And I Don't Want to Live This Life : A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder (9780307807434) (27 page)

Brooke took her to the hospital, where the wound was pronounced not serious. Nancy was stitched up and sent back to school.

Two weeks later Nancy tried to kill herself again. This time she almost succeeded.

She had gone up to her room to listen to records. One of the girls found her in there, sitting on the edge of the bed bleeding all over the floor. A razor blade was in her left hand. She'd slashed her right forearm this time. She was just sitting there, staring at the blood.

They rushed her to the hospital in serious condition. The surgeon who treated her reported that she was about five minutes away
from bleeding to death. The wound required twenty-one stitches—fifteen on the outside of her arm, six on the inside.

Brooke relayed the story to me over the phone, obviously shaken.

Nancy was not playing games anymore.

For the first time it hit me—the sickening realization that Nancy was going to die before I was. I'd battled so hard for her life. Now she was against me in that fight. She wanted death. She was reaching out to it and I could do nothing to stop her. She was not a little girl anymore, a baby I could hold in my arms, protect. She was fifteen years old. She was making a choice. She was choosing death.

I felt empty inside. There was nothing in me.

I was not going to live to sit around the fire with my Nancy and her husband and their babies. The natural order of the generations was not going to apply to this child. She had a terminal disease. She was going to die. I was going to see her die. I was going to bury her.

She wanted to die. She
would
die.

I was overwhelmed by dread and horror. Little did I know that within three years I would be praying for her to succeed.

I sold my store that winter. I was considering going to law school with the profits. The law seemed like an attractive, fulfilling career to me. Then one day I ran into a man I knew who worked at Western Union and who respected my sales skills. The chance encounter led to a job with Western Union as manager of Mailgram sales. It was basically a headquarters job that called for me to work on sales literature and sales training programs, but it did involve some travel, particularly to New York to coordinate projects with ad agencies. I enjoyed the fresh challenge. I thrived.

That winter also marked the death of Frank's mother. She passed away about a year after his father did. She had lived for almost two years after her stroke had left her unable to talk or function. They were both gone now, and Frank's ordeal was over. He had already sold their house and business and put the money in the bank. He and his sister divided it. Frank's share was six thousand dollars. We talked it over and decided to put the money to use in a way the entire family could enjoy. We built a swimming pool as soon as spring came.

Nancy calmed down quite a bit that winter. She saw that her stay at Lakeside was nearing its end, and she turned her sights to getting into college.

We still didn't think she was ready. Frankly, I was terrified at the idea of Nancy out on her own somewhere, unsupervised. We thought she might need a year at boarding school prior to taking the plunge.

But the folks at Lakeside did not. They set the machinery in motion without our knowledge. Mark Meadows arranged for her to take the SAT tests, to choose several possible schools, and to send out applications. Nancy's education was spotty in the areas that frustrated her, particularly math and science. Despite this, and despite not yet having reached her sixteenth birthday, she scored 1030 on the SAT tests—good enough to qualify her for many of the mid-range universities. She applied to the University of Colorado because she liked to ski. She got in. We didn't even know she'd applied until she called us with the happy news.

“They accepted me, Mommy!” she cried with joy on the phone. “I'm going to a real college! I don't have to be with sickies anymore!”

Now we had to decide whether or not to let her go.

All we knew about the place was that it was a big skiing school. When we mentioned the University of Colorado to friends, we found out it also had a reputation as a big party school.

“There are drugs everywhere,” Frank said. “She'll either find them or she won't. Here or in Colorado. Going to one school or another won't make any difference.”

“The question is whether she's ready to go anywhere,” I mused aloud.

“What will she do instead? Live here? She can't. She's too disruptive. She's a bad influence on Suzy and David.”

“Do you really think it's okay for her to go off by herself?” I asked.

“No, not necessarily. I have doubts, too, Deb. But she did do well on the tests. And she got in. And, well, she
has
been on her own since she was eleven.”

“With
supervision. She can barely handle herself under those circumstances. What will she be like without any supervision at all?”

“We don't know. All we know is that being accepted at Colorado is giving Nancy a healthy image of herself. I think it would be counterproductive to tear that down.”

“I know,” I agreed. “Possibly … maybe the Darlington kids were rubbing off on her. Maybe when she gets into a more normal environment she'll be
—
” I stopped. I suppose even then I knew it was wishful thinking.

With reluctance and trepidation, we agreed to let Nancy go. The
university accepted her with the stipulation that she begin by attending the six-week summer session. Nancy didn't mind at all. In fact, she was delighted.

The week before Nancy graduated from Lakeside there was a senior prom. Nancy put down the whole idea of a prom—until one of the boys asked her. Then she got very excited. She asked me if she could buy a new dress for the big dance, which was to be held in a private room at a restaurant near the school. I said that she could and gave her a budget. She went into Philadelphia by herself to buy it.

“It's the most beautiful dress in the whole world!” she jabbered excitedly when she came home, clutching the box.

“So let me see it, sweetheart!” I exclaimed, sharing her excitement.

“Not until I put it on!”

She dashed into the bathroom, closed the door. A minute later she came out in an unbelievably slinky lime-green matte jersey dress with a bare midriff.

“Isn't it just incredible, Mom?” she cried, anxious for my approval.

I wasn't about to ruin it for her. “Yes, sweetheart. Very nice. It makes you look very …”

“Mature?” she ventured hopefully.

“Mature. The very word I was groping for.”

“All riiiight!”

It was not your typical prom dress. But Nancy loved it. That's why we chose to bury her in it. It wasn't your typical burial dress either, but we thought it was important that she be wearing something she'd picked out herself and had enjoyed. Even if it was slinky and lime-green.

Her graduation ceremony was held on the Lakeside Campus lawn. It was a bright, sunny day. Suzy and David came with us to see Nancy, in her cap and gown, receive her diploma. She looked so pretty and proud. It was a lovely ceremony, a happy, smiling occasion.

When it was over, the kids cried and kissed and vowed to stay in touch. Then we took Nancy out to lunch and gave her one of her graduation presents—a wristwatch.

Her other present was driving lessons, which she took during the three weeks she spent at home before leaving for summer school in Colorado.

Surprisingly, she was a calm, pleasant dream during this stay. She shopped and packed up her belongings with great enthusiasm.
Excited about being away from Darlington, she saw this as a fresh start.

“I'm in the real world now, Mom,” she told me. “I'm normal. You'll see. I won't let you down this time. You'll be proud of me.”

“I know I will, sweetheart.”

“Because I'm not a sickie anymore.”

I let a ray of sunlight creep in. I wondered if maybe, just maybe, she
was
going to be okay.

Nancy took her six driving lessons but she flunked the test for her license. It made her angry. She took it again a few days later and flunked again. This made her furious. Then she took it a third time and flunked a third time. So she stole my car.

I wasn't home. I had gone to work—with the company car Western Union had given me. My own was in the driveway when Nancy's driving teacher dropped her off after her third attempt at getting a license. She stormed into the house. Suzy told me Nancy screamed, “Goddamned stupid motherfuckers! I'll show them!” Then she grabbed my car keys and split.

She was still gone with my car when I got home. I waited out on the driveway, livid, for her to return.

She waved to me as she drove up. Then she parked the car, calmly got out, and said, “Hi, Mom! Did you have a nice day?”

“Goddamn it, Nancy! You cannot drive a car without a license! You cannot just … just
go off
in somebody's car—
my
car—because you feel like it! You are
not
a certified driver! Do you understand? You have
no
insurance! None! If something had happened to you we'd be in a
lot
of trouble!”

“No use in getting upset about it. Nothing happened. Besides, it's their fault.”

“Whose fault?” I demanded.

“Them. They wouldn't give me the license.”

God, how frustrating it was to try to deal rationally with someone who wasn't rational! It was also asinine and meaningless. It accomplished nothing. Still, I had to try. I calmed myself down a bit.

“Nancy, you
can't
blame someone else because
you
failed the test. You just have to try to do better next time.”

She shrugged. “I didn't hit anything.”

“That's not the point! Don't you understand me?”

“Don't talk to me like I'm a sickie! I'm in the real world now!”

“Well then,
act
like it. Living in the real world means you
must
consider the consequences of your actions! You
must
learn the meaning of responsibility!”

“Fuck you.”

She went in the house. Two days later she left for college.

Frank and I flew to Denver with her. She was very quiet in the car on the way to the airport. She was clearly tense about going off to college.

I made one attempt to talk to her. I said, “Well, we certainly got a nice day to fly, didn't we?”

“Go fuck yourself,” she replied.

She wanted to sit by herself on the plane, in the smoking section. We let her. I passed by her on my way to the lavatory once. She was leafing through a magazine, puffing on a cigarette.

“What are
you
looking at?” she demanded loudly.

The people who were sitting around her looked at her, then at me.

“I'm
not
looking at you. I'm just going to the bathroom.”

She glared at me. I kept going. On the way back I looked the other way.

“Steer clear of her. If that's the way she wants it, screw her,” Frank said.

We rented a car in Denver and drove to the university in Boulder. It is a gorgeous modern campus in the foothills of the Rockies. Her dormitory was a two-story building. We helped her unload her suitcases and cartons. Her roommate, a Chicano girl, arrived. Nancy was polite and friendly to her but would
not
speak to us. Since the dormitory wouldn't be serving food until the next morning, we offered to take Nancy into town for lunch. She agreed to come. We had Mexican food. She was hostile through the whole meal. Afterward we walked around in Boulder, looked in the shops. She saw a pair of Earth shoes she wanted and asked us to buy them for her. We did. Then she saw a blouse she wanted and asked us to buy it for her. We did. Then she saw a sweater she wanted and asked us to buy it for her. We said no, that was enough. She began to curse at us on the sidewalk.

“Why don't you just leave me the fuck alone? Get the fuck out!” she screamed.

We took her back to the dormitory, said good-bye. We had planned to stay another day and went to Rocky Mountain National Park without her, then drove to Denver and caught our flight back to Philadelphia. I wasn't happy about leaving her like that but it was for the best.

It was a quiet, relaxing six weeks. Suzy and David were in camp; Frank and I spent a lot of time by the pool. We seldom heard from Nancy. When we did, it was positive. She adjusted to her new environment, made friends. She wasn't there long enough for her usual social problems to arise. She took two courses—journalism and marketing. I don't know if she did well in them; I never saw a transcript of that summer's work.

There was a three-week break between the end of the summer session and the beginning of the fall semester. Nancy came home for it. Frank and I picked her up at the airport, and I couldn't believe what I saw when she got off the plane. Nancy had blossomed. Her face was relaxed and tanned. She looked fabulous. She smiled sweetly when she caught sight of us, waved and hugged and kissed both of us.