And I Don't Want to Live This Life : A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder (9780307807434) (25 page)

Her relationship with Jeff continued through the summer. They both went to the Darlington camp in New Hampshire. While she was there, Nancy got a hold of some ink and a needle and tattooed Jeff's name on her chest. She also tattooed a flower on her thigh.

Nancy also tried to abort herself with a wire coat hanger that summer. Her counselor found out when Nancy started to hemorrhage. She rushed her to the hospital.

“I've treated her for a perforated uterus,” the doctor told me over the phone. “Your daughter just went ahead and stuck a hanger right in there. She bled a lot, but she's okay.”

“She was pregnant?” I asked.

“She seemed to think she was, but I examined her. There's no evidence she was or is pregnant.”

I asked to speak to her. Nancy got on the phone.

“Nancy, why did you do such a foolish, dangerous thing?”

“I had to,” she said, her voice flat, almost wooden.

“But why?” I begged.

“I was pregnant.”

“The doctor says you weren't.”

“I was.”

“But why didn't you
call
me? I'm
here
for you. I love you. You're my baby. Why didn't you call me?”

“I couldn't.”

“Why?”

She didn't respond.

“Nancy?”

“I took care of it,” she said.

I was upset and frightened. So was Frank. She was acting out her emotional problems by means of self-mutilation. This was a continuation—a worsening—of when she had carved up her arm. It was irrational and dangerous behavior. Was it drug related? I didn't and don't know.

She was apparently taking LSD at this time. She came home from camp for a few days before going off to visit Jeff at his dad's house in Connecticut. She wrote Jeff a postcard and left it out on her desk before she sent it. I couldn't help but find it when I was tidying up her room.

She was trashing her life and she was flaunting it. There was no doubt in my mind that she had purposely left the card out to rub my nose in what she was doing. I despised her for it.

I confronted her.

“What'd you do?” she demanded. “Go through my shit?”

“You know I wouldn't do that. You left it out and I noticed it.”

“So?”

“So … I thought maybe we could have a talk.”

“About what?”

“About love.”

She laughed contemptuously. “I've fucked four hundred guys. What are
you
gonna tell
me?”

I wondered how many men—boys—she
had
slept with.

“What are you looking so shocked for?” she asked. “Didn't you fuck anyone before you got married to Daddy?”

“No.”

“Not even Daddy?”

“No.”

“God, I don't
believe
you people. Look, mind your own fucking business. I do what I want. And don't try to tell me I can't go to Jeff's, because I'll just run away and not come back. Ever.”

Part of me wanted to hold her in my arms, love her. She seemed to have no comprehension of love—for a man, for her family. She was unable to give it or receive it. I couldn't understand why. I felt incredibly sad for her.

And part of me wanted to smack her in the face. She so totally frustrated me. I could not have a reasonable, rational discussion with her. I wanted to
beat
reason into her. But I couldn't. I had to keep that lid on. The alternative was too dangerous. So I walked away. I went into my room, shut the door, and sat down on the bed. I took one fast, deep breath after another, eyes clamped shut. When I had counted to a hundred, I opened my eyes to find my fists still clenched. I relaxed them and calmed down a bit. The anger didn't go away, though. I had merely succeeded in pushing it down, burying it deep inside me. It was always there.

Her relationship with Jeff continued into the fall of Nancy's second year at Lakeside. It ended abruptly when Jeff left the school a few weeks into the semester. I don't know why he left or where he went. I don't know if Nancy ever saw him again, though I think not.

At Thanksgiving she brought home a new boy from Darlington. She described him as “just a friend.” His name was Roger. Roger was very clean-cut, with short hair, a tie, and a sportcoat. He had very nice manners. He was from Virginia. Nancy had picked up his southern accent.

“Mama and Daddy,” she drawled, “I'd like y'all to meet Roger. Roger, that there's Suzy, my kid sister. And that's David, my sweet li'l baby brother.”

She acted like the model daughter. It was quite a performance. She proudly took Roger on a tour of the house, helped him get settled in the guest room, made sure he had everything he needed. She offered to help me make dinner (I nearly fainted). During dinner her table manners were flawless. She took a keen, sisterly interest in Suzy and David's school activities. She asked how Frank's new paper business was going (he nearly fell out of his chair). She complimented me on the turkey, pointed out to Roger what a wonder her mama was, running a store and a household, too. When we were done eating, she helped me clear the table.

Then she decided to take Roger for a walk around the neighborhood. She invited Suzy to join them.

“
Can
I?” exclaimed Suzy, delighted to be included.

“Why shore,” Nancy drawled.

Off they went on their walk. Frank and David and I chuckled over the “new” Nancy. They went into the den and turned on the TV. I started in on the dishes, humming to myself. Maybe Nancy's behavior was fake. At least she was being pleasant. And this Roger seemed a nice boy, a good influence.

After a few minutes I heard giggling in the street and looked out the kitchen window. Nancy, Roger, and Suzy were standing together under a streetlight. Roger was holding a match to a small pipe and Nancy was smoking from it. She took a deep drag, held it in, and offered the pipe to Suzy. Suzy took it eagerly, puffed on it, coughed. The other two laughed at her.

I couldn't believe it. Suzy was smoking marijuana. She was barely twelve. Nancy was turning her on!

My heart began to pound; my face flushed. I felt like I'd been kicked in the belly. Here was my worse fear realized—that Nancy
would use her influence over Suzy to make a drug user of her. She had the power to pit Suzy against us, to undermine our authority. And she was using it.

Why? Looking back, I believe it was Nancy's own way of trying to make Frank and me love her more. By turning Suzy on, she was hoping she'd tarnish Suzy so we'd love Suzy less and give that love to her. There was never enough love to satisfy her.

I didn't see it that way then, though. All I saw was a child who was making it so impossibly painful for me to love her.

I said nothing to Frank about what I'd seen until Nancy and Roger returned to school. When I did, he wasn't surprised. There was no outburst. He accepted the news with weary resignation.

We now had a new, urgent reason for keeping the girls apart, we agreed. Suzy had to grow up free of Nancy's poisonous influence. Meanwhile, we had to keep our relationship with Suzy as open as possible. We had to reassert our authority. Our influence over Suzy had to be greater than Nancy's was.
Had
to be.

We decided a come-clean session about drugs would be a good starting point. Suzy, however, denied she had ever gotten stoned.

“Suzy, sweetheart,” I said. “I know you did it. There's no point in lying. The important thing is for us to be honest.”

“I'm
not
lying! I've
never
done it!”

“Suzy, I saw you.”

“God, who do you think you are, my jailer? I don't
believe
you!”

It was a Nancy response. Frank and I glanced at each other nervously. How
much
was rubbing off?

“Suzy,” Frank said. “Mom and I are very disappointed in you for this. We expect more of you.”

“Meaning what?” she demanded, jaw stuck firmly out.

“We expect you to be
you
,” I said. “You're not Nancy.”

She broke down and began to sob. She ran off to her room. I followed her up there. She wept in my arms. Still, she would not admit she'd gotten stoned.

We kept an eye on Suzy when Nancy came home for Christmas. We now regarded Nancy as a threat. We didn't like feeling that way, but we did. We discussed searching her things, but I wouldn't do it. I believed in my privacy. If you want privacy for yourself, you have to respect the privacy of others. Frank and I agreed—we wouldn't go through Nancy's things. Instead, we kept the two of them apart as much as possible, or together in our presence. It was not a pleasant stay. Fortunately Nancy went back to Lakeside early
because there was a New Year's Eve party she wanted to go to.

Frank and I had a New Year's Eve party to go to also. David planned to sleep over at a friend's house. Only Suzy had nothing to do. Her crowd was having a party, but she had no date. She was going through her awkward phase—she felt a bit heavy—and was dismayed that none of the boys had asked her. She sulked around the house all day.

“Everybody has a date except me,” she pouted. “I'm so fat and ugly.”

I tried to cheer her up. I told her not to worry, that she'd get a date next year. But she was inconsolable.

Before Frank and I left, I went up to her room to try cheering her up one more time. Frank went out to warm up the car.

Her door was closed. I knocked. She didn't answer.

“Suzy?” I called. No answer. I checked the crack under the door to see if her light was on. It was.

“Suzy?” I called louder.

Still no answer. I tried turning the knob. The door was locked from the inside.

“Suzy!” I screamed. I panicked. I believed she was trying to kill herself in there because she'd not gotten a date. Nancy would have. Why not Suzy?

“Suzy!” I screamed again. I rammed my shoulder against the door, threw my weight behind it. It wouldn't give.

Then I heard a rustling in the room. Suzy unlocked the door and opened it a crack. I shoved it open, stormed into the room. It was freezing. The window was wide open. The room reeked of marijuana. She had been smoking a joint.

I glared at her. Her eyes rolled around for a second, then she fainted in a dead heap on the carpet. I gasped. I didn't know what she had taken, or if she'd overdosed or what. I got down on the floor next to her and shook her. She came to, as confused and frightened as I was.

“What are you on?” I cried.

“I was … I was just smoking a joint.”

“Where did you get it?”

“From Nancy.”

“I knew this was going to happen. I knew it. You're going to see a shrink, young lady!”

I overreacted. I immediately lunged for professional help, terrified that Suzy was drug-involved and in serious trouble.

“W-why do I have to see a shrink?”

“Because I said so!”

“O-okay,” she agreed. She was so scared she'd have agreed to anything.

She went to see a therapist twice. Then she came to me and said she wanted to stop. I asked why.

“Because I don't wanna go. Because I'm not Nancy.”

A few days later Nancy ran away.

“Don't be concerned,” said Brooke over the phone. “We think she's in New York City.”

“New York City!” I cried.

“Yes, we've called the NYPD and they're looking for her. One of the girls gave us an address there. If you hear from her, let us know.”

We waited by the phone. Nancy didn't call. This was something new and disturbing. She had run away before, but always with the purpose of coming home to us. If indeed she was in New York, well, she was fourteen. You heard stories about what happened to runaway girls in New York City, about how they become prostitutes and drug addicts.

We waited by the phone. “Don't worry, she can take care of herself,” Frank said at one point, unconvincingly.

Neither of us slept that night. Brooke called the next day, just to say there was no word.

I slept fitfully the second night Nancy was missing. I dreamed I was driving to the store in the morning and passed a group of teenage girls waiting at a school bus stop, giggling and talking. As I drove by them, I realized that one of them was Nancy. She was smiling and happy. I'd found her! I stopped the car and called out to her. As soon as she saw me she glowered, then ran off. I couldn't catch her.

After three days the police found Nancy at the Port Authority Bus Terminal. She was okay. Brooke said she was being put on a bus for Avon.

Nancy was back at school that evening.

“Why did you run away?” I asked.

“It's your fault,” she replied. “You wouldn't take me out of here. So I got away on my own. I had to.”

Clearly, Nancy was not responding positively to the Darlington
environment. Far from it. She was using drugs. She was becoming a runaway, in danger of ending up a teen prostitute, one of those pitiful girls they find dead in some Times Square fleabag with a needle in her arm—an entry on the New York City police blotter. This was too nightmarish to even conceive of. We had to get her out of there. I had to find her another school. There had to be another one out there somewhere. Maybe I'd missed one on my prior search.