I Speak For This Child: True Stories of a Child Advocate (17 page)

Mitzi’s adversarial attitude toward the Stevensons was beginning to irritate me. Rich was a disturbed child, probably due to years of neglect. Alicia was the alleged victim of an incestuous relationship. While there was no direct evidence that Cory had ever been abused, he had been in trouble with the law twice: for throwing watermelons at a barn and for driving a neighbor’s tractor and leaving it a mile down the road when it ran out of gas. To me both were in the realm of pranks and hardly signified a criminal mind. If anything, his problems sounded like a distress signal.

“I’ve met Alicia and I think she’s adorable,” I said. “And I’m looking forward to visiting Cory tomorrow.”

“I wish you luck with the whole tribe,” Mitzi said as she fumbled for the last cigarette in her pack. “Maybe you can make a difference, but after what they’ve been through, I doubt it.”

I was lost. Both sides of the road were marked as state forest lands. Ahead stretched a baby blue Florida sky unbroken by a single cloud. It was after three and I was late for my first appointment to see Cory at the MacDougals. According to my notes, I should have crossed a bridge by now. On a whim, at a new intersection I took a road, which wound around to a more populated area, and kept working my way to the left. In two more turns I was on the road I wanted.

The MacDougals lived at the end of a rural lane. Cattle grazed beside the fence. I rang the bell and waited. After several minutes Renata MacDougal came to the door and opened it a crack. “Didn’t think you were going to make it.”

“I missed the bridge.”

“You don’t cross the bridge if you’re coming from the east.”

For a second I wondered if she had purposely led me astray, then dismissed the notion. I must have given her the wrong idea of where I lived.

She opened the door a few inches farther. “In all my years as a foster parent, nobody ever came to check on me before.”

“I’m only here to talk to Cory about his situation and let him know he won’t be alone when he has to go to court.”

“He thinks his sister made the whole thing up,” she said as she led the way to a round table in the kitchen. Renata MacDougal was a formidable woman with muscular arms—I suspected she could wield a chain saw with one hand. In the center of the table was a basket lined with a quilted gingham pad where a fluffy gray Persian cat wearing a blue ribbon was surveying the room. As soon as Renata sat down, the cat pounced onto her lap.

“Cory can’t accept the truth about his father. After a while, he’ll learn the value of the structured life he has here compared with the disorganized one he had before.”

I glanced around the house, which was spotlessly clean. Not a wrinkled cushion or errant sneaker betrayed teenagers in residence. “How’s Cory adjusting?” I asked.

“He’s been having trouble controlling himself,” Renata said, grimacing. “We’ve had bedwetters before, but never this.” I waited while she stroked the cat. “I find his soiled underwear hidden under his bed. It stinks so bad I have to throw it out.”

“You mean he can’t control his bowels?” She nodded. “I would think that would be terribly embarrassing to a boy his age.”

“As it should be.”

“He might have a physical problem, or maybe it has to do with some abuse he suffered.”

Renata MacDougal shrugged. “It’s part of his lack of discipline. Conrad—that’s my husband—he says what these boys need is to be humiliated until they stop making mistakes.”

“I don’t know if I would use that approach …”

“That’s how we broke Rudy of his bedwetting. Once boys get with our program, everything improves: their behavior, their attitude, even their grades in school. Here at the farm we have plenty of chores to do. It keeps their minds from wandering, keeps their bodies busy. When their heads hit their pillows, they fall asleep.”

“Tell me about their routine responsibilities.”

“They have to feed the cattle and the chickens and clean out the stable. There are fences to paint and windows to wash. They keep their rooms tidy and wash the dishes. If they don’t do something right the first time, they have to do it again.” She stood up and went to the window. “School bus is at the corner. Just because you are here, doesn’t mean that Cory won’t have to do his chores.”

I was about to protest but decided a direct confrontation would only antagonize Mrs. MacDougal, who seemed rather rigid. I asked to use the bathroom. She pointed to one between the children’s bedrooms. The room was immaculate. Towels were folded precisely into thirds and triangles of washcloths draped on an angle. The toilet seat lid was down and fitted with an embroidered terry cloth cover. The sink counter was bare. There were no cosmetics or toothbrushes. Not a single droplet of water or slight residue of soap scum indicated human habitation. Even the most meticulous housekeeper would be challenged to meet this spit-and-polish standard.

I tried to comprehend how a terrified thirteen-year-old, who had been forcibly removed from a chaotic home and placed here against his will, would react to this hyperfastidious environment. Might Cory’s discomfort and inability to understand the new, fairly harsh rules have something to do with soiling his pants? Or had he been sexually abused by his father to the point where his anal sphincter had been damaged? And was he so ashamed of this molestation that he had to hide his dirty underwear?

I walked into the living room and saw three gangling boys lined up waiting for me. “This is the lady from HRS who is here for Cory,” Renata MacDougal explained.

“I’m not from HRS. They call me a Guardian ad Litem. Do any of you other boys have one?”

“No, ma’am,” said the tallest, bowing his head.

“Look at the lady when she’s speaking to you, Rudy.” He glanced up shyly. “Rudy’s been with us almost two years and he’s going to go into the coast guard. And, that’s Chris,” she said indicating a chubby boy wearing glasses.

“And I must be Cory,” Cory responded with an impish smile that contrasted with the shy, defeated expressions of the other two. “What about Alicia? Does she have somebody like you?” he asked.

“I’m Alicia’s guardian too. In fact, I saw her a few days ago.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, revealing crooked, stained teeth and a serious overbite.

“Did you know that today is her birthday?”

“Sure, but I couldn’t get her anything. I don’t have any money.”

“What she really wants is a phone call from you.”

Cory looked soulfully at Mrs. MacDougal, then back at me. “It’s long distance. “

“You can call her on my credit card.”

“Could I?” His Prussian blue eyes lit up.

Mrs. MacDougal was speaking softly to her cat. “Juniper, Juniper …”

I asked which phone he might use and she pointed to one next to a reclining chair. “Are you on AT&T?” She nodded. I picked up the phone, dialed Alicia’s number, and entered the Guardian ad Litem office’s credit card number, then handed Cory the phone.

“Happy Birthday, Ally!” he chimed, then babbled in a jumble of private sibling syllables.

“Has Cory seen a doctor?” I asked Renata softly.

“Haven’t had time yet.”

“Considering the difficulty you told me about, I think you should make an appointment with one of the child protection team doctors for a general checkup as well as to learn whether it is the result of any abuse. They may have ideas about how to help him regain control.”

Mrs. MacDougal was cleaning the edge of the cat’s eye with a tissue. I looked over at Cory, who was nodding and giggling on the phone, and caught his attention. With my hand I signaled to wind up the call. “Love you, Sis,” he said with more sincerity than was typical of a boy his age, then, before he hung up, concluded, “don’t forget, we’re engaged and we’re gonna be married. Just you and me, forever.”

When Renata heard those odd concluding remarks, she rolled her eyes at me.

Cory sat quietly in the chair for a short while longer. When he turned toward us, his lower lip quivered.

“You miss Alicia.” He nodded. “You guys need to see each other more often. Maybe over Christmas vacation?” My query was directed to his foster mother.

“I don’t think that is a good idea,” she said slowly. “When Rudy came back from visits with his sister, he misbehaved. Eventually I put a stop to them, and he’s been better ever since. Right, Rudy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Rudy, who was sitting on the sofa with his hands tucked between his knees.

“I think the three Stevensons need to stay in touch. Maybe I could arrange something over the Christmas holiday.”

“The last time Cory saw his sister in court he became so upset he couldn’t get any work done the rest of the day.”

“Maybe he was upset about what happened in court.”

“I want him home with our family for Christmas,” Renata said, then sniffed the air as though searching for some noxious odor. I stood up. “Guardians usually take their kids out for a treat so they can become better acquainted. Where might be a good place to go around here?”

“Cory’s not going anywhere today.”

“I’ll bring him back in half an hour.”

“I’ll have to talk to Mitzi Keller about this.”

“No problem. She knows guardians do it all the time. C’mon Cory, let’s find us a cold drink.”

“Cool car!” Cory said as he buckled himself into my gray Thunderbird and wiggled around in the seat.

He was a young thirteen with baby soft skin, apple cheeks, and not a hint of facial hair. His eyes were a startling shade of blue with a thick coil of Stevenson lashes. His head was covered by a mop of straight hair streaked with multiple shades of burnished blond. The back was trimmed to allow for a “tail” to grow, the latest fashion for boys his age. He wore cutoff jeans and a stained T-shirt with a big-wheeled truck and SMASHER emblazoned across it. He was the sort of boy who melted the hearts of grandmothers and had preteen girls gushing: “Oh, he is
soooo cute!”

“Where’s the nearest place to go?” I asked.

Cory mentioned a tavern and a convenience store across the bridge. I pulled into the Qwik-King and told him to select a drink. He brought over an RC Cola and stared at the candy bars near the cash register. “What’s your favorite?” He pointed to a Snickers bar and I bought it. Before I had paid, he had devoured it. I added a package of peanuts, then handed it to him in the car. Between sips and crunches he responded to my questions.

“Do you like it at the MacDougals’?”

“Yeah, they’re okay.”

“Would you rather be someplace else?”

“With my dad.”

“That’s not possible now.”

“He didn’t ever do nothin’ to me!” Cory finished his soda and began crushing the can between his knees.

“Do you think the MacDougals are fair?”

“I guess.”

“How do they punish you?”

“They make me do windows. I wouldn’t mind it, if I could do them right, but even when I think they’re perfect, Renata finds a streak and I have to start over with the towels and rags and newspapers in a certain order, then she inspects them again.”

“Does she do that with the other boys?”

“Yeah, but they don’t mind cause they are just a bunch of retards.”

“I thought Rudy was going into the coast guard.”

“He can’t even read. Renata just says that because he likes boats.”

We were back in front of the house. I handed Cory a card with the guardian office phone number and told him he could always call me collect.

“Yeah, sure,” he responded. Even when he spoke sarcastically, there was something so guileless about his expression that it was difficult to take offense.

“You don’t believe I’m on your side.”

“Nope. You can’t be on my side and my sister’s side at the same time. She’s the one who broke up our family and put Dad in jail.”

“If you could have a wish right now, what would it be?”

“To be back home with Dad.” He jutted his chin.

“You won’t be able to go back with him until after the trial, and then only if he isn’t found guilty.”

“He won’t be.” Cory paused and waited for me to challenge him. When I didn’t, he asked, “When will the trial be?”

“Probably not until this spring.”

“But he’s supposed to get out of jail next month.”

“Yes, but he’s in jail now for a different reason.”

“Yeah, I know. When the judge said he was putting me in foster care, Dad said ‘bullshit.’ “

“When you cuss in court, that’s called contempt. Your father got a forty-five-day sentence.” As I spoke, I saw Cory’s eyes flash with anger. “I guess you miss your father.”

“I don’t want to see him in jail.”

“How about when he gets out?”

“Dad has to be supervised and he hates that HRS lady.”

“I could be the supervisor, if you’d prefer.”

“Yeah, I would,” he said, then glanced aside.

“For now I’ll call you once in a while just to check in. How often would you like me to do that?”

“I dunno.”

“Once a week?” He grinned. “Okay, I’ll call you next week. I don’t have to tell anyone what you say to me unless I think you might be harmed. Otherwise everything is private.”

A light rain was falling when we returned to his home. Renata MacDougal stood by the front door. Cory jumped out into a muddy rut and told her he was going to feed the cows.

I received a call from Lillian Elliott the next afternoon. “Gay, I don’t know how to tell you this, but we have had a serious complaint about you,” she said in a tense voice.

“From whom?”

“Phyllis Cady.”

“Who’s that?”

“She’s in charge of the foster care program. She said that Cory would be asked to leave the MacDougal home if you ever phoned or visited there again.”

“What did I do?” I asked, quickly trying to recall what might have caused the disturbance.

“Mrs. MacDougal claims that you came to her house unannounced. Now while guardians sometimes do that, we always suggest an appointment for the first visit.”

“Lillian, I certainly did have an appointment. I could never have found that place, which has a rural route box number, without detailed instructions. Actually Mrs. MacDougal gave me incorrect directions, and I only found the place by chance. What else?”

“ She was upset that you allowed Cory to make a long-distance phone call, without her permission, and that he ran up her bill for a half hour.”