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"Hmmm," he said. "Well, sometimes these things can be resolved quickly if the events are as the child describes. The parent who has abused her might not want to see this dragged out in open court. You might investigate that avenue first."
While I held on Mr. Simington looked up the appropriate government agency numbers for me and Jimmy to call.
"Call me at my office tomorrow if you need anything further," he said. I thanked him and cradled the receiver. Then I explained everything to Jimmy just the way Mr. Simington had explained it to me.
After washing her face and drinking a glass of water Fern sat down on the sofa again and thumbed through some of my fashion magazines while Jimmy and I conferred. I thought she looked amazingly relaxed for a little girl who had gone through so much. I whispered so to Jimmy.
"You know how kids are," Jimmy whispered back. "Just think about us when we were her age, what we went through and how we were able to bear it. Kids are made of rubber; you can stretch and twist them all sorts of ways, and they don't break."
"On the outside, Jimmy. On the inside they tear to pieces," I said.
"I know. That's why I want this ended tonight, not tomorrow, and certainly not after months and months of legal maneuvering in New York courts."
"What are we going to do?" I asked.
He thought for a moment. Then he turned to Fern. She looked up from the magazine when he went over to the sofa and sat down beside her.
"Do you think," he began softly, "that you can go back with us and confront Clayton just one more time?"
"What do you mean?" she asked. She looked from him to me and back to him. "Why?"
"Tell him to his face what you told us," Jimmy explained. She bit down on her lower lip and dropped her eyes back to the magazine.
"You're going to have to do it eventually, dear," I told her. "Why can't we just leave New York and go live in your hotel?" she cried.
"I told you," I said softly. "They are your legal parents."
"But Jimmy's my real brother! And you're his wife!" she exclaimed.
"That doesn't mean we have a legal right to take you away with us, Kelly," I said.
"I don't want to be called Kelly anymore. I want to be called by my real name: Fern. Fern!" she emphasized, her eyes burning with determination and anger.
Jimmy turned toward me, his face lit with satisfaction.
"And I want to go home with you. I want to be with my family, my real family, and not with them. I hate them," she repeated, pounding her knees with her fists. "I hate him for what he did to me."
"That's why we've got to go over there and tell him what we know and make him understand he has to let you go home with us or . . . or he'll go to jail," Jimmy said. "You don't have to be afraid," he emphasized, taking her hand into his. "I'll be right beside you, and if he should so much as threaten you—"
"And he can't make me stay there?"
"No, not after what you've told us," Jimmy said. "That's for sure."
Fern shifted her gaze to me to see if I agreed with what Jimmy was telling her.
"Okay," she said. "As long as I can leave with you right away."
"Good," Jimmy said, clapping his hands over his knees. "Jimmy." My heart began to pound in anticipation. "What?"
"We can't guarantee that she can come home with us right away," I said.
"Sure we can," he said, waving me off. "Don't worry, Fern," he said, running his hand over her hair, "you're going to be safe from now on. No one's going to do sick things like that to you again as long as I'm around."
Fern's face broke into a wide smile, and she threw her arms around his neck.
"Oh, Jimmy," she cried, "I'm so happy, so happy you finally found me."
Jimmy beamed. He gazed at me over her shoulder, his eyes so full of happiness and pride, I couldn't resist smiling back at him. Only deep down inside, I had a feeling there was more to this . . . much, much more, and only time would tell if we were doing the right thing.
