Take Another Look (11 page)

With a sigh, Jane clicked open the 2005 study she'd been using, which was based on an extensive research project involving more than five thousand sets of twins born in the 1990s. A differentiation was made between identical twins, who shared one hundred percent of their cellular code, and fraternal twins, who shared only about fifty percent. The study found that psychopathic traits had a high rate of heritability. “Eighty-one percent,” Jane breathed, unable to wrap her brain around the striking statistic. Of course, environment played a role in the way any child developed. The study acknowledged that, allowing that environment could help a child overcome a negative genetic trait.

Even so, the power of genetics was undeniable. One scientist asserted that this evidence debunked the belief that all children were born with a natural innocence. His claim: Some children were born with a propensity for evil.

A frightening assertion. Jane took a deep breath, trying to separate her personal fears from the facts of the study. None of these statistics guaranteed that Harper would inherit the callous lack of compassion Frank had possessed. In fact, one of the traits of a sociopath was lack of emotion, and that didn't fit Harper at all. Of course, Jane would not include Harper in the case study for this paper, for her peace of mind and her daughter's privacy.

As if on cue, the classroom door flew open and Harper dropped her softball bag on the floor. “Why can't anything go right?” She stomped over to Jane, leaving clumps of mud and grass behind her as she crossed the carpet in her cleats. “It's so unfair.”

“What happened?”

“Olivia is ruining everything. She talked Coach Carrie into letting her catch in practice, and Carrie thought she did a good job. Olivia is the starting catcher in Thursday's game.”

“What?” It didn't make sense. “Carrie told us she was keeping Olivia as shortstop.”

“But something happened.” Harper raked her hair back, pacing frantically. “He talked to her. Mr. Fergie got to her, Mom. He came to practice and made her give Olivia a try. And now Olivia is catcher. It's so unfair. How can they do this to me?”

“Oh, honey. That's awful.” Jane was surprised Carrie had made a move like that without warning her, but she understood the difficulty of dealing with a parent like Pete Ferguson. For now, the only thing to do was soothe Harper.

“Don't you have anything to drink in here?” Harper demanded, checking drawers of the old metal desk. “I'm so thirsty, and I think someone stole my water bottle.”

“Get something from the machine in the hall,” Jane said.

“I need water!” Harper slammed a drawer closed and stomped across the room. “This is the worst day ever.”

“I'm sure you'll get another chance to play catcher.”

“No! Not as long as Olivia is around.” Looking out the window toward the field, Harper punched a fist against the metal box of the heater.

“Harper!” Jane was not up for a temper tantrum. “Stop it. Just keep your cool about this.”

“How am I supposed to do that? Don't you get it? I don't know how to play shortstop, and the outfield is so boring. I can't focus out there, just standing around.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she turned and paced back to Jane. “Everything was going along fine until Olivia went to that stupid camp. It's all her fault. I hate her.”

“Hoppy, we can't blame Olivia for everything,” Jane said, trying to divert Harper from playing the blame game.

“Mom!” Harper pressed her palms to her ears in frustration. “What do you not get about this? She is ruining my life, and she doesn't even feel bad about it.”

“That's because in her mind it's not about you. Olivia is single-mindedly focused on getting what she wants.”
Just as you are,
Jane thought, though this was no time to pick at her daughter; damage control was the primary goal of the moment.

“I don't care what she wants.” Harper lowered her voice. “I hate her.” The cool glint in her blue eyes was hauntingly familiar to Jane.

Frank's eyes. Harper had his eyes, his malice, his depravity.

“I hate that bitch.” Harper's voice oozed venom. “She needs to die.”

“Don't say that.” There was no tempering the shrill note in Jane's voice. “I know you don't mean it.” Jane knew her daughter wasn't like that. The little girl who had spent hours making shots at the basketball net was not a cruel person.

“Why are you telling me what I should say?” Harper's cool tone unnerved Jane. “Don't I have freedom of speech?”

Jane struggled to keep from snapping back some barb about “earning your freedom.” It would get her nowhere to argue semantics right now, but she could not have her daughter threatening to kill someone—even if she didn't mean it. “Hate is a strong word—”

“I know what it means, and I know how it feels,” Harper bit back as she pulled a coin purse from her bag.

Jane held up one hand. “Fine. You're entitled to your emotions, but you can't go around wishing people dead. Menacing. Even threatening.”

“I can wish anything I want,” Harper challenged as coins jingled in her cupped fist.

Crossing her arms, Jane held her tongue and glared at the teenage monster ducking out to the hallway vending machine.
She doesn't mean what she's saying,
Jane reassured herself. Harper hated killing spiders; she wouldn't wish pain on another person.

But she just did,
Jane thought, hugging her arms tightly around herself.
She just did.

Chapter 11

T
he first few days of school, Jane kept her cool while Harper stomped around like an irate dragon, ready to snap at any obstacle in her path. Jane was sick of hearing about Olivia this and Olivia that. When she asked Harper to take a deep breath and try to keep things in perspective—it was, after all, just fall ball—Harper burst into tears, accused Jane of lacking empathy, and stomped off to her room. Another day, Jane reminded Harper that she had a lot to be thankful for. “You have only one sophomore year of high school to enjoy in this lifetime,” Jane pointed out. Harper simply dug into her mac and cheese with a scowl.

When Jane dropped by the PE office to talk with Carrie, the coach was apologetic. “I'm sorry about having to play Olivia as catcher. I know I told you that wouldn't happen, but word came down from the powers that be, and . . . well, I didn't have a choice.”

Jane read an apology in the coach's eyes. “Was it Kathleen? Dr. Gallaway?”

Carrie nodded, pressing her teeth into the cuticle of one thumb. “Did you know that the Fergusons donate enough money each year to pay four teachers' salaries?”

“So I've heard.” The torn skin around Carrie's thumb was bleeding now. Sad, the pressure schools placed on their coaches. “I've been in your shoes before. Olivia was failing freshman English in my class until her parents clubbed me with their magic wand. The sad part is that Olivia's really the one who suffers the most. She's being taught that you can buy anything you want in life.”

“Between you and me? It really sucks.”

It was one of those unfair situations that Harper would simply have to deal with. A bitter life lesson.

“Don't sweat it, Carrie,” Jane assured her. “Hoppy will learn to deal. And maybe we'll get lucky and Olivia will just give up the dream.”

Carrie took a tissue and pressed it to her thumb. “Wouldn't that be nice.”

 

Jane had no choice but to let Harper sulk as she surreptitiously e-mailed Dennis Alvarez and focused on getting to know her new students. The detective told her that she wouldn't be asked to testify until sometime in the spring; with Frank Dixon currently behind bars, there was ample time to investigate and cull evidence to substantiate the other charges. Jane was grateful for the extra time. She still wasn't sure how to explain her involvement in the California trial to Harper, and she dreaded going back to Burnson, dealing with her parents, and the memories the trip would elicit.

Alvarez had found the small house at the coast where Frank's aunt had lived in her final years. One of Frank's cousins had inherited the place, but as far as the police could discern, Frank and some of the other men in the family used it when they went fishing or surfing at the coast. The house had checked out, but the shack behind it had been another story. “That was a good tip. We found blood stains out there,” Alvarez had told her on the phone. “I'm thinking that this new evidence is going to help us with many of our cases. Lana Tremaine particularly. It might help us identify where she was held captive.”

Lana Tremaine. The young woman was one of Jane's secret motivators. They had never met, but they were on the same team, fighting the same battle. Only Lana wasn't able to speak about what Frank had done to her, so it was Jane's duty to fill in some of the blank spaces. Had Frank developed a greater propensity toward violence in his relationships after Jane?

“We're having forensics go over the evidence,” Alvarez said. “But it will be a few weeks until we know anything more.”

“Really? That long?”

“Real life is a lot different from those crime shows on TV,” he'd told her.

Jane didn't understand the reason for her own impatience. The trip down to California to testify would introduce a huge tangle in her life. Should she tell Harper, or pass the trip off as a teachers' conference?

“I'm leaning toward full disclosure,” Luke had said one night during a few stolen moments at his house. “The truth may be hard to handle, but it doesn't come back to bite you in the ass like a lie.” That was Luke—honest to the core.

“That's true, but this is a lot for a kid Harper's age to handle. Her father is a criminal. A predatory monster descended from a family of killers. No teen is prepared to deal with that.”

“I know a lot of adults who are not prepared to deal with something of that magnitude. But think of the alternative. If you don't tell her now, it'll get worse.” He clamped his hands onto her shoulders, massaging the tender muscles strained by stress. “A big bear on your shoulders, growing heavier and heavier.”

Jane groaned. “I don't know what to do. I don't know what's right.”

“There are no black-and-white answers here, only shades of gray.”

“And gray is definitely not my color.” She pulled his arms around her body and fell against him. Thank God for the comfort of Luke. When her thoughts raced and ranted, he kept her feet on solid ground.

With the case against Frank Dixon never far from her mind, Jane gladly turned her attention to her classes. She prided herself on her ability to learn the names of her students in the first week, and one of the wonders of teaching high school was connecting to young people at a tenuous period in their lives. She found hope in the fledglings: the struggling students who connected to Shakespeare for the first time, the brilliant skeptics who made her laugh, the emotional dropouts who checked in when the class read
Of Mice and Men
.

 

One day after school, Jane was in her classroom talking lesson plans with Mary Ellen Kitcher, just back from maternity leave, when Harper marched in without knocking. Emma and Sydney trailed behind her.

“I am not playing in the game today,” Harper announced. “I'm too sick to play. Can you take me home right now?”

From the way Emma and Sydney stared away, Jane could tell this poor performance had been rehearsed. “What hurts?”

“I have a headache. And cramps. Really bad. Can you take me home?”

“I can give you some ibuprofen. And if you want I'll make you some tea in the teachers' lounge.”

“That's so sweet,” Emma gushed.

“I wanna go home,” Harper insisted.

“Honey, if the medicine doesn't help, you can sit the game out. But you should be there on the bench, supporting your team.”

Harper winced, tears glistening in her eyes. “That's so stupid.”

“I know it's hard, but you need to pull yourself together. Your team needs you.”

“We do.” Sydney gave Harper a bump on the shoulder. “Do you want to walk to Smitty's before the game?” Smitty's was an ancient pharmacy near the school that now sold chips and ice cream.

“I guess so.” Suddenly, Harper's cramps weren't so bad. “As long as that new girl isn't lurking by the door. She's so annoying.”

“She's in my bio class,” Emma said. “She's not so bad.”

“She's so cutesy. She asked me which way to go to find the history wing. I told her go back to kindergarten.”

“Harper!” Jane interrupted. “Are you bullying a new student?”

“It was a joke, Mom. History . . . go back in time?”

“Not funny. You've always been kind to new kids.”

“This girl is different. She bugs me.”

“She can't help it that she looks like you,” Emma told Harper.

“Don't say that,” Harper mumbled. She turned to Jane. “I don't like having a shadow at school, but everyone thinks we look alike. And it's not true at all. She's all frilly and pink. Like she just escaped from Malibu Barbie's beach house.”

Sydney let out a goofy laugh, then covered her mouth when she felt Jane's disapproving glare.

“But the new girl is really sweet if you talk to her,” Emma said. “And I see the resemblance. If you look at her face, she does look a little like you.”

Harper scraped a strand of dark hair behind one ear. “Ew. Ick.”

“Now you know how I feel,” Sydney said. “People are always asking me if my sister and I are twins, and she's a year younger.”

“Well, I don't have a twin.” Harper tugged the band from her hair. “I'm an original.”

Jane held herself steady, not wanting to show her concern. “What's the new girl's name?”

Sydney squinted. “Isabel-something?”

“Isabel, like a Southern belle.” Harper's voice was laced with sarcasm.

“Let's not be unkind,” Jane said with a rush of relief. “Isabel is a beautiful name.”
And it's not Louisa.

 

“Sorry about that,” Jane told Mary Ellen after the girls had left. “Harper is having some issues right now.”

“I think it's great that your daughter can tell you what's on her mind. Honesty is so important.”

“As you can see, Harper doesn't hold back.” Jane didn't know Mary Ellen well enough to discuss her long list of concerns about Harper's behavior and her own unsure parenting skills. She didn't know anyone well enough for that. Although Jane had known Keiko Suzuki and Trish Schiavone for years, Jane didn't feel comfortable telling them about her daughter's tantrums or the vile curses that spouted from Harper's beautiful lips, condemning Olivia, the entire Ferguson family, even kind Coach Carrie. Jane was not looking forward to tonight's game.

“I don't know how you do it.” Tears filled Mary Ellen's eyes. “I look at my baby, and I hope and pray that she'll be a good person, but there's no telling, is there? I mean, they are born their own people.”

“Yes, we're stuck with our genetics. But environment does have an impact.” Jane wanted to believe that love was having an effect on Harper; she had to believe that this positive, supportive community would foster generosity in her daughter. She touched the younger woman's shoulder. “All of your nurturing makes a difference. I'm sure you're doing a great job, Mary Ellen.”

“But I'm here, and not with her, and I feel so guilty.” She pulled a tissue from the box on the desk. “I'm sorry. My hormones are raging. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.”

Jane collapsed into a student desk with a sigh. “Mmm. I remember those days. Being a new mother was overwhelming for me. After I had Harper, I didn't work for a year.” She had been trying to stay under the radar at the time, and she hadn't had the nerve to put her baby in child care.

“With summer and all, I've had almost six months with Taylor.” Mary Ellen blew her nose. “But it's such an emotional quagmire. When I was home, I wanted to be out of the house. Some mornings, I begged Ben to call in sick so that I could take a shower in peace. Take a nap. Breeze through the grocery store on my own. I felt like a servant, a slave. I thought I couldn't wait to get back to teaching. And now that I'm here, I feel so guilty. I miss her all the time.”

“They're so helpless when they're little. They need us. And hormones?” Jane shook her head. “I'm convinced that hormones are nature's way of keeping us from abandoning our young.”

Mary Ellen laughed through her tears. “That's pretty cold.”

Jane smiled, feeling a new bond with the woman. “I have my moments.”

Mary Ellen opened her laptop and turned it so that Jane could see the screensaver photo of a pink-faced baby girl. “There she is.... My worst nightmare at four o'clock in the morning.”

“She's adorable.”

“They're all so deceptively cute. They really suck you in.”

“That they do,” Jane agreed.

 

Thursday's game did not go well for Harper. She started the game playing shortstop, but clearly wasn't comfortable playing the infield. The wariness on her face said it all. When Carrie switched her to the outfield in the fourth inning, Harper seemed to drift out to sea. Boredom was evident in her stance, glove on one hip, toes of one cleat swooping over the grass. Was she searching for four-leaf clovers?

“Heads up!” came the shout as the ball sailed off the bat of a player from Tigard. By the time Harper looked up, it was too late. The ball hit her shoulder and bounced away as she chased it through the grass. Tigard scored two runs due to Harper's error.

Harper was taken out of the game, and she moved to the end of the team bench, Blue Lightning on her lap. If Harper couldn't use her bat, no one would.

It was painful to watch. Jane had to fight the raw instinct to go to her daughter, enfold her in her arms, and take her away from this emotional broil. Emma and Sydney tried to cajole Harper from her black mood, but that icy blue stare did not falter. Seething hatred, Harper kept her eyes on Olivia, who played well, but could not lead the team to victory.

As the Tigard team ran a victory lap around the bases, Olivia went to retrieve her bag near Harper's feet. Still simmering on the bench, Harper glared at her.

“What's that look about?” Olivia asked. “Too bad, too sad for you.”

Jane didn't hear Harper's answer, but she hurried in that direction to defuse the tension.

“This is your fault, you know,” Olivia said. “If you hadn't bobbled that fly ball—”

“Shut up,” Harper snapped. All at once she rose up with a growl and shoved her shiny bat into Olivia's throat. Later, Jane would thank God that Harper had been holding the bat across her lap; if she'd been able to take a swing with it, the consequences would have been devastating.

Girls and parents swarmed around them. Some tried to pull the girls apart amid the cluster of heat and noise and fury.

“That's enough!” The coach managed to be heard above the din. “I want you and you in my office tomorrow morning.”