Chapter 6 - NOELLE’S NOTEBOOK
I wanted to break something.
Instead, I took screenshots.
Evelyn had trained me well.
“Good.”
She forwarded everything to herself.
“Do not answer.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was thinking about several things.”
“Most of them probably illegal.”
Marcus almost smiled.
Almost.
By noon, I was back home.
Noelle sat at the kitchen table drawing.
I did not tell her CPS was coming until Rebecca was twenty minutes away.
I refused to let my daughter spend hours imagining what might happen.
Noelle listened quietly.
“Am I going somewhere?”
“No.”
“Are they taking me away?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
I hated that question.
Because technically I did not.
I knelt beside her.
“Because I’m going to tell the truth.”
“And you’re going to tell the truth.”
“And we have people helping us.”
She nodded.
Then she looked toward the stairs.
“I have something.”
“What?”
She ran upstairs.
I followed.
Noelle disappeared into her bedroom.
A minute later she pulled a purple notebook from beneath a stack of stuffed animals.
My heart sank.
“What is that?”
“My bad book.”
Every instinct in me recoiled.
“Your what?”
“Grandma told me to write things down.”
She opened it.
The first page contained childish handwriting.
I TALKED WHEN GRANDMA SAID BE QUIET.
The next page.
I DROPPED A GLASS.
Another.
I CRIED BECAUSE I MISSED DADDY.
Another.
I ASKED FOR MORE FOOD AFTER DINNER.
Another.
I FORGOT TO SAY THANK YOU.
Every line had been written by my daughter.
Some were followed by Camille’s handwriting.
SELFISH.
CARELESS.
MANIPULATIVE.
DISOBEDIENT.
WEAK.
I stopped turning pages.
“Noelle.”
She looked frightened.
“Did Grandma make you write this?”
“She said it would help me improve.”
I could barely speak.
“Why did you bring it home?”
Noelle hugged the notebook.
“Because she said she was going to burn it.”
“Why?”
“Because I was getting better.”
That explanation did not make sense.
Then I realized the truth.
Camille had wanted the record destroyed.
Not because Noelle was improving.
Because it revealed what Camille had been doing.
“Did she know you took it?”
“No.”
“Does anyone else know?”
Noelle thought.
“Lydia.”
I called Evelyn immediately.
She arrived ten minutes before CPS.
Rebecca Sloan came alone.
She was younger than I expected.
Calm.
Observant.
She did not arrive like an enemy.
That mattered.
I forced myself to remember that Camille had created the situation.
Rebecca was doing her job.
She interviewed me first.
Then Marcus.
Then the household manager.
Then Noelle.
I was not allowed to remain in the room for that part.
Those forty-two minutes were longer than any crisis negotiation I had ever survived.
When Rebecca finally emerged, her expression had changed.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“Yes?”
“Your daughter gave me permission to discuss something.”
I waited.
Rebecca held the purple notebook.
“Who is Camille Mercer?”
“My mother.”
“She instructed Noelle to write these?”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen this before today?”
“No.”
Rebecca studied my face.
“Your daughter also described sleeping in a pantry.”
My jaw tightened.
“I learned about that this morning.”
“She says it happened while you were traveling.”
“Yes.”
“And your mother was supervising her?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca became quiet.
Then she asked.
“Do you currently intend to allow contact between Camille and Noelle?”
“No unsupervised contact.”
“I would recommend no direct contact at all until we complete our assessment.”
My shoulders loosened slightly.
Rebecca continued.
“The allegations against you require verification.”
“I understand.”
“But based on what I heard today, I’m more concerned about the environment Noelle experienced while staying with her grandmother.”
Evelyn leaned forward.
“What happens next?”
“We investigate both.”
My phone buzzed.
Camille again.
I ignored it.
Rebecca noticed.
“Is that your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Has she contacted Noelle directly?”
“Not today.”
Noelle appeared in the hallway.
Her tablet was in her hands.
She looked confused.
“Daddy?”
“What?”
“Grandma is calling me.”
Everyone froze.
The tablet rang again.
Rebecca extended her hand.
“May I?”
I looked at Noelle.
She handed it over.
Rebecca answered without activating video.
“This is Rebecca Sloan.”
Silence.
Then Camille’s voice filled the room.
“Who are you?”
“Child Protective Services.”
Another silence.
Camille recovered quickly.
“I was trying to speak to my granddaughter.”
“Direct communication may not be appropriate during an active assessment.”
Camille’s voice hardened.
“Give the phone to Noelle.”
Rebecca remained calm.
“No.”
Something shifted inside me.
For the first time in my life, another adult had told Camille no without fear.
My mother hung up.
Thirty seconds later, Evelyn’s phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
“Raymond.”
She answered.
“Evelyn Shaw.”
My uncle spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“You need to control your client.”
Evelyn smiled without humor.
“My client is sitting quietly in his own home.”
“Adrian is destroying this family.”
“No.”
She looked directly at me.
“I think your sister may have started that herself.”
Raymond’s breathing changed.
Then he said something unexpected.
“You don’t know what Camille has.”
Evelyn’s expression sharpened.
“What does she have?”
Raymond paused.
Then he made another mistake.
“She still has Elena’s letter.”
I stood so quickly my chair struck the wall.
“What letter?”
Raymond went silent.
I moved toward the phone.
May you like
“What letter from my wife?”
The call disconnected.
