry.

March 16, 1956, Fri. I don’t know what came over me when I wrote the above. I feel very guilty about my uncharitable thoughts and have prayed for forgiveness. At the same time, I pray to be shown the truth, whatever it is and wherever it may lead. As a social worker, it is my job to protect these children, and as a Christian I have a duty to them, as well. So, dear Lord, please show me the right thing to do.

Carrie skimmed through the next few pages, looking for more about this, but all she found was the routine notes and descriptions of Lucille’s work, most of it mundane and uninteresting.

June 29, 1956, Fri. We got two new girls today, Delores R. and Sherry M., both of them 15 years old and both referred by Children’s Welfare. Delores is very quiet and shy, pretty, and sweet. Sherry is a redhead spitfire, full of spite and hostility toward Cindy and Sam, who try to always make the children they get feel welcome. These girls will share a room. I’ll go with Cindy on Monday to get these girls enrolled in school. Delores is a year ahead of Sherry, who is behind for her age and still in junior high. I think she might be a bit of a trouble-maker and will have a hard time adjusting. I will be seeing each of these girls for counseling for a while, until I can determine that they’ve settled in. The Taylors and the Culps have asked to sponsor any new children who come in, one each that is. I’ll have to give that some thought.

Carrie had been alert to any more mention of the Culps, so now she began to read more carefully. The next week’s entries revealed nothing of importance, but then she found more.

July 8, 1956, Sun. After church today, Brother Culp cornered me and began to ask about sponsoring the new girl, Delores. He said they hadn’t had a Mexican girl before and wanted to take her into their hearts. I couldn’t think of any reason not to give them this girl, since the Taylors had said they were interested in sponsoring Sherry, and because they have a good track record with problem kids, I thought they were the right ones for her. So I said yes, and Bro. Culp wanted to know if he could come by this Wed. night to pick up Delores for Prayer Meeting. I told him he could do that and that I’d let Delores know about the sponsorship system. Since I’ll be meeting with D. tomorrow afternoon for counseling, I’ll talk to her then. I’m sure that the whole Culp family will be with D. at church.

July 10, 1956, Tues. I met with Delores yesterday to tell her that the Culps would be her sponsor. I explained that each child who comes to Kinderhome is assigned a regular church family as their sponsor, and that this family takes a special interest in them, doing things like giving birthday and Christmas presents, taking them out on shopping trips, asking them over for dinner at times, taking them to the movies, and paying for them to go to summer camp, etc. Delores seemed rather nervous about this and asked if she had to have a sponsor. I assured her that she would like it once she got used to it, but that almost all the kids reacted the way she did at first. I told her that the Culp family would come by and pick her up tomorrow night for church, and she finally said that would be all right.

Carrie read through the entries for the next few days, but there was no more mention of Delores and the Culps. Over a month had gone by.

August 21, 1956, Tues. Yesterday in my counseling session with Delores R. I could see that she was different from her previous appearance in that she seemed withdrawn. As she has been gradually adjusting and becoming more secure and comfortable with the Baileys and the other children at the McConley bungalow and has started coming out of her shell, I was concerned at this change. I asked her about her week, but all I got was yes and no answers to my questions. I thought maybe she was having trouble at school, but she said no, school was okay. I asked about Sherry, and she said that she gets along with her fine. I asked if everything was all right at church, and she nodded. Then I asked about her visit last Sunday after church with the Culps, who had her over for dinner, and she said it was all right. So, how do you like them? I asked. She just shrugged. Well, tell me about your visit with them, I prodded. She sat looking down at the floor and said nothing. I couldn’t get another word out of her. I had the feeling that she wasn’t telling me everything, or anything, really, but I didn’t want to push. I’ll keep an eye on her, though.

There was no further information about Delores until the next week.

August 28, 1956, Tues. I saw Delores again yesterday for her session. She was still withdrawn, and I had no more luck getting her to talk than last week. Later I went by to talk to Cindy about her, and Cindy said she hadn’t noticed anything that unusual about Delores, that she’s always been shy and has little to say. I know that Cindy is so busy with the younger children that she hardly has time to talk to the older ones. They help her out with the younger ones, but other than that, she doesn’t really pay that much attention to them.

Now Carrie began to look for Tuesday entries, skimming through the intervening days’ notes. There was no further mention of Delores, though, until October.

October 16, 1956, Tues. In today’s session with Delores R., she seemed even more withdrawn than she’s been in the last several weeks. When I asked her what was wrong, she started crying. All I could get out of her was I just want to go home. But she wouldn’t say why, no matter how much I tried to persuade her to talk. I need to go over and talk with Cindy again. Surely she’s noticed D’s mood.

Oct. 17, 1956, Wed. I had a visit with Cindy yesterday after I had met with Delores. I told C. that I was very concerned that D. seems so sad and moody and was sure that C. must have noticed some of this. C. said she’d been aware of D. crying at night, and had tried to talk to her, but D. would just refuse to respond. I asked if there was any kind of pattern of when D. might be more upset, but C. didn’t think so. I suggested that she start making a note of when D. seemed more upset than usual, and she said she would.

There’s no chance, though, of Delores going back home. Her parents have disappeared. I will talk to Sherry when I see her in her session tomorrow and try to get some information out of her without betraying any confidence or seeming to pry. Sometimes I have to go around things this way in order to find out what’s really going on with these children, because most of the time they won’t tell me themselves. The younger ones will, but once they turn 12 or thereabouts, they start to become more secretive.

Oct. 19, 1956, Fri. This afternoon when I met with Sherry, she was in a terrible mood over one of her teachers and a couple of girls at her school. That’s all she wanted to talk about, or gripe about. No one likes her, no one understands her, she hates all of them, etc. This is Sherry’s usual theme each week. I asked her how she and Delores are getting along, and she shrugged and said okay, I guess. I said, How does Delores seem to you? She informed me that they don’t talk much about anything. She said, She just wants to leave is all I know. I perked up at this, but said as casually as I could, Do you know why? She said not really, just that D. hates some of the people at church. Did she tell you that? I wanted to know. She said no, she could just tell from how D. hated going to church and how she would sometimes cry before they went, that she didn’t like the regulars, which is how the children refer to non-Kinderhome church members. Is there anyone in particular that you know of? I asked. Maybe those people that are her sponsors. Oh? What makes you say that? But S. suddenly seemed to think she’d said too much and wouldn’t discuss anymore on the subject. I can’t deny that my suspicions are aroused at this news and it has me wondering if I should try to figure out some logical reason to get another family to sponsor Delores. But that doesn’t solve the problem because the Culps will want another child at some point and I can’t keep making excuses. Maybe I’ll just give them boys to sponsor from now on. Since Brother Culp is a big sportsman it would make sense to ask him to sponsor boys. I can make that choice, as it isn’t up to church members to decide what’s best for these children.

Carrie put the journal aside. Obviously the problem hadn’t been solved by the time she was placed in Kinderhome, in 1978, so she wondered if there was any point in continuing to read these journals. There was probably a long history of sexual abuse in the foster home agency, which Lucille had known about. Carrie had never heard of any negative publicity or even rumors about Kinderhome in its 55 yr. history, so it was a fair bet that Lucille had simply closed her eyes to the abuse, since she was its only social worker for many years. Lucille had given the journals to Carrie for a reason, though. Did she want her to do something? Well, tough. It wasn’t going to happen.

CHAPTER 2

Carrie didn’t touch the journals again for the next three weeks. Although they sat there, accusing her each time she passed the boxes they were packed in, she managed to ignore them. However, she found herself increasingly unable to sleep, troubled by bad dreams, and suffering the low level depression that had plagued her from time to time throughout her life. When her work began to be affected, she decided that she had to talk to Molly about the journals, after all. They again met for lunch, this time with the purpose of discussing the journals.

Okay, shoot. Molly said. Tell me everything.

I’ll break it down to its essence: abuse started pretty much from the beginning. Carrie gave her a run-down of what she had read. I don’t want to keep reading. I hate it.

Molly knew better than to argue. Well, if you don’t want to, don’t do it.

Yeah, but I did promise. I feel guilty if I just decide to break that promise, but that’s what I want to do.

Okay. If that’s what you decide, will you be okay with it? I mean will you be able to put it out of your mind and get on with your life? I’m just asking, not that I think you should or shouldn’t.

I don’t know. Carrie looked miserable. I think Lucille maybe wanted me to do something.

"Do something? Like what?" Molly’s grey eyes widened.

I don’t know. Like maybe get the word out or something. Like she probably thought I’d be someone who’d do that, do what she couldn’t. She didn’t really know me, though, after I left Kinderhome. It was just coincidence that I even came in contact with her again.

Well, then, do you really owe her anything? You just happened to come along and she needed to give the journals to someone, and it was you she saw as her only choice. In my opinion, she was using you.

Carrie thought that over. Yeah, I think so, too. Still, what do I do with this information? And is it even real information, or just suspicion?

Well, you know what happened to you. That’s not suspicion.

True. But it was a long time ago. And it’s just my word against….whoever. Davis….I can’t even stand to say his name….is probably dead. It’s old history.

Molly was silent.

What? Carrie said.

What if it’s not old history? What if it’s still going on?

"I know. I’ve thought about that, believe me. But what could I do?"

Well, you’ve got the journals. What if you could use them? Molly knew she was pushing it when she saw Carrie suddenly stiffen, her sensitive face hardening into the mask that she wore when directly challenged.

Or not. Molly hastened to add. It’s completely your deal, and you should follow your own, uh, conscience, or heart, or whatever.

Carrie knew Molly was right. She could perhaps use the journals, but at what cost? She didn’t need this complication in her life, especially now. She was going to be taking her state nursing exam next month, and she needed to study for that. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life as a nurses’ aide. If she allowed herself to become immersed in these damn journals, she’d be distracted and unable to concentrate on preparing for the test. And what could she do, anyhow? So what if they revealed a lot of stuff about sexual abuse? That was in the past; at least 19 years had passed since Lucille left Kinderhome, even if abuse was going on right up until her retirement. Carrie felt tired. I don’t want to think about it. Not now. Maybe later, after the exam, she told Molly. Let’s drop it for now, okay?

Fine with me, babe. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you one hundred percent. You know that, don’t you? Molly leaned forward and took Carrie’s small hand in her large one.

Of course I do. And I appreciate it, Molly, really I do. It’s just that this stuff is eating my lunch right now and I’d like to stop thinking about it for a while.

They spent the rest of the lunch talking about Molly’s new job. Carrie was relieved to be off the subject of the journals, but the guilt continued to nag her for the next few weeks, as she studied each night for her exam. Nevertheless, she refrained from picking up another journal during that time.

She passed her exam easily. Now she would be a licensed practical nurse, which would enable her to apply for one of the many jobs available in Melner. She could apply for one in Morningside Nursing Home, where she currently worked, or in one of the two general hospitals in Melner, or in another nursing home. She counted ads in the newspaper for fourteen LPN positions currently open in the area, most of them offering sign-on bonuses. At least she’d chosen a career in a high-demand field. Now, at age forty-one, she hoped to eventually become an RN, but for the present she needed to work full time and save some money. Divorced and childless, she lived frugally in a two-bedroom house. She had few expenses, and except for having to repay a student loan, no other debts. She thought she would wait awhile to decide if she wanted to work elsewhere, as Morningside was not an unpleasant nursing home, unlike many others. She’d done a rotation in one of the less desirable ones and had almost decided against ever working in a nursing home, but Morningside had an excellent reputation and she’d taken the nurses’ aide job they had offered her unexpectedly.

That’s how she had reconnected with Lucille, who had been a resident there for the past nineteen years. When she had first walked into Lucille’s room, she experienced a moment of alarm, but quickly realized that Lucille hadn’t recognized her. After all, it had been twenty-six years since they’d seen each other. Carrie had not wanted to be Lucille’s nurse aide, but she had no choice. Eventually Lucille, who talked a great deal and asked a lot of questions about Carrie, connected the dots and then came right out and asked her if she had been the same girl she knew many years ago at Kinderhome. Carrie had dreaded the discovery, but hadn’t had the energy to make up an entire history just in order to throw Lucille off the track.

Yep, she had answered, that was me all right.

Why, my goodness! Lucille had exclaimed, her strong voice belying her frail, withered frame. Why didn’t you say so right off?

Oh, I don’t know. Guess I thought you wouldn’t remember me, anyhow. You had an awful lot of kids in your career.

Why, I do declare! I remember every one of you. Lucille had seemed genuinely offended that Carrie could have doubted this. Let’s see. It was in the 70s, wasn’t it?

Yes. Nineteen seventy eight when I came there, she said, not eager to pursue this conversation. Let’s get your bath ready. She had walked out of the room without waiting for further questions. Lucille, however, was not easily put off. After her bath, she had more questions before Carrie could get away.

Nineteen seventy-eight until seventy-nine, right? she’d asked. As I recall, you were 13 when you came.

No, it was 1980 when I left. I was 15.

Your mother was a drug addict. CPS referred you. Lucille had become much more blunt and direct in her old age, Carrie noticed.

That’s about right, she said.

Yes, I remember. Your mother’s sister took you with her when you turned 15. You weren’t real happy at Kinderhome, were you?

Carrie didn’t want to continue this conversation. No, she said, I guess not. I’ve got to go now, Lucille. I’ll see you tomorrow. She had left quickly, though it was apparent that Lucille was ready to reminisce further. That evening she thought about how to respond to the questions she knew Lucille would ask, and decided to keep trying to deflect her, vowing not to get into details of her two years at Kinderhome. Sure enough, Lucille wanted to pick up where she’d left off the day before.

Carrie Morrison, she had announced. That was your name. Now it’s Nichols, so you’re married.

Was.

Oh? Lucille waited. Carrie knew she would have to tell Lucille at least the basics of her life since leaving Kinderhome. Lucille was not one to be easily deterred once she latched onto a subject, even at age ninety-four. Her body might be failing, but her mind was as sharp as ever. Also, she was stubborn and impervious to resistance. After all, she’d spent her life counseling recalcitrant and hostile adolescents. Carrie sighed, sat down, and told Lucille the short version.

I got married when I was eighteen, to a guy my cousin introduced me to. Larry. He was twenty-five. I thought he was a real hunk. Well, he was, in fact. But he was also an asshole. Carrie hoped to use language that would offend Lucille, the devout Christian. She’d be damned if she was going to prettify her speech after what she had gone through at Kinderhome. He was a sex addict. He put me through a lot of shit. She waited to see how these words would affect Lucille. Lucille merely nodded, waiting for Carrie to continue. He screwed around on me. Lots of other women. He used to tell me I was frigid, that’s why he had to get it elsewhere. She again waited to see if this would arouse any kind of telling non-verbal reaction from Lucille. Nothing. After a while I said I wanted a divorce. He started getting abusive, not physically, but verbally and emotionally. He tried to blame me for everything. Said I was a cold bitch, called me names. Cunt. Whore. I’d wanted kids, but not with him anymore. Anyhow, eventually we got divorced, and I’ve been single ever since. That was twelve years ago. I went back to school, community college, and got my nurses’ aide training. That’s what I’ve been doing since I was thirty, and here I am today. End of story.

Lucille was watching her closely. Her rheumy blue eyes, magnified through her thick bifocals, never left Carrie’s face. She said nothing for a while, and Carrie felt uncomfortable just sitting there. She got up, but Lucille wasn’t through. Have you dated other men? she asked.

Some. I’m not looking, though. I’m through with men.

You always were a pretty girl.

I guess. Being pretty has its disadvantages. she said. She felt herself becoming hot. She didn’t want to pursue this. I’ve got other patients to see, Lucille. I’ll see you on Monday. I’ve got to go now. She had ignored Lucille’s steady gaze as she gathered up her equipment. Bye. She had almost run out the door, away from that probing look.

Over the weekend, Carrie managed to not think much about Lucille and their conversation. She was curious, though, about Lucille’s intense look, the way she had peered at her. Was that just Lucille’s usual style, or was it something more? Was she watching to see if Carrie would say something about Kinderhome? A part of her wanted to, she had to admit. Throw it in her face. But then what? Carrie felt confused. She didn’t dislike Lucille, even though at one time she had hated her for not seeing what was clearly in front of her. Now, though, Lucille was an old woman, dependent on others to care for her. It was Carrie’s job to treat her professionally, not allow personal feelings to interfere. And, honestly, she didn’t know what her feelings were exactly. Resentment and bitterness one minute, compassion and caring the next. She finally decided she’d just play it by ear, not have any particular plan or