The Unforgivable Fix (22 page)

O
LYMPIA

Lydia worked on case notes and billings for more than two hours. She'd gotten to the office a little after six, eager to leave Mort and Allie home with each other. The tension mounting between the two of them reminded Lydia how quickly a comforting sanctuary can become a minefield.
Each of them knows this isn't going to end any other way than Allie wearing the orange jumpsuit of a federal penitentiary. Let them have their time alone before this whole thing crashes down.
At eight thirty she assumed most county employees would be settled in at their desks with their morning cups of coffee. She dialed the number Barbie Simons had left on her answering machine, asking for a return call as soon as possible. A pleasant voice answered before the third ring. Lydia introduced herself to the county social worker, but clarified that it was Dr. Zach Edwards she should speak to when Barbie said she was calling regarding Heather Blankenship.

“I've already spoken to Dr. Edwards twice,” Barbie told her. “I was the one who took the case when he called it in. He assured me Heather was in no immediate danger.”

The details of the case were familiar to Lydia. “Evidently, her abuser is a long-haul trucker on the road for a while.”

“I got the same story from Zach. I called him back yesterday after speaking with Heather. Our discussion left me more than a little concerned, I have to say. I discussed things with my unit leader here. Zach told me he was working under your supervision. After my manager heard what I had to say, she suggested I call you.”

“What are your concerns, Ms. Simons?” Lydia reached for a pad and pen.

“Call me Barbie.” Her voice had a smile in it. “Everybody does. Can I call you Lydia?”

“Please.” Lydia liked the woman's style. Her warmth came through even over the phone.

“Like I said, I met with Heather. Have you met her?”

“No, I haven't.”

“You don't sit in on Dr. Edwards's sessions? How do you do your supervision?”

A defensive warning hummed inside Lydia. “Zach tapes each of his sessions. I listen to those. I can assure you we discuss each case in depth.”

“I'm not criticizing your methods. In fact, I'm glad to hear there are recordings of Zach's time with Heather. Have you listened to them?”

Lydia silently chastised herself for not spending the time listening to every moment of every session between Zach and Heather. She'd been too focused on Zach's reluctance to notify CPS of Heather's alleged abuse. “I spot-check them. I listen long enough to get a feel for rapport and issues. We discuss case conceptualization and therapy strategies face-to-face. I trust the folks I supervise until I have reason to believe otherwise.”

Barbie didn't respond.

“Are you telling me I have cause to be concerned?” Lydia asked.

A deep sigh prefaced the social worker's response. “Lydia, I'm not a psychologist. And I sure don't want to tell you how to do your job. But I've been doing mine a long time and like anyone, I guess you could say I've developed a nose for who's shining me on and who's being straight.”

“Are you suggesting Zach's being less than honest with you?”

“No. No, I'm not. It's just that…well, perhaps he needs more guidance than he's getting.”

“Barbie, can you tell me what you told your unit chief?” Lydia could tell the woman was hedging. “I can't fix what I don't know.”

“Fair enough. I had a nice long chat with Heather the day before yesterday. After I convinced her to tell her parents what was happening, I got to meet with Heather again yesterday. This time she had her mom and dad along with her.”

Lydia recalled Zach had been urging Heather to speak with her parents, but Heather had said she was afraid of ruining the close relationship her father had with his brother. “Good for you, Barbie. You seem to have succeeded where Zach failed. How did they react to her report that her uncle was abusing their sixteen-year-old daughter?”

“That's not what she told them. And it's not what she told me.”

“I'm confused.”

“So is this family. Lydia, Heather told me, when we were alone, and then she told her parents, that her uncle has never been inappropriate in any way toward her. She said she wanted to see Dr. Edwards because she was having a lot of confusion regarding sex. The Blankenships are a very religious family. Heather's dad is a minister. Her uncle is a deacon in the church.”

“Zach told me that.” Barbie was treading on what could be very dangerous ground. “Tell me more about what Heather said about her conflict.”

“Heather's family is big, but their income is small. That's why her folks brought her to county mental health when her grades started to drop and her mood took a dip. As you can imagine, she was embarrassed to talk about her sexual feelings. Her family keeps her pretty sheltered. While she's sixteen, I'd say she has the sophistication of about a twelve-year-old. But her body's changing. She's having urges and desires. I guess she even had a couple of dreams about her uncle. The way she describes them, I'd call them pretty typical for a kid her age.” Barbie paused. “You got kids, Lydia?”

“No.” Lydia immediately regretted the harshness of her reply. “But I can remember.”

Barbie chuckled. “I got three girls at home. Ages nine, twelve, and fifteen. I'm hip deep in the hormone swamp. My poor husband's taken to playing video games just to avoid the danger.”

“Tell me more about Heather,” Lydia urged.

“So Heather tells me that once she gets the nerve to talk to Zach about sex, Zach starts telling her she's showing all the typical signs of someone who's been abused. Heather says she told him it wasn't the case. That she hasn't even been kissed. But Heather says Zach told her it more than likely happened when she was young, probably before it even entered into her memory banks. Heather said he was pretty insistent. She said he told her she couldn't know for sure that it didn't happen. Heather had to agree to that one.”

Lydia stopped writing notes and sifted through her top desk drawer for the thumb drives containing the digital recordings of Zach's time with Heather. “What about the recent allegations of abuse? How did Heather explain those?”

“She says there have been none. Heather says Zach started asking her about times she'd spent with her father and her uncle. She says he started to say things like ‘That's when it happened,' and ‘Can't you see what he was doing to you?' She said that's why she stopped seeing him. She thought he wasn't helping at all.”

If what Heather was saying was true, the girl's decision to leave therapy with Zach might have been the smartest thing she'd ever done. “Abuse victims are easily swayed, Barbie. What leads you to believe Heather isn't saying these things to shield her family? Kids will do anything to protect their parents.”

“Like I said, I got this nose. That kid was telling me the truth. You need to talk to Zach. I don't know what his motivation is. Maybe he was trying to draw her out of her shell. I know rookies can make some bonehead moves. Let him know there may not be one right way to get a kid to open up…but what he did with Heather is definitely the wrong way.”

“With all due respect, Barbie, Zach's been top-notch in his work here. I need something more than your nose on this.”

Barbie didn't seem offended. “Well, we've got two things then, don't we? Listen to those tapes. They'll tell you if my hunch is right or not.”

Lydia promised her she'd listen to them word for word before the end of the day. They agreed to talk again the next morning. Lydia asked if Barbie would consider a joint session with him if she found something amiss in Zach's handling of Heather's case. “That way he can hear from both of us the fallout from mishandling these types of cases.”

Barbie said she'd be more than happy to do that and wished her a good day.

“Wait,” Lydia said. “You said we had two things to test your nose against. One is the recordings, what's the other?”

“Her parents brought Heather's health history with them. She last saw her pediatrician eight days ago. Aside from some minor acne, the girl's healthy as a horse. But she complained about cramping during her period so the doc did a pelvic.”

Lydia braced herself for what was coming. “And?”

“Heather Blankenship may be the last sixteen-year-old virgin in Thurston County. And she's got the medical record to prove it.”

Lydia stood in her office waiting room and shook herself like a bird dog just out of the lake. Rain splattered the furniture, rugs, and walls, but her list of concerns left no room for worrying about soggy upholstery. After she'd hung up with Barbie Simons, she plugged the first thumb drive Zach gave her into her computer and opened the file of his initial intake with Heather Blankenship. Just past the halfway mark of their first session, she paused the recording, called the patients she was scheduled to see that day, and canceled all her appointments. By the time she'd heard the entire first session, her muscles burned with tension while her brain screamed damning accusations.

You're sloppy. You're lazy. These people come to you for help and you offer them nothing.
The sneering hatred of her mother's voice joined in the chorus of recrimination.
You're not good for one damned thing.
Zach had come to her looking for supervision. He had counted on her to teach him what he needed to know to be a good therapist and she'd failed him. Her mind raced through her history of personal failures. She couldn't protect little Greta. Not all those years ago when their foster father came to them at night. Nor again when Greta appeared as the adult Savannah, looking to Lydia to help her make sense of it all.
She ended up dead. Hanging from the porch of the very office where you ask people to come to hear your sage advice.
The debacles of her past segued into a montage of The Fixer's victims.
You thought you were bringing justice to those denied. Look around you. Is the world any better for all the blood you spilled?
Her self-vilification culminated with Mort.
You've ruined a good man. A man who lived his entire life in the light. One encounter with you and you've made him a criminal. You're poison. Let the world be done with you. Allow those pitiable enough to have crossed your path the chance to live free of you.

Her body grew heavy. The room pulsed with the throbbing drumbeat of her own self-hatred. She'd closed her eyes and willed herself to disappear. A small murmur struggled against the odious din.

Get out of here. Move. Go.
She'd opened her eyes and acted before her loathsome thoughts could ambush the small voice of hope. She went to the entry closet, pulled out a pair of running shoes covered with two years of dust, and put them on. She busied herself downloading the remaining sessions of Zach and Heather onto her MP3 player, pushed buds into her ears, and took off running in the cold November rain.

She trotted through the morning streets of Olympia, dodging shoppers looking for early Christmas bargains and business people darting to meetings. She pulled herself out of her body, letting her arms and legs function on their own as she attended to what she was hearing. She had run the length of Capitol Boulevard, down to the docks, and past the farmer's market by the time the second session was finished. She pressed Pause and leaned forward, hands on knees, and panted.
I've got to fix this.
When her breath had settled, she straightened, taking a moment to watch the comings and goings of busy Olympians going about their day.
You all look so normal.
She'd nodded to the man delivering fish to the restaurant across the street. He shook his head at the sight of a woman wearing a soaked brown tweed skirt, silk blouse, and running shoes. Lydia clicked her player back on and resumed her run as soon as she heard Zach's voice welcoming Heather to their third session, the final one before Heather had shown the good sense to stop coming.

And now she was back, soaked to the skin, hair plastered to her head, and exhausted. But the damning voices were gone. In their place was a determination to fix the situation she'd created. This wasn't Zach's fault.
She
was his supervisor. Had she taken the time to listen to his tapes completely, she'd have caught his errors.

She pulled off her wet shoes and went to her desk. Her message light was blinking. Lydia pressed the button and listened to Will Sorens's voice as she tried to wring water out of her skirt.

“Dr. Corriger, Emma's bad. She's just back from her mother's and she's not talking. No matter how much I try to coax her, she just sits there, staring at me with these eyes…these accusing eyes…like she's telling me she expected me to save her and I didn't. Help me. Tell me what I can do for my girl.” He left his number and hung up.

Lydia immediately returned the call. Will's voice mail kicked in after one ring. She wondered if he was on another line, trying desperately to gather any and all resources he could to protect his daughter from her stepfather. Lydia left her message assuring him she'd be waiting for his call. She hung up and on impulse dialed Sharon Luther's personal number. After a few pleasantries, Lydia got to the reason for the call.

“Tell me what you think about Zach Edwards. I want to know your real assessment of him.”

“Oh, shit. What's the guy done?”

Lydia didn't feel the need to share Zach's stumblings in the Heather Blankenship case. It was her job to train him clinically and she'd do it. She needed Zach to change his ways; fast and permanently.

“It's nothing to worry about,” Lydia lied. “I have some pretty direct feedback I need to deliver. I'm hoping you can give me some tips as to how best to approach him. You know, without wasting a lot of time dealing with defensive posturing.”