The Color of Hope

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Monday, October 4





VIRAL FACEBOOK VID LINKED TO TEEN’S SUICIDE

“Are you serious? Front page of the local section? Let me see that.” Stephanie took the newspaper from Marcus and leaned against the kitchen counter, reading.

Janelle walked in looking harried, searching for her car keys, ready to run the kids to school. She did a double take at Marcus. “What’re you doing here on a weekday morning?”

“We closed the school today,” Marcus said, “although I’m about to go in for a meeting regarding our response in terms of the media, grief counselors, etc. I got the morning paper and wanted to make sure you all had seen it.”

Janelle looked over Stephanie’s shoulder and gasped. “It’s in the paper?”

“I was shocked too,” Stephanie said. “Not that it’s strange for something like this to make the news. Given the facts, the headline wrote itself. But being such a part of what happened, it is strange to see it written up like this.” She pointed at a paragraph. “And look, it says Sam’s mother found her and called 911.”

“They got one thing right, though.” Marcus poured a bowl of cereal. “It names Ben Willoughby as the one responsible for making and posting the video, and talks about his arrest.”

“Wow, they even tie in that he’s the grandson of Skip Willoughby and reference his arrest this weekend,” Janelle said.

Daniel came in. “Mom, we’ve been waiting outside. We’re gonna be late.”

“We’re leaving right now. Tiffany and Claire are out there?”

Daniel gave her a look.

“Okay. You did say we. Let’s go.” She looked at Stephanie. “Save that so I can read the rest.”

“See, this is what I’ve been saying.” Stephanie laid the paper down. “They covered everything in that article from cyberspace bullying to teen suicide statistics to the Willoughby family. But very little about Sam herself.”

“I noticed that.” Marcus wiped some milk from his lip. “I’m guessing they rushed out the story before they could amass a profile of her.”

The side door opened and banged close, footsteps moving quickly inside. It was Todd. “Hey, Becca said to turn to Channel 29. They said they’re about to cover a tragic story in a small town that’s left a community devastated, and they showed Sam’s picture.”

“It made national news?” Marcus said.

The three of them hurried to the family room, and Stephanie turned it on. They were returning from a commercial break. The anchor focused on two political stories and an international story, then—

“We are just getting word of a tragic story that unfolded this weekend in the small town of Hope Springs, North Carolina,” the anchor said, “involving an alleged sexual assault of a teen that was apparently videotaped”—the anchor, who was female, couldn’t hide her disgust—“and, believe it or not, placed on Facebook.”

Sam’s picture came onscreen as the woman continued with the video going viral and the teen committing suicide as an apparent result.

“We’ll have updates on this story as we get them,” she said.

“Unbelievable,” Stephanie said. “Seeing Sam’s picture in the corner of the screen like that . . .”

“I’d better get to school,” Marcus said. “Now that the story’s national, we’ll be getting even more media requests.”

As he prepared to leave, Stephanie turned to Todd.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you how much I loved your message yesterday,” she said. “Even though it wasn’t directly related to what happened, the points you made about our eternal hope and this not being our home were right on time.”

“It was a tough message to give,” Todd said. “I didn’t know Sam—only had small talk with her here a couple of times—but she seemed like a special girl.” His countenance changed a little. “And I’m sorry you had to witness that scene by Skip Willoughby. If it bothered me, I’m sure it bothered you.”

“Oh, it bothered me all right,” Stephanie said. She hesitated. “You don’t have to answer if it’s confidential, but I’m wondering if the church will take any action where he’s concerned. Does he get to maintain his position as elder?”

“The elder board and I are meeting with him tomorrow,” Todd said, “and I’ll say this—under the qualifications for elder spelled out in the Bible, there are grounds for him to be disqualified.”

“Huh. That’s really ironic.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know Libby was here yesterday. And she was giving me details last night about a conversation she had with Aunt Gwynn about Skip Willoughby.”

He looked at her intently. “Tell me about it.”

Stephanie did, down to the detail about Willoughby telling Todd’s granddad that the relationship between his son and Aunt Gwynn was evidence that he didn’t meet the qualifications for pastor, and that he’d be removed if he didn’t put an end to that relationship, among other possible consequences.

Todd’s jaw was tight. “Who heard Skip Willoughby say that?”

“I gather your dad did, and shared it immediately with Aunt Gwynn. Once Skip issued that ultimatum, your grandparents and mine put pressure on them to separate.”

Todd stared at her, but Stephanie knew he didn’t see her. “I have to go. I’m calling Keisha so she can put me in touch with her mom. I need to hear this firsthand.”

He left out the side door, and Stephanie headed back to the kitchen, heart and mind heavy. She had just finished loading the dishwasher when a knock sounded at the front door.

She went and opened it, surprised to see Sam’s mom. “Miss Schechter . . .”

Sam’s mom walked in. “I hope it’s okay for me to come. I just . . .”

She started shaking, and Stephanie took her into her arms as she broke down. A few inches shorter than Stephanie, she sobbed into her chest, and all Stephanie could say through her own tears was, “I know . . . I know . . .”

“I’m sorry,” Sam’s mother said. She took a step back, wiping tears, chest heaving still.

“I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling,” Stephanie said. “Let’s sit down.”

Stephanie led her by hand to the sofa, grabbing the box of tissues from the coffee table and placing it between them.

Sam’s mother blew her nose, then wiped more tears. Stephanie waited.

“I guess I want to say thank you for . . . for what you did for my little girl. I was reading this yesterday”—she dug into her purse and pulled out a journal—“and she said . . . she wished you were her mother.”

“Oh, Miss Schechter, I’m so sorry. I never meant for her to—”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “And call me Teri. No, it’s my fault. She wrote everything in there. I had no idea. All about what a terrible mother I am. I mean, she didn’t say that. She made excuses for me half the time. But when I read the things I said and did, I said to myself, what kind of mother was I?” More tears came. “And there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

“Teri, please don’t do this to yourself. Any mistakes you made are behind you now.”

She was shaking her head again. “They’re not behind me.” She sniffed. “A reporter called yesterday and said something about me finding her and calling the ambulance. He just assumed I had, and I didn’t correct him.” She was lightly wringing her hands. “I didn’t want to admit I was with my boyfriend. When she needed me most, I wasn’t there . . . again.”

“There was no way you could have known she needed you,” Stephanie said.

“You did.” She gave Stephanie a quick glance and went back to focusing on her hands. “You were tuned in. And the bad part is I cut her off from you because I was jealous that she liked you better.”

“No, Teri, that’s not true. She loved you. She wanted to please you. I was simply able to be there for her as a friend.”

“Well . . . that’s sort of why I’m here,” she said. “I wondered if I could ask you a favor.”

“Anything,” Stephanie said.

“I’m planning a memorial service at the funeral home for Friday. I wondered if you could give the message . . . or whatever they call it . . . say some words about Sam.”

Stephanie’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m not a minister or any kind of speaker. I couldn’t do that.”

“But you knew my Sam, and she loved you.” Teri looked at her. “Doesn’t have to be fancy. Just words from your heart.”

Stephanie suddenly had a different reason for turning it down. Just thinking about it made her emotional. There was no way she could get through something like that. Still, how could she say no to speaking from the heart about Sam?

She sighed. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“And I have a bigger favor.”

“Okay . . .”

“You know how sometimes on the news when something happens, a family friend talks to the news people?”

Stephanie had no clue where this was going. “Yes, I’m familiar with that.”

“I wondered if you could be the family friend.”

It took a moment for her request to register. “You want me to talk to the news people?”

“I can’t take all the phone calls, and some of ‘em even come to the house. I don’t know what to say or how to say it.” She looked intently at Stephanie. “You would represent my Sam well.”

“Teri, I don’t have experience with that. I’ve never been on the news, wouldn’t know how to handle the questions . . . That’s way too much.”

“I just thought,” she said, “you could tell people who she was.”

Whether she knew it or not, Teri had aimed straight for Stephanie’s heart. She also heard Libby’s words from yesterday. “You can tell her story.”

Stephanie nodded. “When you put it that way,” she said, “I’d love to represent Sam. I’m honored that you trust me to do that.”

“I want to warn you,” Teri said. “There’ll be a lot of calls and such.”

“I know. Let me get my phone, and we’ll exchange contact information.”

She got it, and the women took one another’s phones and put in their own information.

“I want you to have this.” Teri put the journal in her hands. “That’ll tell you who Sam was like nothing else.”

Stephanie held it gently. “You want me to . . . have it, as in keep it? I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.” Teri got up to leave. “When you read it, you’ll see why you can.” She headed for the door.

“Teri, can I ask you a question?”

She turned. “Yeah?”

“What happened that turned you against the churches in town?”

“It’s a pretty straight story,” she said. “I got pregnant senior year in high school, and my momma sent me to Hope Springs to live with my grandma, who went to Calvary. I got stares for being pregnant, and more stares when they saw Sam had some color to her.” She took out cigarettes and held them. “I stopped going. Decided to try New Jerusalem. Got stares like people were wondering if I took a wrong turn or something.” She threw up her hands. “I said, I don’t need none of y’all.”

Stephanie nodded. “I would’ve said the same thing. But I sure wish you’d give either one a try again. You’re more than welcome to come with me to New Jerusalem one Sunday. If you get one stare, I’ll punch ‘em in the nose.”

Teri’s eyes smiled. “I see why Sam loved you.” She opened the door—“I’ll be in touch”—and was gone.

Stephanie stared at the journal in her hands. She’d curl up with it in a quiet place with some hot tea . . . and a box of tissues.