Stalling for a few seconds, Tessa easily ripped the dried-out packing tape from the box. Inside, she saw stacks of clothes. Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her face like two silvery canals. A deep breath. I can do this. I owe it to Poppy and Piper.
A Harry Potter shirt that she remembered buying, knowing there had to be a matching one in Piper’s things as both were Potter addicts. She went through the rest of the clothing, deciding she would donate most of it, minus the Harry Potter shirts.
Going on to a second box, she was surprised to find the sketchbooks. She had not thought it would be so easy.
“Here they are,” she said. “It appears as though they’re all in this box.”
“Tessa, why don’t you let me go through them first? I know this is hard.”
“No, I’m okay,” she said, and used the sleeve of her sweatshirt to blot her tears. “It’s not all bad,” she explained.
“Then let’s start looking through them,” Jill said.
Grabbing several spiral sketchbooks between them, they flipped through the pages.
“This might be something,” Sam said, handing the sketchbook to Jill.
“Okay, let me see what you have found,” Jill replied. She took her time as she perused the pages, thumbing back and forth, then closing the book.
Sighing, she spoke. “It’s . . . it may be.” Jill stopped and seemed to be deliberating. “Tessa, did the girls, Poppy in particular, resent Joel, or men, Liam in this case, in any way?”
She thought about it but could not remember a time when Poppy or Piper had any issue with their dad, or any man, at least nothing out of the ordinary. Joel worked long hours, and Tessa knew the girls were closer to her than they were to Joel, but that’s how it worked in their family.
“I don’t believe either had any reason to feel anything but love for their father. The only men they were around were Joel, and Liam, and of course, teachers and such at school. I’m sure neither had any issues with men. They were quite open with me. I’m sure if there was a problem, they would have come to me.”
“Then why keep Liam’s . . . abuse to themselves?” Jill questioned.
“Fear? He told them he would kill them and their family if they told. I’m not a psychiatrist, but I’m sure they took him at his word. Can you imagine how . . . frightened they must have been?” Tessa felt her heart rate increase as it always did when she spoke of this. “Maybe they were simply too scared to tell. It’s such a leap of faith to me, as I’m sure it was to them, that their uncle would even consider touching them inappropriately.” This still didn’t justify her surmise. She had not known her daughters’ innermost secrets, and not knowing sooner might have cost them their lives.
Jill draped both arms around Tessa’s shoulders. “Don’t blame yourself. Actually, it’s quite common for victims to protect their abusers. Statistically, eight out of ten children know their abusers, and more often than not, it’s a trusted family member or a friend. The girls were afraid; I know this for a fact. They truly believed Liam would harm them, you, and Joel. Those were certainly not their exact words, but I understood what they were telling me.”
“Let me see the sketchbook,” Tessa stated.
Jill held the book against her chest. “Are you sure you want to see this? They’re very disturbing.”
“Of course! Good grief, Jill, if there is something in Poppy’s art that . . . I don’t know, just let me see the damned thing.” Tessa held her hand out, palm up.
Jill closed the sketchbook, then handed it to Tessa. Tessa’s hands shook as she flipped open the cover on the book. One by one, she viewed Poppy’s drawings, her mouth agape.
She tossed the sketchbook back to Jill. “I . . . I don’t know what to say. This is horrifying.” Tessa wanted to kill Liam, the son of a bitch. How could this have happened without her knowing? And when? Where? She had spent ten years in prison trying to recall when the girls were alone with Liam. There had been a few occasions when they’d had him over to the house for dinner, and of course then he wouldn’t have been completely alone with them, but they had dinner parties with Liam and dozens of acquaintances. With her acting as hostess while Joel mingled, there was plenty of opportunity for him to spend alone time with them. In their rooms, possibly the pool house. She couldn’t wrap her head around the situation. Both girls, on different occasions; according to Jill, neither one had told the other what was happening until the morning Poppy said something about it to Tessa. Tessa couldn’t begin to fathom how this could have gone on in their home without her knowing about it.
Breaking the silence, Sam said, “It’s not pretty.”
Tessa nodded. “No. I wish I would have . . . well, I hadn’t the faintest idea.” The fight had gone out of her, and she plopped down on one of the unopened boxes. She looked up at Jill. “What’s your professional take on the drawings?” Drawings of adult male penises with a knife slashed through them. Another of a little girl with a single giant blood-red tear streaming down her face. It was a face Tessa did not recognize.
“Whoever drew these pictures was definitely sexually abused,” Jill stated flatly. “Of course, we know it was Poppy. What the drawing indicates to me, the emphasis on the desire to mutilate the genitals, and Poppy’s artistic abilities are excellent, is that she wanted to reveal the abuse but was fearful. Possibly, she hoped you would find her sketchbooks and open the door for her to tell. Their behavior, keeping their lights on at night, wanting to go back to sharing a
