"We will, Mr. Spencer, thankyou."
* * *
Marv drove in silence.I waited for him to say something about how I had ended our interview with Mr. Spencer but he didn't talk about that. When Marv next opened his mouth, he asked me somethingelse.
"What do you think?" hebegan.
"What do I think of what?" I asked. "OfSarah?"
He shifted in his seat, glancing my way for a split second before his attention returned to the road. "Yes."
I sighed and leaned my head back against the headrest. "Well," I started, "it could be rebellion. She's young. Teens tend to act out if there's something they don't like. Maybe she doesn't like Mr. Spencer being herstepdad."
Marv nodded. "He did say that she seemed to clam up aroundhim."
"Do you think..." Ibegan.
My thoughts started sprinting down long, dark corridors. There had been a girl I knew once, back when I was just starting out in gymnastics, who had been so sweet, but incredibly shy and reserved. I recalled seeing her bruises – no one had thought anything of them. Being in gymnastics, it was common to have bruises, but hers were different, and in odd places. I had noticed, but I was either too young or too unobservant. I hadn't realized, hadn't known, until much later that she was being...that her uncle had been...the thought hurt me deep down, even in my mind I didn't want to say it. The same issues Mr. Spencer described with his stepdaughter reminded me of that girl I knew. I took a breath and turned to Marv. He glanced at me curiously, waiting andpatient.
"What if she was raped?" Iasked.
Marv didn't even flinch. He nodded. "I came to the same conclusion," he replied. "It's a viablereason."
I stared at him. "Youdid?"
He slowed the SUV as we came to a red light before shifting his gaze back to mine. "I did," he replied. "I wanted to see if you would aswell."
I frowned, crossing my arms. "Do you have other ideas that you're not sharing with me to see if I come up with them on my own?" Iasked.
"It's part of your training, Sunshine." He pressed the gas as the light turned green. "Don't get upsetnow."
"I'm not upset." I sucked in a breath, realizing the lie as soon as it came out. "Okay," I said. "Maybe I am. Why didn't you just put it outthere?"
"You had to come up with it for yourself," he said, focusing on the road. "I can't give you the answers and on jobs, you're going to have to continue to come up with your own answers. No one is going to just come right out and give you everything you need. If that were true, we would all be out of a job." He chuckled lightly as he said that last bit and glanced back at me. I sighed and leaned back in the seat, pressing the side of my face closer to the window. He was right. There was no reason for me to be upset. Maybe I just didn't like feeling like the newbie or like he was keeping things from me in an effort toteachme.
"It could be other things," I said. "Rape is only oneoption."
"You're right," he replied. "What else do you think it couldbe?"
"Well..." I thought of my mom. "When Mom was diagnosed, it wasn't until she was much older. The mood swings, the variations of manic states she went through – her bipolar disorder wasn't diagnosed until she was much older, though she had it her entire life. It's usually diagnosed with older children and teenagers. Mom was able to temper herself, I suppose, until she got older." I paused, thinking. "Actually," I said, "I think it was just assumed that she was crazy – bipolar is a mental illness that affects hormones and it affects emotions and energylevels."
"Was your mother often depressed when you were younger?" Marvasked.
I squinted down at my hands, trying to think. "Not exactly. I can't really remember that well, Michael would remember more. Up until he became a teenager, we were actually really close. He practically raised me. When I saw Mom, she was good – happy, fine. It wasn't untilIwas older that I realized she wasn't always likethat."
"So, you think Sarah could be suffering from a mentalillness?"
"I guess?" I turned my face towards him, though I wasn't focusing on himexactly.
My entire focus was on remembering the early days of my mom's diagnosis. She had been informed of the bipolar disorder, prescribed months of new medications, and things had stabilized – Michael had been fine, almost happy – then the new diagnosis not but a year or so later, and well...shit rolled downhill. Mom started to hate Michael – he was her son, her child, and yet, all of the sudden, he had become the adult. Before he left he taught me how to pay bills and survive, but then he was gone and there was nothing I could do about it. It hadn't felt right to beg him to stay when Mom had been screaming at him toleave.
I glanced down at my lap and pulled my phone out, brushing my fingers over the smooth screen. When Mom had gone into the nursing home, he had been informed. When I had moved out of the duplex, he had been informed. And both times, he had been cool and indifferent. He had thanked me for the information and hadn't called me since. It wasn't uncommon to go months without hearing from him and in the last two months I had talked to him a total of threetimes.
"You okay, Sunshine?" Marv asked. I could see him watching me in my peripheral vision and Inodded.
He pulled into the driveway of the house and I sighed, slipping my phone back into my pocket. When he drove straight into the garage and cut the engine, I unbuckled my seatbelt, noticing only after that he had left hison.
"Are you coming inside?" Iasked.