Kathy paused in front of the kitchen table in Suzie Hammaker’s house. She’d delivered Gene into her care and provided the paper work. She had no further excuse, yet there she stood, unable to resist.
“Are you aware of the story your son wrote?”
“Story? Um,” Suzie bit her lip, eyes pointed up and off to the side, which could mean anything.
“The principal showed it to me.” Kathy returned to her seat.
“The principal?”
“Oh no,” Gene moaned. He covered his face with his hands, then dropped them to look earnestly at Suzie. “It’s just a story. All right? It isn’t the truth.”
“I can well believe the part about Mrs. D…” Kathy assured him. After what Greear had said, she felt she would recognize the woman on sight.
“No, no. That part is true. Probably. But everything about me….” He trailed off, unable meet her eyes.
He would deny it? Even now he would deny what his own father did to him? A bitterness threatened to wash over Kathy. This was why she had considered giving up her job. So often the victims didn’t appreciate what she tried to do for them. And she’d been so sure Gene would be different merely because he’d asked to come here instead of going home.
“Ben wrote a story about Gene’s rib getting cracked?” Suzie asked her.
“You really know nothing about it?”
Suzie sighed. Then shook her head, crestfallen.
Kathy patted her hand. “He wrote a story in which Gene’s father abused him. In the story Gene’s father also colluded with Mrs. D to have Gene put in an sane asylum.”
“That part was certainly real,” Suzie said, surprising Kathy. Of all the parts in the story, Kathy had assumed that one was fake.
Both women turned toward Gene, waiting expectantly for his answer. Instead, the door behind him opened, and a boy and girl of about his age walked in.
“Ben! What are you doing home early,” Suzie asked.
Kathy stared. It was the author of the story.
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