Before She Was Found. Heather GudenkaufЧитать онлайн книгу.
murders and ghosts and sex and stuff. Mr. Dover told us that if we didn’t want our grandmas to hear our reports to choose a different topic.
Later, Kendall said Mr. Dover was a perv. Kendall told me to watch how he looked at the girls who had big boobs, then I’d see. What she said makes me have a sick feeling in my stomach. Mr. Dover has only been teaching here for a few years. Some people say he came here because he got in trouble at his old school. But I don’t think that can be true. They wouldn’t have hired him at our school if he did anything bad, would they?
Mr. Dover is cute. He is tall and has longish hair that he pushes out of his eyes about a thousand times during class. He has a young face but he dresses like a teacher (except when he’s dressing up like Paul Revere or Abe Lincoln): khaki pants, button-down shirts with a tie. I told Kendall to shut up, that Mr. Dover was the nicest teacher at school. That he actually cared about kids. Then I came up to my room and cried, though I’m not sure why.
For the next few days I watched Mr. Dover more closely. I didn’t see him looking at any boobs but it seems like he spent more time talking with girls than boys during class. In social studies, I whispered to Violet what Kendall said about Mr. Dover being a pervert and she laughed. She whispered back, “Hey, that should be our urban legend topic. ‘Mr. Dover: Social Studies Teacher or Child Molester?’” I laughed, too, but I felt icky that I brought it up. I like Mr. Dover.
Jordyn came over and asked what we were laughing about and, thank God, Violet said it was nothing. I can just imagine Jordyn telling everyone that I called Mr. Dover a pervert. Jordyn actually sat down and talked to us for a few minutes about normal stuff. She even told me she liked the earrings I was wearing.
Suddenly, I heard a voice say, “Ahem,” and when I turned around Mr. Dover was walking over to us. He stood really close behind Jordyn, put both of his hands on her shoulders and said, “Ladies, I hate to interrupt this obviously very important conversation you are having, but we’ve got work to do.”
Violet’s eyes went wide and she gave me a look that said, Oh, my God, you’re right, he is a perv! She burst out laughing and I started laughing, too. Jordyn looked at us like we were crazy but then she started laughing, too, even though she had no idea why. Violet was laughing so hard she gave a loud hiccup. Then everyone started laughing.
“Go get a drink, Violet,” Mr. Dover said, finally dropping his hands away from Jordyn’s shoulders. To the rest of the class he said, “Okay, comic relief is over, turn to page twenty-four in your books.”
Violet hurried out of the room, hiccupping all the way. I pulled out my social studies book and when I looked over at Jordyn she was smiling at me. Smiling like a friend would. Maybe she’s not as bad as I thought.
September 14, 2018
Mara Landry came to my office that evening after our first meeting. I was sitting at my office desk flipping through the collection of notes that I jotted down throughout the day. I’ve always found that my young patients get anxious when I record my observations during our sessions and tend to spend more time trying to see what I’m writing about them rather than sharing their feelings.
The sun was dipping behind the linden trees that line the campus streets when I heard a light knock on my door.
“Come on in,” I called, thinking that it was one of the residents or fellows stopping by my office to discuss a patient. The door opened and Mara Landry stood uncertainly in the doorway. “Mrs. Landry,” I said, surprised. I really didn’t expect her to reach out to me after our initial meeting and after seeing her husband’s reaction to me. “Please, come in. How is Cora?”
“I don’t want to interrupt you. I know it’s getting late and you probably want to get going,” she said apologetically.
“It’s no interruption at all. Please, sit down,” I invited. Mara Landry looked worn out. Her face was drawn and pale, her shoulders slumped as if the events of the day were pressing down on her and she was suffocating beneath them. A look I’d come to know well on worried parents.
“I can’t stay long. I just wanted to thank you for stopping by earlier and to apologize. I know that Jim wasn’t exactly...” She struggled to find the right word so I jumped in to rescue her.
“No apology necessary. Tell me about Cora. Did surgery go well?” I asked.
“The doctor said it went well considering all her injuries.” Mara’s face buckled momentarily as she struggled to keep her composure. I waited and she went on. “There will be scars.” Mara’s fingers fluttered near her cheek. “But it could have been much worse and Cora is a strong little girl. She’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
“Is Cora awake?” I asked. “Is she in much pain?”
“Some.” Mara nodded. “They’ve been keeping her sedated and she’s pretty out of it. But she’s scared. She’s absolutely terrified. I can tell. She starts to fall asleep and then jolts awake and cries out. I tell her over and over that no one can hurt her anymore, that she’s safe, but...she keeps calling out for whoever did this to her to stop. To please not hurt her anymore and Jim can’t stand it. The police aren’t telling us much right now. They just say they are investigating and once they have information to share they will.”
I nodded sympathetically. This was a common refrain I heard from the families of victims of a crime.
“My oldest daughter, Kendall, won’t stop crying and can’t even look at Cora. Can’t even stand to be in the hospital room with her. My family is falling apart, Dr. Gideon.” Mara’s voice cracked. “One minute we’re hosting an overnight for my daughter and her friends and the next Cora is bleeding next to the train tracks.”
“Are the other girls okay?” I asked.
“As far as I know. We ran into Violet’s mom down in the emergency room but she said that Violet was just being treated for shock.” Mara pressed her fingers to her lips. “Oh, God, that sounded terrible,” she said shakily. “I’m glad she’s okay. I really am.”
“Of course,” I said.
“I need to get back to Cora,” Mara said. “But tomorrow? Do you think you might have some time tomorrow to visit with her?”
“Certainly,” I said. “How about I stop by around eight or so?”
“Maybe closer to nine would be better,” Mara suggested and I wondered if perhaps that was a time her husband wouldn’t be around. It’s not a good sign if one parent is open to my services and the other is not, but it’s a start.
“Nine will be perfect,” I assured her. “Try and get some sleep tonight and I’ll see you in the morning.”
I watched Mara walk wearily down the hallway. I’d seen it hundreds, maybe thousands, of times: the unsteady, almost drunken walk of those suddenly in the midst of a life-changing event. Mara’s equilibrium was off, but with time and help and with some luck she’d gather herself up and see to it that her family get through this and whatever else was to come.
No matter how determined I was to leave work at a reasonable time, I got home well after nine o’clock that evening. As usual, the house was dark and quiet. I immediately peeled off my clothes to shower but couldn’t wash away the thoughts of Cora Landry and what happened to her in that train yard. The world was a dangerous place even for a little girl from small-town Iowa.
I stepped from the shower, toweled off and put on my favorite pair of sweatpants and a University of Grayling Wolves sweatshirt. All I wanted to do was go to bed but instead I poured myself a glass of wine, opened my laptop and logged into the hospital’s secured online system. I pulled up Cora Landry’s medical records and learned that Cora was born at the hospital