What if she still is?
I want to give her the benefit of the doubt, but all her reports describe a consistent pattern of delusional and persecutory ideas about her mom. At one point, she even freaked out and said her mom had brought a knife to one of their family visits and tried to stab her with it. They had Genevieve searched by hospital security right in front of Savannah to get her to calm down, but it didn’t help, even when their search turned up nothing. She was convinced her mom was out to get her.
Then there were other times, once she was medicated and stabilized, when she took it all back and described her mom as her best friend. I would have an easier time believing Savannah’s story if she ever made one accusation against her mom when she wasn’t in the throes of a psychotic episode. Even if she just hinted at something being wrong during one of her stabilized periods, the stories she told me about her mom would be more believable, but she didn’t. That’s what makes me wonder.
There are only two ways to look at it. Savannah was a very mentally ill girl who might still be sick, or she’s a girl who was so desperate for her mother’s attention and love that she was willing to do anything to get it, including becoming a complete mess. The latter seems more likely to be true when you read the descriptions of Genevieve during Savannah’s hospitalizations. Genevieve thrives when her children are sick and in crisis. Maybe all Savannah ever wanted was to win back her mom’s love and attention again, and being mentally ill was the only way to get it.
For three years, Savannah bounced in and out of different treatment centers and institutions, and then suddenly, there was nothing. No more reports. No more intake notes. No more hospitalizations. It all just ended.
Why?
In the same way that Savannah described Mason’s symptoms and troubles seeming to start overnight, hers appear to have just stopped the same way—overnight. How is that possible? How do you go from being so impaired you needed electric shock therapy to fine? If it was all for attention from her mom, what made her stop needing it? A boy? A girl? That’s the age when everything changes and you care much more about your friends and romantic attractions than you do your parents. I have some of the best parents in the world, and I still distanced myself from them the last few years in high school. Thinking about my parents makes me remember Harper and brings my attention back to my phone.
I swipe off Savannah’s number and pull up my dad’s number instead. It barely rings twice before he answers, as if he was already expecting my call.
“How’s it going?” I strain my ears for any sound of tantrumming in the background, but things are silent.
“She’s asleep. Totally knocked out.” I can hear the huge smile in his voice.
I glance at the clock. “It’s only nine o’clock. Half the time I can’t even get her into bed by then on a good night. How’d you do that?”
“I put YouTube on her iPad and rocked her in the rocking chair until she fell asleep,” he whispers like he might still be near her and doesn’t want to wake her. “She fought it for a while, but eventually, the combination was too strong, and she couldn’t resist.” He laughs quietly.
“Dad! You can’t put her to sleep like that. She—”
He stops me. “Honey, with all due respect, I don’t think this is the best time to be worried about her sleep hygiene. The goal is to get her to sleep. A couple of nights in a recliner with an iPad isn’t going to hurt her.”
“How many more nights do you think it’ll be?”
“You’re the expert; what do you think?”
“I think this entire situation sucks and I just want her home. I can’t believe someone would do something so spiteful and mean.” I struggle to hold back tears. He’s already got so much on his emotional plate, and I’m not trying to add more to it.
“People who are in lots of pain react in all kinds of crazy ways. Do all kinds of crazy things. Genevieve must be hurting really bad to be carrying on the way she is.”
Normally, I’d agree with him. He gave me his soft heart and optimistic spirit, but Genevieve’s hardened me in such a short time, especially after the stunt she just pulled with Harper. At least Harper will be able to easily set things straight during her interview with social services tomorrow.
She’s been doing my “Making Friends and Staying Safe” group since she was in kindergarten. Children with developmental disabilities are at an increased risk for victimization, so at least once a year I facilitate a group for kids and their caregivers on how to reduce that likelihood. Harper knows more about body rights and personal safety skills than most adults. Dad will make sure he shows them how to use TouchChat, too, so she’ll be able to speak in pictures, since that’s her preferred language.
I’ve imagined this moment with Harper so many times before that it’s filled with a strange déjà vu feeling. No awareness of her body and little reaction to physical pain means she’s continually covered in bruises in various stages of healing. I’ve always worried someone would notice and report their concerns to authorities because that’s the right thing to do when a child continually shows up with bruising. I was especially paranoid when she was still mainstream in school, but it’s better with her current teachers. They’re more understanding because they know her and her issues, but other people don’t have that same awareness. At least I don’t have to worry about Harper answering their questions. She’s had plenty of practice.
“It’s going to be okay.” Dad’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
“I know.” I sigh. “Part of me wishes I’d never gotten involved in any of this in the first place.”
“Maybe it’s time to think about getting out. Seems like this might be crossing the line into some pretty personal spaces,” he says softly.
He’s right. This case has consumed me, and Genevieve’s intent on making me pay for my involvement in Mason being taken away from her. I want to step away. I do. And I probably should, but I can’t. Not when an innocent kid is caught in the middle of this web. Even if he’s not mine. It’s my job to give voice to the voiceless.
THEN
Just like this. Peekaboo. Baby.
Peekaboo baby. I see you.
That’s all you have to play.
I don’t want to play anymore. I keep telling her that. She doesn’t listen.
You.
Can’t make me.
Liar. Liar. Pants on fire.
Ask. Me. About it. Please. I want to tell you.
Just this once.
Don’t make me go silent.
Not again.
You promised.
Just this last time.
One more time you said.
Not two. Not three. Not four or five.
Just one you said.
But we aren’t done.
You never stop. Not once.
Can we be done?
I don’t want to play. This game.
I never did.
TWENTY-NINE
GENEVIEVE HILL
I hope she’s over there crying a bucket of tears in her wine tonight. Serves her right for thinking she can stick her nose into where it doesn’t belong. The look on her face when I told her about Savannah was priceless. She has no idea everything I’ve been through with that girl. I bet she thinks twice before agreeing to another one of Detective Layne’s plans.