“What about Mike? Has he called? You said he was going to check in with someone he knows.” She snuggled next to Marcus, taking comfort from his arm around her shoulders.
He shook his head. “Either he hasn’t heard back from that guy, or there was nothing relevant to tell us.” He kissed her cheek. “Are you going to make a complaint against Carl?”
“I don’t know what he did, and I can’t accuse him without more information. He’s a colleague! Can you imagine what that will mean to his career if it gets out that I’ve charged him with abusing my child—especially if nothing really happened?”
Marcus turned her around to face him. “Do you honestly think Cecelia would have run away from him if nothing happened? Amanda—you’re not thinking clearly about this. Something did happen! We just don’t know all the details yet.”
She sighed. “I know. But if I make an official complaint, won’t that mean a trial? And won’t Cece have to testify? You saw how she was with those police officers even though she was safe in her own room. Can you imagine how terrified she will be if she has to answer questions from strangers, in a courtroom? And I doubt they’ll let me hold her hand while she’s on the stand. Marcus, she’s only nine,” her voice plaintive. “I won’t put her through that.”
He hugged her. “I don’t want that either, but I’m not going to let this go. My gut tells me Carl did more than just give that paper to her.”
She nodded, miserable at the thought. “Me, too. Maybe she’ll tell me more after her casts are off. Maybe when more time has passed.” Or perhaps they’d learn more when they saw how Cece acted the next time she saw Carlton at the office.
Chapter 11
Cecelia tossed and turned in her bed. “Go away! I’m not supposed to let you in.” The images kept coming back to her at night, making her afraid to go to sleep. She tried to stay awake so she wouldn’t see the icky man, but eventually she fell asleep, and then she couldn’t escape the terrible dreams. She squeezed her eyes closed, hoping the face of that bad man would go away, but she could feel his arms holding her tight. “No! Let me go!” Her arms couldn’t move. They were so heavy.
She felt someone touch her shoulder, startling her in the darkness. “Are you having a bad dream, darling?” her mother’s voice came to her.
She reached out, sobbing. “Oh, mama.”
Her mother held and rocked her. “It’s okay, Cece. You’re home, you’re safe. Just let me hold you for a minute.”
Her heart kept racing, and it was hard to catch her breath. “I was so scared.”
“I know, sweetheart, but you’re safe now.”
She rested against the warmth of her mother’s body, snuggling closer to her nightgown. After her mother rocked her, she felt safe again and, oh, so tired. She closed her eyes in the darkness and clung to Eeyore when her mother tucked the covers around her. If only what was so scary would go away and never come back.
Two days later, a lady came to visit. Her mom said her name was Marie Connor, and she sat with her in her bedroom next to a table Marcus had brought her to use when she did her homework and ate her meals.The nice lady had a long grey braid that went down her back almost to her waist and she wore a bright-colored skirt that reminded her of one of the handkerchiefs Sam’s dad used to wipe his face after he pushed them extra-high in Sam’s big tree swing. The lady brought two big bags full of all kinds of toys, some soft, some with jointed arms and legs, houses of different sizes, and all kinds of tiny furniture. She dumped some of them onto the bed. Others were on the table.
“We’re going to tell each other stories, Cecelia,” the lady said with a smile.
“Where’s my mom? Is she going to tell stories, too?”
“Not right now. She’s downstairs making me some tea. Why don’t you choose whichever of these toys you want and I’ll take the others out of your way. Then we’ll make stories together. I just thought of one.” The lady pushed her long braid over her shoulder while she reached out for the three fuzzy bears and told their story.
“I know that one.” Cecelia smiled through the story and told it along with the lady.
“Good. While you’re finding the pieces for your story, I’m going downstairs and ask your mother for a cup of tea.Then I’ll come back and you can tell me your story.”
“Okay. “ While she was gone, Cecelia looked through the boxes. She saw a doll with stiff yellow hair. “If you had curls, you’d look like me,” she murmured.