Mr. Garvey listened very patiently, Laura said. He comforted her and, within about thirty minutes, she had recovered and went on to class with a late slip written and signed by Mr. Garvey. That afternoon when Laura went home and walked into the house, she walked into a fist. “So I hit you, do I?” her father bellowed. “Now you’re hit, you sniveling little cry baby!”

When Laura went to school with a fat lip the next day, she said her little sister accidentally opened a cupboard door in her face. And she told Iris, “Never trust that bastard Garvey—he’s a liar and a creep.”

When Iris told Seth that story, he was appalled. “My God, don’t you take an oath of confidentiality or something when you become a counselor?”

“If someone is in danger or is a danger to others, we really do have to step in and do something proactive, but tipping off the abuser isn’t on the list of recommended actions. John Garvey thought he knew everything and frankly, he did a lot of damage. I wonder what’s become of Laura? I hope she’s hugely successful and brilliantly happy and sticks pins in a John Garvey doll every day.”

“Do you have any idea how much time Robbie Delaney spends with his kids?” Seth asked.

She shook her head. “He hasn’t lived in Thunder Point for years. I have no idea when he officially left town—I was away at school for a long time after graduation. I heard through gossip that Sassy left, was back, left again, was back. Her sister and parents lived here and when she’s been on her own, she moved in with family. At least that’s what I heard.”

“I might try to have a conversation with Robbie, unless you think that’s a bad idea,” Seth said.

“Handle it delicately,” she said. “We don’t want him to act out on the kids because...” She took a breath. “Because what if he’s the abuser?”

“Well, here’s the thing I can’t do, Iris,” he said. “I can’t have any unnecessary traffic with Sassy. She just gets all the wrong messages.”

* * *

It was nice to have someone like Seth to talk to for a lot of reasons. They were on the same professional team, to start with—both of them concerned about abuse and neglect and all manner of violence. It was also nice to have a friend to talk to about everything from silly, funny things to serious matters to global issues. And someone who shared your past was extremely comforting. The one thing that continued to worry her was that she still had a dangerous attraction to him. She was afraid that when it all played out and he told her the truth, that he wanted to restore their friendship but had no romantic ideas, it was going to sting. And sting bad.

But for now she let that worry slide as she dug into how to handle the situation with Sassy’s bruised daughter.

She waited patiently for another sign, and sadly it didn’t take long. The phys ed teacher reported that Rachel Delaney had dark bruises on her biceps that resembled the strong grip of someone who might’ve grabbed her. Whether the abuser had been male or female wasn’t certain, but four fingers and a thumb on each arm looked pretty obvious.

Iris launched into action. She summoned Cammie Munson. She sent a note asking her to drop by during her study hall or right after classes ended for the day. It was around midday that Cammie stopped by.

“You wanted to see me, Ms. McKinley?” she asked politely.

“Yes, thanks for coming by. Have a seat,” she said, rising to close both her doors—the one that led to the offices and cubicles and the one that opened to the hall where all the students passed. When that outer door was closed, a do-not-disturb sign automatically slid into place. “I was looking at the SAT scores—you did so well. Are you happy with the scores or do you want to try to do better?”

Cammie sighed. “I don’t know,” she said wearily. “I could probably do better, but do I have to? I mean, I can get into an Oregon college with the scores I have, right? Because the thought of another prep course and another whole day of exhausting testing... God, it sounds just awful.”

Iris couldn’t help it, she smiled. “I understand completely. Unless you’re looking for a little additional scholarship help for an out-of-state school.”

Cammie shook her head. “There’s no way I’m going out of state,” she said. “It’s going to be hard enough managing an Oregon school. We don’t have a lot of money. I’m applying for financial aid.”

“I understand that completely,” Iris said. “I got through college on loans and aids. Lucky for me, I chose to stay and work in Oregon. That reduced the balance on state loans. Kind of like working in the trenches, you know?”

“Really? I didn’t know that,” she said, scooting forward in her chair. “Because I don’t want to leave Oregon. To travel, maybe, but not to live!”

“So we’re pretty good on that issue, are we?” Iris asked.

“I think I’m good to go,” she said. “I’d so love to cheer for the Ducks, but I hear it’s really hard to get in that squad.”

“But I’ve watched you and you’re good. I like your chances.”

“Thanks, Ms. McKinley, that’s really nice of you to say.”

“Oh, I’m not just being nice, Cammie—I think you’re very talented in a lot of areas. So, let’s talk about something else, since we have time. Your best friend is Rachel Delaney, am I right?”

“Right, yes,” she said.

“You two could be sisters, you look that much alike. Tell me why you think she has so many accidents,” Iris said, stabbing the subject with a sharp point.

Cammie was momentarily speechless. “I don’t know what you mean,” she finally said.

“Yes, you do, Cammie. She gets hurt a lot. Bruises, black eyes, soreness, one day her lip was cut and swollen. What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug, looking into her lap. “She got hurt in cheer one day....”

“Here’s what we have to do, Cammie. We have to level with each other before something really bad happens. I can help her if she needs help without it coming back on you. She either needs some kind of intervention to stop the abuse or she could use a consultation with a neurologist to find out if she has some condition that throws her off balance, like multiple sclerosis or a brain injury. I suspect, however, that someone is hurting her. And if I’m right, I can give her some ideas of how we can stop it without anyone being mad at her. Okay?”

Iris could barely hear Cammie’s voice, soft as butterfly feet. “I promised,” she whispered.

“And I promise you, Cammie, I will keep your secret.”

“But if I’m the only one who knows—”

“Well, that’s very unlikely. You come to understand that as years go by—there are no secrets. Not really. But that’s beside the point—if someone is hurting her, I can get around the secret part and get her out of a bad situation.”

Cammie shook her head and her pretty blond hair swayed. “I don’t think so. I don’t think you can. I can’t talk about it.”

“Here’s what I want you to do. Think about this for a day or so. Think about what’s more important—telling the counselor so Rachel can be helped or keeping this secret and having something worse happen. And also think about this—it’s part of my job to investigate if I think something dangerous is happening. I don’t have a choice. I have to try to figure out what’s going on.”