And I Don't Want to Live This Life : A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder (9780307807434) (20 page)

Suzy and David quarreled from time to time—siblings do quarrel—but if I told them to stop they did. No escalation to full-scale war. All four of us savored the quiet and tranquility. We ate out as a family together, went for rides, to movies. We were all glad Nancy
wasn't there, yet at the same time we missed her very much. But she needed help and was someplace where she could get it. She would be back.

Mr. Bebee phoned at the end of Nancy's first week.

“Just wanted to let you know everything is fine,” he said. “We had ourselves a small problem yesterday. Nancy didn't want to go to class and when I told her she had to, she started cursing like a sailor and went up to her room and broke her bed up practically into kindling. She's a strong girl, isn't she?” He chuckled.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Well, we had ourselves a little talk about it. I'd like to see her talking out her problems more.”

“Instead of acting them out?”

“That's right. So we discussed what was bothering her. It seems she thinks a particular girl she shares a class with doesn't like her. She felt a lot better after we talked about it. Then I asked her if she'd like to help me put her bed back together again so she wouldn't have to sleep on the floor. Kind of cold on the floor. So the two of us put her bed back together. We had a real nice time.”

Mr. Bebee's firm, patient, one-on-one way of handling Nancy pleased me. She needed the attention and the understanding. Clearly, if she agreed to help him put the bed back together, it was what she needed.

During her second week she began to see a therapist, Dr. Pritchard, once a week. There was no group therapy.

Since there were only twenty students at Barton, classes were more like tutorials, with a teacher and two or three students. Nancy was so advanced in some areas that she often had a teacher to herself.

Afternoons, evenings, and weekends, the Bebees kept the students busy participating in the running of the house. It was a highly structured environment. Each student had responsibilities—helping to prepare and clean up after meals, taking care of the horses and chickens, toting firewood. When they weren't working they hiked, played sports, and took field trips. There was a music room where they could listen to records. Barton was very much like a big family.

And Nancy responded almost immediately. Mr. Bebee's first progress report was extremely positive:

The Bebees preferred that Nancy write to us rather than phone us. We soon began to receive her letters. Her scrawl was crooked and clumsy and the lines wandered up and down the page—her handwriting was almost as bad as mine. But it was big enough to be legible.

She seemed content. She was certainly well fed.

At the end of February the four of us drove to Barton for Nancy's twelfth birthday. I could already see the difference in her. She was happy. Her eyes were agleam again; she was alert and smiling. She even hugged us. We took her to New Haven for lunch and gave Nancy her presents. We gave her the three albums she had asked for—
Déjà Vu
by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, the new Paul McCartney album, and John and Yoko's Plastic Ono Band album. We also gave her a cloth-covered address book, a diary, and stationery.
She was delighted with the gifts. We were delighted with her. She seemed so much improved.

When we brought her back to school, we asked Mr. Bebee if it would be all right for Nancy to come home for at least part of the Easter break.

“I don't see why she can't come home for a week,” he said. “She's stabilized. I think it will be helpful to see how she responds to being home.”

Nancy was ecstatic when we told her the news. She ran off immediately to tell her friend Annabelle. “I get to go home!”

Before she came home for Easter, she participated in a small Passover seder at Barton.

Her visit home for Easter week was peaceful. She was pleasant and relaxed. No hostility or violence. She slept well, without nightmares, and there were no tantrums. Of course, we did whatever we could to avoid them. I stocked up on her favorite brands of pretzels, pickles, and soda. I served her favorite meals. All of us took her to her favorite museums and shops. We bought her jeans, records, books. She was aware of the effort we were all making and seemed to appreciate it. The visit was a success.

Until the night before she went back to school.

It was pouring rain so we decided to stay home for the evening. We were watching TV in the den.

“I want a Big Mac,” Nancy announced.

“We want to stay in, Nancy,” Frank said. “It's wet out.”

“I want a Big Mac,” she repeated, jaw stuck out firmly. “You promised me I could have one.”

“We'll get you one tomorrow on the way back to Barton,” I offered.

“I want one
now
. Let's go!”

“Nobody else wants one,” Frank said. “It's not fair to make us go out.”

“You promised me a Big Mac,” she insisted.

“I'll make hamburgers,” I said. “How would that be?”

“I want a Big Mac!” she yelled.

“No!”
Frank yelled back.

“Fucking asshole!”
she screamed.
“Fucking bastard!”

She stormed upstairs to her room, slammed her door shut, and began to pound on the floor with a blunt object over and over again. Her room was right over the den. The noise was extremely irritating and she knew it. She kept at it for thirty minutes.

Frank and I exchanged a look. It was a look that said many words. It said, “Let us not delude ourselves. Let us be realistic. She is not completely better. She is not going to change overnight. She is still Nancy.”

She complained bitterly about having to go back to Barton the next morning.

“You promised I wouldn't have to go back,” she protested.

“Nobody promised you that, Nancy,” I said. “Besides, I thought you were happy there.”

“This is my house. I wanna stay here.”

“You will. It's not time yet, but soon.”

“When?” she demanded.

“When you're better. When you can go to school here.”

She pouted, but she did get in the car when it was time to leave. She didn't fight us or try to jump out or anything like that, but she was very sullen and wouldn't speak.

She slid quickly and happily back into her Barton environment. We got another very positive evaluation from Mrs. Bebee.

Mrs. Bebee advised us that our discussion over Nancy's progress would be held on Parents' Day, the last day of the semester, when there would be a picnic and activities. She recommended that Nancy then go directly from Barton to Darlington's summer camp in Maine. We were instructed to bring her summer things with us, if we agreed with her recommendation. We did.

Our meeting on Parents' Day was held in the Bebees' office. They were there along with Dr. Pritchard, her therapist, who was young and friendly. And Nancy was there, her face scrubbed, eyes bright, hair neatly brushed. Her bad eye still wandered a bit, but it
was not nearly as marked as before. Her weight had dropped. Though she was still a bit chunky, she was not nearly as bloated and puffy as she'd seemed before. It was the prettiest and happiest she'd ever looked.

“I'm very pleased with Nancy's progress,” Dr. Pritchard said.

The Bebees smiled in accord. So did Nancy.

“She's really beginning to open up and verbalize a lot more,” Dr. Pritchard continued. “Mr. and Mrs. Bebee and I have discussed Nancy, and we feel that after one more year here at Barton, the possibility is very strong that she'll be ready for a small, private boarding school environment, someplace structured. We have a list of several schools we can recommend when the time comes. We would see this as a kind of interim step. After a year at boarding school, assuming she proves herself there, which she says she will …”

Nancy nodded her head vigorously.

“… then she should be able to finish up high school at home.”

“At public school?” I asked.

“At public school,” he replied.

“See?” Nancy beamed. “I'm coming home!”

“Why, that's just wonderful,” I gasped, delirious with joy.

“Great,” Frank exclaimed. “Just great.”

“She's doing very well, Mr. and Mrs. Spungen,” Dr. Pritchard said. “We have high hopes for Nancy. High hopes.”

I went into business while Nancy, Suzy, and David were away at camp. I opened a health food store in Jenkintown, a suburban village right next to Huntingdon Valley. I had become more and more interested in natural foods over the previous year, and no such store existed in the area. I had the time to devote to a business now. Frank and I hoped that if The Earth Shop made a go of it, the profits would take care of Nancy's tuition and board at Barton. We needed the money.

I found it very satisfying to organize a store, establish contact with suppliers, and cultivate a regular clientele. I was accomplishing something on my own, and I enjoyed working, especially because business started off brisk and stayed that way.

Frank still had to go to New York one night a week, but with all three children away, I was now able to join him. Every Wednesday when I closed the store I drove to the Trenton train station, parked,
and took the train to New York. I got there in time for us to have a nice dinner and a bottle of wine. Afterward we'd go to a movie or listen to jazz. I'd spend the night at the hotel with him, then get up real early, catch the train back to Trenton, and make it back to the store in time to open up. It was an idyllic summer for Frank and me, the best ever.

Nancy came home after camp for three weeks, tan, trim, and bubblier than we'd ever seen her. She took immediately to the health food store.

“I wanna help,” she declared, and help she did.

She rode to work with me every morning. She sorted merchandise, stocked the shelves, waited on customers. She was such an eager, tireless worker that I quickly ran out of work for her—it was a small store. That didn't stop her. She found more work elsewhere. Within a few days she was busy unpacking and tagging dresses at the women's clothing shop a few doors down. The owner was a friend of mine.