A Map of the World - Jane Hamilton [200]
“Once. I hit him once on the face. I slapped him.”
“Did you notify the principal that you’d hit the boy?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I was ashamed. It is awful to lose your temper.”
“What made you ‘lose your temper,’ as you say?”
I closed my eyes, trying to fasten on the correct sequence. “Robbie was a difficult child to treat,” I said. “He was often verbally abusive to adults—he seemed not to have any fear or respect. There was a pattern in his office visits. He would come to the door and stand and stare at me in a way that was extremely unnerving, and then he often made personal remarks. I had tried to get some guidance from both the principal and the school counselor—” I was not answering in the succinct way we had practiced. I couldn’t recall how I had justified the slap. “His derision and his contempt overwhelmed me one day,” I mumbled. “And I slapped him.”
“Is striking Robbie one of the charges that has been brought against you, Mrs. Goodwin?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t Robbie tell his mother you hit him?”
“I suppose Robbie may get hit at home. It may not have been anything out of the ordinary in his life.”
Mrs. Dirks objected on the grounds of hearsay, and the judge ordered the statement struck from the record.
“What did you mean, Mrs. Goodwin, when you said to Detective Grogan and Officer Melby, that you’d hurt everybody. What did you mean by that?”
“Our neighbor, a two-year-old, had very recently drowned in our pond.” I looked at Theresa as I spoke. I said again, “She was two years old.” Rafferty had told me I should not under any circumstances volunteer that information. The judge had written a letter advising that both Dirks and Rafferty keep Elizabeth Collins out of the testimony. But it was important, wasn’t it, that the jurors know the context; Rafferty himself had said as much. I no longer remembered what I had been supposed to say. I was under oath to tell the truth, and Lizzy’s death was a good portion of the truth. “I was—stricken by that accident. It was an agonizing period. I didn’t feel that I was taking good care of my children, my family, my friend. Everything fell apart for those few weeks after Lizzy drowned. I had no idea what the officers were asking me about that night, but my guilt was considerable.”
Dirks was standing up and yelling as to be expected. Even Judge Peterson was on his feet. I guessed that he called a recess because Dirks was running into the judge’s chamber and Rafferty, head down, hands behind his back, was following. Rafferty said later that he’d never seen the judge so angry, that he shook the air as if to throttle Paul, and shouted. “I granted your motion to keep Elizabeth out of the testimony, and you brought it up! Were you playing games with me, Paul? Because if you were you’d better tell me, and I’ll declare a mistrial right now and we’ll start this thing all over again.” To Susan Dirks Judge Peterson said, “Now, Mrs. Dirks, your colleague opened the door and I want you to know that you can have as much latitude as you want to explore that drowning on cross.”
Rafferty didn’t look at me as he finished his questions. He said simply, “So you felt that you were causing harm?”
“Everything feels hurtful, still. This trial has hurt all of us, my children and my husband, and also the Mackessys.”
In his most slow, solemn tones Rafferty asked, “Did you ever sexually abuse Robbie Mackessy, Mrs. Goodwin?”
I shook my head. I was supposed to be honest, forthright, and indignant. He was waiting for me to use words. He tapped his foot four or five times.
“No,” I managed to croak. “No, I did not.”
I knew that Susan Dirks could now ask me about the drowning. I waited for the questions that would turn the jury against me. “Did you like Robbie Mackessy?” she asked as she began her cross-examination.
“No,” I said. “He was a difficult boy.”
“Is that reason for a professional health-care worker to dislike a child? Because they are difficult?”
“It wasn’t necessarily right for me to dislike Robbie,” I said. “I guess our reason isn’t always responsible for