CHAPTER TWO
Danica
Sam’s recount of the incident with Clyde was pretty much the same as her teacher’s. Clyde became a sociopathic nightmare, taunting and belittling her. And my daughter snapped.
I didn’t begrudge her snapping and screaming at him.
It wasn’t like she hurt the monster. She just shut him up and scared him a little.
Served him right. Even if she had hauled off and smacked him, I wouldn’t be chastising her; I’d be championing her.
Because that little prick needed the smug smacked out of him and the empathy smacked into him.
Otto Pickford might call her a disruptor, but I just called her brave.
“I’m so embarrassed, Mom,” she wailed, burying her face in her hands as her body shook with each wracking sob. “I can’t go back to school. Not after that.”
“Clyde is a menace. I don’t get how Pickford keeps defending that demon spawn.
You’re not the only kid he torments.” I glanced out the window at the whitecaps on the water and the surrounding islands off in the distance, trying to find some words of comfort for my struggling child.
“I’m not mad at you,” I said. “Do I think you should have screamed at him?” I shrugged.
“Probably wasn’t the best idea. But it wasn’t the worst either.
It got him to stop hurting you. And I bet it felt good. ”
She still wasn’t looking at me. Her hands covered her face, and her body trembled, though less than before. After a few deep breaths, she lifted her head, her hazel-green eyes with white flecks around the irises watery and rimmed with red. “I want to homeschool like Damon does. Please.”
My cousin Gabrielle’s son, Damon, was fourteen and had recently started getting homeschooled because the atmosphere at the high school wasn’t good for his mental health.
I wasn’t ready to give up on Sam going to school with her cousins and peers though.
Damon’s situation was different, and while I wasn’t against homeschool for her, I wanted to see what other options we had before we went that route.
I reached out and stroked my hand over her soft, blonde hair. “The year’s almost over. Then you’ll have summer break. And a break from Clyde.”
“But then he’ll be right back to torturing me in September because the island is small and we’re always in the same class with the same group of kids. I can’t do it anymore, Mom. Please don’t make me go back.”
“You can stay home tomorrow,” I replied after a heavy sigh. “It’s Friday anyway. But I’m not signing you up for homeschool yet. I’ll see if I can get you a last-minute telehealth appointment with the counselor, and maybe an appointment with Brynn.”
Brynn Kellerman was a new arrival to San Camanez and, to all of our luck, a pediatric nurse practitioner. While the other two doctors on the island were great with kids, Brynn brought a new, more child-centric approach that I really appreciated.
Sam sighed, and her shoulders rounded. “I screamed like a crazy person.”
“Because he was trying to drive you crazy. Because other people’s pain is that child’s fuel. He isn’t normal. Normal people don’t treat others like that.”
Clyde Whalley hadn’t been on San Camanez very long.
He and his parents moved to the island last summer, and he joined Sam’s class in September.
Right off the bat, he was a problem. For the most part, the island kids were all very welcoming and easygoing.
It was a close-knit community with a big heart, and the residents looked out for each other.
And that was how we were all raising our kids.
Once in a while, a rotten apple tried to spoil the rest of the bushel, but that didn’t happen often.
We were lucky in that way.
Then Clyde Whalley arrived, and it was like all sense of peace and tranquility at San Camanez Elementary ceased to exist. At least, in Sam’s class.
It didn’t help that his parents refused to acknowledge that their child was a problem and deflected all the blame onto all the other children.
Nobody really knew what Avelyn and Jory Whalley did for work, or even where they lived. They probably did something on their computers at home. But we all just wanted them gone because they were harshing our island vibes.
“Principal Pickford called me ‘troubled,’” she said, her eyes sad. “Am I troubled?”
“Oh, honey, of course not. You have anxiety. That’s real, and it’s not easy.
And with you, it’s manifesting as low self-esteem and self-worth.
But you’re not troubled. You know who’s troubled?
Freaking Clyde Whalley. That kid’s the type of person who probably catches frogs and cuts them open while they’re still alive to see what a beating heart looks like. ”
My daughter made a horrified face.
The only reason I used that exact analogy was because my brother was a lot like Clyde when we were growing up, and loved to catch frogs, fish, and all kinds of animals to “dissect them.” Only, he wanted to see what the organs looked like while still functioning.
So he would put the animal through unbearable agony for his own enjoyment.
He did it to a baby rabbit he caught once when we were kids, and made me watch, threatening to give me a bloody nose if I didn’t.
It traumatized me for months, to the point where I developed insomnia because I couldn’t sleep.
I’d close my eyes and all I’d see was the rabbit’s eyes, wide and terrified.
I pulled out my phone and called the island clinic to see if we could get an appointment with Brynn.
To our luck, she had a cancellation in roughly an hour, and they could squeeze us in.
Then I checked in with the telehealth counselor Sam was seeing, and while she couldn’t fit us in until tomorrow, my kid already seemed to be doing better when I confirmed the appointment with her counselor over text.
“Kombucha?” I asked, rubbing her thigh.
She picked a piece of lint from her navy leggings off her other knee and nodded. “Sure.”
I reversed out of the parking spot, even though we were the only people there, and drove back out to the main road, then to the town center.
The Town Center Grocery Store didn’t just sell groceries.
They sold a little bit of everything. Clothes, hardware, housewares, makeup, camping gear, exercise equipment—the works.
And if the grocery store didn’t have it, you’d probably find it in one of the little kiosks located in the courtyard in front of the store.
Booch and Bagels was an island staple. They made the best, unique flavored kombucha and incomparable bagels with an “outstanding chew,” as my cousin Gabrielle liked to say.
I found a parking spot not too far away, then my ten-year-old and I stood in line as we perused the menu and its new flavors.
“What are you thinking?” I asked, running my hand down the back of her long, blonde hair—a slightly lighter shade than mine.
“That tangerine, mint, and chamomile sounds interesting.”
Sam nodded half-heartedly, her mind obviously still overthinking the incident today and embellishing it to an almost unbearable point—I was sure. Mine would anyway.
It was our turn to order, so I went with the tangerine one. Then I turned to my kid.
Siobhan, behind the counter, lifted her brows a little, waiting.
There wasn’t a massive line behind us, but there were a few people waiting.
One of Sam’s anxiety “quirks” was her inability to make a decision.
She was incredibly indecisive, then would overthink her decision and ultimately, regret it.
Which would lead to more anxiety. It was a vicious circle.
Rarely would she try anything new either.
She was a creature of habit and routine—something I was fine with—but would then sulk when people raved over something new that she couldn’t bring herself to try.
“What’ll you have, hun?” Siobhan asked.
“Uh … uh …” Sam said, shifting back and forth on her Converse sneakers and wringing her hands in front of her. “Um …”
Someone behind us huffed impatiently.
I gritted my teeth.
Sam glanced at me. “I don’t know,” she whined.
Resting my hand on her shoulder, I applied a bit of pressure. “You love apples, so how about the apple, cinnamon, and vanilla?”
“That’s a really popular one right now,” Siobhan said.
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know …”
“Watermelon-mint and the apple-cinnamon,” I finally said to Siobhan, feeling the eyes of the people behind us on the back of my head. I picked Sam’s favorite and the new one. If she didn’t like the apple, I’d drink it.
Siobhan nodded, obviously grateful that a decision had been made. Then she got to work grabbing our order.
We stepped to the side to wait, my daughter’s shoulders rounder than ever.
“You’re not the only kid like this, you know.
I happen to know Emme McEvoy is incredibly indecisive as well.
And an overthinker. One time, Justine bought every flavor of kombucha for Emme so that Emme wouldn’t have to decide.
But I don’t have that kind of money, kiddo.
And life is full of making decisions. Sometimes big ones, sometimes small ones.
But we make hundreds of choices a day. It’s part of life. ”
Siobhan placed our bottles on the counter. I tapped my card, and then the next customer stepped up as we carried our booch over to one of the free benches in the picnic area.
“I know,” she muttered, unscrewing the top off her bottle as we sat down. “I just …”
“It’s fine. It’s just something you need to work on with Stephanie.”
Stephanie was Sam’s telehealth child psychologist. Right now, they met on video twice a month, but Stephanie had a cancellation list as well, which is how we were able to snag Sam an appointment for tomorrow.