Author Note
If you celebrated Halloween, hope you had a good one! I'm still settling into my new digs but so far new neighbours seem like solid people. We're the youngest on the cul-de-sac so I'm feeling the pressure to make a good first impression.
Finally got this chapter to a place I'm happy with, but am somewhat nervous to post. It's an important one and hopefully it lives up to expectations. Callie takes some risks here and Lena gets a milestone of her own.
Definitely some potential here for some great one shots and/or flashbacks, too. If anyone's interested, they're your's for the taking. Just PM me because I'd love to read them. ~b'shert
Chapter 33: Making Wisdom out of Wounds
"Five minutes. That's all you're getting," Stef said firmly as she fiddled with the timer on her phone.
"But I need the bathroom—" Callie began to protest.
"There is no way you need to use the bathroom. You were just in there," the cop replied, unable to hide her exasperation any longer. By now, it was well over an hour since she had first started trying to get Callie into the shower and she had had enough of the girl's stalling.
Feeling her patience run thin, Stef took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Callie needed to finish by ten in order to get to bed on time but as it edged closer to nine thirty, that was looking more and more unlikely. Especially since she needed help with her routine tonight. Often, she and Lena would send her back into the shower after checking. And Callie usually needed assistance with some of the steps, like combing out her hair and trimming her nails—making for a lengthy process.
To be fair, part of Stef's annoyance stemmed from circumstances that had little to do with her daughter. While she was grateful that they'd been able to spend the afternoon together and would do so again without a second thought, it also meant that she had missed half her workday. She was now anxiously awaiting for the children to be in bed for the night so she could catch up. But on top of that, the cop was worried about Callie. Getting separated in the parking lot had clearly played on some of the girl's fears and done a number on her sense of security—she had avoided the family all evening and had returned to keeping her and Lena at arm's length.
Having learned about what Callie had endured in the bathroom, she understood the reason for resistance. Used to not having any control over their circumstances or what happened to them, bathing was an area of exemption—one that the kids had always been in charge of and weren't willing to give up. Unfortunately, both were in desperate need of guidance because their lack of attention to hygiene bordered on self-neglect. The women were willing to try anything to increase positive associations to temper the negative experiences and to incentivize it. They had also considered appropriate ways to facilitate independence with the task itself. Things like offering choices between baths and showers, getting a shower radio, or encouraging use of the ensuite so privacy could still be had if Callie or Jude wanted the door open.
Which was what Stef had been trying to do. "You are picking a soap right now so what will it be?"
She and Callie were standing before the linen closet off the master where extra supplies were kept—the girl trapped between her and the bathroom. In the bedroom, Lena was folding and putting away laundry, likely amused at her failed attempts thus far to cajole their daughter into the shower. Having had her turn washing both kids' hair earlier that week, it was not surprising that Lena was staying out of the current battle.
"Quickly, please. You're down to the wire, missy," Stef said, holding up the countdown on her phone. She picked up a bottle of Lena's expensive bubble bath. "Cucumber melon? I bet that smells nice."
Callie scrunched her nose and stepped back as if offended.
"What, Callie? What? It's not hard. Pick or I will do it for you." She sighed, regretting her sternness when the girl's face sank.
"Please, honey," Stef tried again, not below begging at this point. "It's getting late. You need to wash your hair tonight and we have to comb it out and wait for it to dry. I don't want you going to bed with a wet head."
"Mama said bubble baths give you a UTI," Callie informed her seriously.
Stef cleared her throat as unexpected tears pricked her eyes.
How could she have been so short with her sweet girl?
In her periphery, she saw Lena immediately stop what she was doing, one hand clamped over her mouth. No matter how old their kids were when they first called them some variation of Mom, it was always incredibly special and filled with mixed emotions. Usually the joy of being pegged first was tinged with guilt for the parent who wasn't. And for the one who wasn't first? Self-doubt and second-guessing about the quality of attachment with the child usually ensued, intertwined with jealously.
From the way Callie had pronounced the word, they both knew she'd been referring to Lena. How she called Colleen was more like mom—ma. Plus, Lena often used the UTI angle with all the kids to encourage them to be thorough in caring for their bodies.
"Yes, they can. That's why it's important to always rinse off in the shower after you're done. To prevent that from happening."
Callie frowned at the idea of both a bath and a shower. No thank you.
"Thank you for deciding," Stef praised as the girl went for the Ivory Lavender body wash.
"I need my towel and pyjamas," Callie said, attempting to quickly sidestep past her.
"Ah—ah—ah! Oh no you don't." No longer willing to put up with any more runaround, the cop did the same to block Callie's path. "There are fresh towels in there, as is a new facecloth. Your PJs were just washed and are on the bed," she said sternly.
Callie bit her lip, searching for another excuse. "But—"
"No. No buts. Except your's, in there," Stef said, steering her by the shoulders toward the bath. "Now march. The faster you move, the faster we'll be done." She felt bad, knowing that the reticence was over the shower check; however, it was desperately needed. Callie had missed a couple showers this week already. There was two day old pen ink on her forearm and her nails had dirt beneath them. Every so often, she'd catch a whiff of the girl's feet, which reeked.
"When you're finished I will help you do your hands and feet so you can be done."
"I don't need help…" Callie protested halfheartedly as she squirmed her way out of her foster mother's hold.
Stef crossed her arms, both amused and relieved that her daughter was challenging her. "Not a choice, Cal. Your feet are the feetiest feet that have ever feeted, sweets. I can smell them now—in fact, I could smell them from all the way across the table tonight at dinner."
"They do not!" Callie argued, hurt. She looked down—she couldn't smell anything and she was closer to her feet than Stef was.
Feeling defeated, she let herself be pushed into the bathroom before the timer went off.
"There's clean underwear here for you," Stef called over the running water.
Safely hidden behind the shower curtain, Callie rolled her eyes. She could've picked her own clothes if she had been allowed to go back to her room.
As Stef collected the laundry strewn all over the tiled floor, she caught sight of the body wash and neatly folded face cloth on the tub ledge. Both items were bone dry. She frowned, suddenly aware that the sound of the water hitting the bathtub was static. Meaning that her daughter was not scrubbing but was instead letting the water run over her.
"How are the shower steps going?" she asked warily.
"Good."
The cop crossed her arms, giving her head a shake as she tried to figure out how to best go about addressing this. After all that, she was determined not to let go of her efforts to get Callie to clean herself properly.
"Okay…I'm going to assume that you're still working on your hair then because I can see that you haven't gotten around to using the soap yet," Stef mentioned casually.
"I got shampoo on my body," Callie countered. The protest quickly died on her lips upon hearing the woman's firm reply.
"Shampoo is for your hair. You need to use the body wash."
"Okay," Callie replied, stopping herself from groaning like she really wanted to. She didn't get what the big deal was—she could see the suds on her skin. Soap was soap!
Stef smiled, satisfied as she watched her daughter's arm snake around the curtain and fumble for the container. Callie was testing her again—slowly but surely—and honestly, she couldn't be happier by it.
"Thank you. I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, remembering she'd forgotten Callie's water and chewable multivitamin. "Use the brush there to scrub under your nails, okay? And don't forget to wash your neck, armpits, and—"
"—Okay! I know!" Callie exclaimed before her foster mother could go into any further detail.
She didn't understand why Stef and Lena insisted on supervising her in the shower. It wasn't fair that she wasn't allowed to do something on her own that she knew how to. It was embarrassing, and the indignation was only made worse with the awareness that there was absolutely nothing she could do to change their mind.
Tired and frustrated but not knowing how else to respond, Callie held her breath and turned to face the water.
Just last week, she didn't care what they thought; it'd felt like she had nothing to lose. But after today, it felt like she had everything to lose.
Stef poked her head in the doorway. "How are you doing in there, love?"
"I'm done!" Callie called as she finished up.
"You get all the shampoo out of your hair?"
"Uh huh."
"What about your nails? Are they clean?" Stef prompted. She would be checking anyway but wanted to give the girl a chance to show that she was capable and independent.
Callie glanced at her hands. "Yeah. I used the brush," she said, anxious to show she could listen and be diligent.
"Wonderful," the woman approved despite her reservations. "And feet?" She stifled a laugh as she heard the squeaking of bare feet scrambling against the bathtub floor. That would be a no.
"Mhm, they're good!" Callie insisted, splaying her toes under the stream of water. She was getting impatient and wanted to get out now.
"Be there soon, Bug."
Hoping her feet would be clean enough to pass her foster mother's scrutiny, Callie shut off the tap. She peered around the curtain to make sure Stef was no longer there, then grabbed the towel and underwear off the rack. As best she could while standing on the slippery surface, Callie hurried to dry off and struggle to pull the bottoms over still wet skin.
When Stef showed up not too long after, the girl had the towel tightly wrapped around her. She checked Callie's hair right away. Pleased to find it clear of any shampoo residue, she twisted it in sections to squeeze out the excess water before rubbing in the leave-in conditioner.
"Oww," Callie whined as her foster mother quickly combed out her curls and began to pull it into a bun.
"Oh, hush. That did not hurt," Stef soothed, noticing the impatient scowl make its way across her child's face.
Callie tried to stand still. Okay, so maybe it didn't hurt but it didn't feel good to have it yanked, either.
Not wanting her daughter to get too cold, Stef wrapped the second towel around Callie's shoulders. She then removed the extendable shower head from its cradle, gently letting it hang against the tile. "Alright, honey," she said as she rolled up her pants and straddled the tub edge. "Time for your feet."
Judging by how slippery the tub was, she had her reservations that Callie had managed to get all the soap off. Given the time, however, it'd have to do. The most important part was getting her hair and feet done because they were often the most neglected.
"Hold onto me," Stef instructed, guiding the girl's hands to her shoulders. "That's right, just like that." She helped Callie lift one foot up for a cursory inspection before setting it down again. There was definitely some work to do.
"I washed them already," Callie protested, discouraged to see the cop turn on the water to rinse out the washcloth. Regardless of whether it was Stef or Lena who was doing it, she always hated this part.
"You did, did you?" Stef said casually. Making sure her daughter still had a grip on her, she brought the foot back up and gently rotated it inward so she could show Callie the inside of her ankle. "This is soap scum," she said, pointing to the dark patch before tackling the offending spot with the cloth.
"When you wash, you need to actually scrub," she reminded as she moved onto the outer edges of the foot. Eventually, she decided to forgo the cloth in favour of using her thumb to rub at the skin, which was still moist enough that the residue easily came off.
She shook her head in amusement as the girl complained and fidgeted throughout the process. Callie and Jude were definitely related.
Callie was mortified as she watched the greyish, eraser-like rubbings form on her skin and fall away. She hadn't realized that the dirt would've come back so soon since the last time when Lena had helped her. If so, she would've tried harder—but either way, it wasn't like it was causing any harm.
"I didn't know that soap was dirty…"
"Well, it is when it mixes with dead skin, sweat, and oil."
"That's why we shouldn't use it too much," Callie piped up, trailing off as the cop levelled her with an unimpressed gaze.
"Very funny, missy. Watch out or that's all you're getting at Christmas," Stef threatened, purposely venturing to the sole of Callie's foot to cause her to giggle in ticklishness. Picking up the washcloth again, she began to work on the toes.
"Callie. Look at this gunk," she said, cringing at the toe jam. Did you just stand under the water?" she asked the guilty face staring back at her.
The woman sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was to embarrass her. At the same time, there was pressure to have Callie master responsibility for her hygiene—which would only be harder once her cycle started if they couldn't get a routine in place now. It was only a matter of time. Callie was the right age; her body was waiting for stress levels to diminish and for a bit of weight gain.
"Hey…I know I'm harping on you. But I don't want you to get a foot infection, especially since you have one pair of shoes you like to wear." She considered throwing those shoes into the machine when Callie was asleep. "You gotta try and stay on top of it. Every time you shower, okay? Just like this."
"Okay," Callie replied sadly. To be honest, she didn't know to clean there. She changed her socks everyday and had thought that that would've been good enough. No one had ever told her otherwise. Although embarrassed, she felt safe, remembering that her Mom used to help her like Stef and Lena did. Then a smaller version of herself, she was able to fit across the tub comfortably and would often dangle one leg out of the warm suds at a time so her feet and knees could be scrubbed.
Callie's heart fell. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed the feeling of being taken care of, but she resented how much she had begun to rely upon the women—especially knowing Stef didn't want her. Despite her efforts to keep herself and Jude from getting too attached, she had gradually gotten used to their warmth and the safety she felt when with them. How they treated them as if one of their own. There were times that she felt like she might even love them—that maybe they loved her back, too—and caught herself imagining being a part of their family for a long time. It hadn't been an expectation when she'd first met them, but simply how things had turned out.
Noticing her daughter's expression cloud over, Stef winked and gave her a soft smile. Satisfied that the skin was looking significantly brighter, she tapped Callie's other foot to repeat the process.
It was only when Callie twitched her foot away that she saw the dollar-sized bruise at the base of the big toe. Frowning, she tried to get a better angle on it in the light. Luckily, there was no swelling at the joint. "Does it hurt?" she questioned as Callie shook her head.
"When did this happen?"
Callie hesitated as her mind raced to come up with an explanation. "I tripped," she said reluctantly, avoiding her foster mother's eyes as much as it was possible while holding onto her.
"When did you trip?" Stef pressed, deciding to go along with the story. The girl bit her lip, making her even more suspicious.
"Oh…uhm, today…in the parking lot."
"This looks older than something that happened today, love," the cop pointed out mildly, wanting to make it clear she wasn't buying it. There was not an ounce of confidence in Callie's answer, giving away that she wasn't being honest. Not to mention that she could see, by the swirls of green and yellow, that the bruise wasn't fresh but about a week old. Maybe a little less.
Knowing she wasn't going to get the truth out of Callie anytime soon, Stef let it drop. She continued working on that foot before moving on to tackle the back of her daughter's knees. Once satisfied that they were sufficiently clean, she turned on the water, making sure it was warm before rinsing down Callie's legs.
"Lift," she instructed. The girl complied, letting her do the soles of her feet before stepping out onto the bathmat. Removing her own leg from the tub so she could have her back to the tiled wall, Stef maneuvered Callie by the arms so that her daughter was standing between her legs facing her.
Callie swallowed, anticipating what was coming. She should've known that the cop would not be letting go of this easily.
"Alright. We both know that this did not happen today." Stef gestured to the bruise. "Can you try again and tell me what happened? Please?" she begged, searching the girl's face.
"Baby, this is not something you can keep from me," she coaxed when Callie remained silent. It was only a matter of time before the truth would come out.
"I got scared—I was running and I fell," the girl finally mumbled in a defeated tone.
"Okay. You got scared," Stef validated. She rubbed Callie's upper arms through the towel she'd placed around her shoulders. Now they were getting somewhere.
"What got you scared?" she pressed, assuming it had been Mike. This time, she waited patiently, letting the silence settle in as Callie stubbornly refused to tell her. "C'mon, honey. You can do it," she encouraged as she tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ear.
"…I…I tripped on my bed," Callie continued after a length of time. "My foot got caught on the frame." She knew that there was no way the woman would back off, but wanting to avoid embarrassment badly enough, she continued to skirt the question.
Seeing nothing but concern and confusion knitted into Stef's brow, she sighed. She always felt a twinge of regret whenever she tried to hide things from either of the women.
"After I got in trouble with you." Her voice pitched, forcing her to stop. Ashamed by the admission, she gave an awkward shrug.
Stef's breath caught in her throat as what Callie was telling her sank in.
No.
No.
No.
"You were afraid of me?" What came out as a question was in actuality, more of a statement. And although she already knew what the answer would be, she was dismayed when Callie shifted her attention away, uncomfortable.
"Oh…my love, I am so, so sorry," she gasped, choking up at the thought of her child running away from her because she was terrified. Of her, not just of the consequences. "I never wanted you to be afraid of me, honey." Arms occupied by holding the towel around Callie's upper body, she let the tears slip steadily down her face.
Surprised by the tremor in her foster mother's voice, Callie stared worriedly at her. Stef looked old and sad, and tired—so much so that she felt awful that she'd made her cry.
It was an expression that her Mom often wore when they had shared some difficult days together. Days when the apartment was a mess, dinner was burnt, Jude was tantrum-y, and Dad would call to say he needed to stay late at work when all of them had been holding out for him to come home.
The same, frustrated look her Mom would sometimes give her after she'd pushed her buttons all day—which would automatically make her regret disappointing her or being so determined not to listen. "I need you to ease up on me, Callie!" she used to remember her saying.
Suddenly, Callie felt very guilty, understanding that she'd done the same to Stef. "Sorry for not listening," she whispered. "And for running in the house."
"That's not the issue—not even close," Stef said sadly, shaking her head. This was not her daughter's fault in any way. "You didn't have any idea what was going on, did you?"
Callie shrugged as she played with the label on the towel. She knew now that Stef wouldn't have beat her—but when it happened, she hadn't had enough time to think it through to be sure about anything. It was foolish…but she had just wanted to get away.
"It's okay, it was an accident. You didn't do this," she reassured, looking the cop in the eye to let her know she really was okay. Finding her courage, she took her thumbs and wiped away her foster mother's tears—just as Stef had done for her countless times before.
Troubled that the cop still appeared upset, she patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm okay—not scared anymore." Then, for good measure: "My foot looked pretty ugly but it didn't hurt for that long."
Quietly watching the exchange unfold from where she stood in the doorway, Lena fought to maintain her composure. It was an emotional sight—her wife sitting on the tub edge, one leg drenched and water all over the front of her shirt, while their young daughter spoke to her like an adult trying to console her.
She didn't want to do this. Not in the bathroom—not with what she knew about what Jeanine had done to Callie in there. But here they were, and after days of silence from Callie, it seemed as though her daughter was willing—and more importantly, ready to talk. Out of fear the opportunity might not come up again, Stef was determined to run with the momentum.
That being said, the pressure to get it right was overwhelming. Push too hard and she could risk having Callie make another negative association with the room. But treading too cautiously could easily give the impression she wasn't comfortable talking—or worse, send a message that the feelings her daughter had experienced were something to be ashamed about.
Sensing her wife's dilemma, Lena knocked and stuck her head in the doorway. She wanted to let both of them know that she was present. "Hi, love. All clean?" she asked as the girl nodded her insistence.
The cop raised an eyebrow. "Almost," she clarified. "We need to do your nails, then you're free to go."
"Not too bad at all," Stef praised as she did a once over with the nail brush for good measure. Her back killing her after bending into the tub for an extended length of time, she had had Callie jump up onto the counter for this part. That way, she could stretch out her lumbar muscles.
"You know, I've been replaying that day over and over in my head," she began as she retrieved the clipper from the medicine cabinet. Scrutinizing the girl's hands, she decided to start with the hangnail on the index finger. "Mama and I've discussed it so many times…and one thing I never, ever wanted to do was the hurt your dignity, or make you feel unloved or unsafe with us or in our home."
She smiled sadly at Callie, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I'm so sorry that when I disciplined you I didn't consider how it'd put you back in a situation you had no control over. One that was chaotic and unpredictable. That wasn't fair. You didn't deserve to be scared like that, at any time. No one does."
Had she been aware of the series of unfortunate events leading up to Callie's decision to enter the safe, she would've taken a very different approach. She would've discussed the consequence with Callie first to make sure her child fully understood what would happen so it wouldn't have been out of the blue. And if there wasn't understanding, she would've made different choices. More than that, she wouldn't have even let it get to that point. That day had been sour from the start, unravelling well before the session. But instead of turning things around before they deteriorated, she had simply chosen to ignore them.
Callie's eyes widened as she listened intently. Never had she had a foster parent apologize for their decisions before.
"I—I wish I could rewind that day, Bug. You'd been trying to tell me what you needed all day but I wasn't making much of an effort to hear you," Stef said, admitting that she hadn't been as understanding and accepting of her daughter as she hoped to be.
"I did take Dr. Wiseman's side, didn't I?" she asked, chuckling when Callie nodded uncertainly at her. "I was so focused on what I thought you needed to do…on what she wanted you to do, that I couldn't accept that you might have just needed more time."
Recalling the angry words she'd directed at the cop after Mike had brought her home, Callie felt her cheeks flush. She shrugged. "It's okay. I shouldn't have lied."
Stef shook her head; she couldn't allow Callie to take responsibility for her own presumptuousness and poor judgment that day. "No, it's not okay. You lied because you weren't ready, not because you were trying to be difficult, and I should have stuck up for you. It wasn't my place to make sure you were telling the truth."
She took a deep breath, trying not to cry all over again as she remembered her daughter's desperation for her to stay the moment she realized she was going to be left alone with Dr. Wiseman. Callie had trusted her enough, then, to ask her to stay with her, and she'd refused.
"We ended up talking about one of the other foster homes you and Jude were in…which made you think about some things that happened there that you weren't ready to discuss or think about," Stef suggested, gently stroking the girl's face as she studied her expression. She wanted to make some progress but wouldn't risk taking things so far that it'd be triggering.
"Yeah," Callie admitted, all of a sudden feeling vulnerable. She figured by how Stef was acting, that maybe she had found out the truth about what had happened with Jeanine. But although she had been angry with the cop for making her talk to Dr. Wiseman, she never once blamed her for what that woman had done. How could she? "You didn't know."
"I didn't know," Stef said regretfully, confirming her suspicions.
"But I should have respected that it was your story to tell. Not mine—and not anyone else's. You were right about that, too, and I'd take it back if I could. I'm sorry, honey."
"That's why you ran away, wasn't it?" Stef went on. She trusted that Callie would correct her if she was wrong, but she was convinced that her daughter had had a panic attack—alone—while the adults were debriefing. Callie had passed her in the waiting room, on the way to the bathroom, before she disappeared.
"Callie…" she murmured as the girl wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
Remembering her absolute need to get away from that bathroom, Callie shuddered. She couldn't explain what had happened that caused her to run; it had all unfolded quickly. Before she knew it, she'd gotten lost. Mike had shown up out of the blue and she was taken to the cruiser.
"You were scared when you got back here," Stef ventured a guess. The girl nodded her admission. "What happened then?" she asked, inviting her to speak—progress was contingent on participation.
Callie winced at the memory. "You…you were really mad because I wasn't listening and then we were yelling at each other."
"We did do that, didn't we?" The woman's eyes glistened at hearing the earnest takeaway of that situation. "You weren't the only one not doing a good job at listening that day. I—I wasn't being very fair to you when I accused you of running away out of spite because we made you go to the appointment. I'm sorry."
No wonder Callie had accused her of always thinking the worst of her. In hindsight, the girl had been trying to tell her, in her own way, what was going on. But she had been so focused on laying down the law and figuring out how to ask Mike not to document the whole incident that she'd missed it.
"Mama and I have always asked that you come to us first, but I didn't make it safe at all for you to do so that day. That wasn't fair, love. It was not fair and I was wrong."
"I'm sorry, too," Callie apologized, still ashamed at how she'd behaved when she'd came home. She frowned, thinking hard of what Stef and Lena had said before. "We can't always control our feelings, but—uhm. We still have to own up to what we do," she said seriously. "I shouldn't have broken so many rules or been disrespectful."
The woman laughed softly; so Callie did listen. Returning the nail clipper to its shelf, she found Lena's file and began to smooth down the freshly trimmed edges. "Yes. But you being disrespectful doesn't automatically mean you stop deserving respect. Make sense?"
"Yeah."
"You panicked when I sent you upstairs," Stef said gently, setting aside the nail file so she could make eye contact. She needed to monitor her daughter's reaction very closely. "That's why you opened my safe…you were looking for a way to feel better."
Another nod.
"I tried to explain," Callie replied, feeling herself get worked up. She hated seeing Stef upset.
"I know you did, Bug. I was just terrified. I had no idea why you'd gone in there—if you had my gun. All I could think of was losing you. Not an excuse by any means, but the truth."
She paused, struggling with her words. "You and Jude have gone through some pretty awful things in your other placements, haven't you? I'm so, so sorry if I reminded you, in any way, of those experiences because of how I punished you. If…if it was the same as what used to happen to you two." The cop drew in a shaky breath, hoping she hadn't gone too far. "That must have been terrible for you to remember all of that."
Callie's expression was rife with confusion. True, at the time, she had been reminded of other foster parents—but she always understood that what had taken place with Stef hadn't even come close to being the same.
Most of them would become angered in a way that almost wanted to make them pay. Outrage was unpredictable and out of control, and would leave them tender for days after. Punishments were doled out, never discussed—and adults never bothered to see if they were okay unless it was to assess the damage in order to cover up any marks. Stef and Lena weren't like that. Even though they'd been mad, both had spent a lot of time talking to her and tried to help her feel better. As if they felt bad for what they had had to do.
Callie became silent as she thought about how often she used to get into trouble for accidents. Recently, though, the way she'd been acting had been anything but unintentional.
"I was pretty horrible…" she confessed, realizing that maybe the spanking she had been given was deserved. Feeling self-conscious by the admission, she hugged the towel tighter around herself.
"Cal, you could never be horrible. Never, baby. Your behaviour was a different story but no matter what, no one deserves to be afraid like that."
Callie straightened. "I've had worse," she declared bravely, setting her jaw. Stef had been mean, but it really hadn't been any worse than the misfortune that resulted whenever she had pushed her Mom a little too much for one day.
"That's not the point, Cal…" Stef stared at her daughter hopelessly, wanting to shake her. "You know that was not your fault, what happened with Jeanine or with anyone else, yes?" she said firmly, letting it drop that she was aware of the truth. There was no more hiding anymore.
"Yeah," the girl agreed before piping up nonchalantly. "Mama would hit us."
There it was again. Mom—ma.
Stef froze, not sure what to make of that statement. "Mom would hit you?" she replied, managing to keep a calm and even tone. Of all the responses she'd been prepared for, this had not been one of them. The kids seemed like they'd been so close with Colleen that she doubted any mistreatment had gone on—but after everything she and Lena had just learned, she couldn't assume anything.
"Yeah. Well, only if we really disobeyed or misbehaved," Callie explained, confused when she noticed the lines on Stef's forehead get only deeper with her attempt to make the woman feel better. She hadn't had many rules growing up with their parents. There were some, like not being allowed to go anywhere without permission. Or needing to ask before opening any second floor windows, because her Mom was worried Jude would fall out. Other than that, she was expected to do as she was told, complete her homework, and be kind with her words.
"Hmm? You and Jude? Misbehave and not listen? I would have never imagined," Stef teased, feigning exaggerated shock to elicit a giggle from her daughter. She was relieved to learn that that had been all it was.
It didn't take long for Callie to recall the times she'd spent crying over her Mom's lap for her escapades. She had more than a few tangible memories on this issue. Once, when she was five, she had a park outing taken away for throwing a toy at Jude. Stubbornly, she'd decided to climb out her window to go to the playground anyway—three blocks away. Another time, the building manager had come in to polish the hardwood in their apartment. More interested in playing than taking a bath when sent upstairs after dinner, Callie had discovered that soapy feet on freshly varnished floors made a great slip-n-slide. By the time she'd realized to abort mission, it was much too late. Cupfuls of water and suds had made it from the tub onto the upstairs hallway and had started pooling down the stairs.
"This one time, Jude and me found a really sturdy cardboard crate with handles. The kind you get groceries delivered in." Callie's eyes sparkled with mischief. "We were playing race cars and I kinda got carried away."
Stef raised an eyebrow, not quite sure she wanted to know what this meant. "How on earth does one get carried away pushing their brother around in a box?"
"Well Jude wanted to go faster so…" She hesitated, cringing as her foster mother waited for her to continue. "I was pushing him off the first landing so he could slide down the stairs. It worked well the first couple times," Callie offered quickly as the woman's eyes widened. "But then we, uhm…had some technical difficulties and the box flipped and…ah—Jude, he did a face plant onto the floor."
"Oh my god! Callie! Was he okay?" Stef exclaimed. She was finding it difficult to keep a straight face with the insulted expression her daughter was wearing: the universal betrayal of an older sibling being asked about their younger counterpart's wellbeing, instead of their's.
Callie rolled her eyes. Why was it always about Jude? The box wouldn't have flipped had Jude sat all the way back like she'd told him to, instead of leaning forward.
"He was fine. He got a pretty good goose egg on his head and chipped a tooth. Mama wasn't too happy about that," Callie said. "She was so mad because she'd already told me not to do what she thought I was gonna do," she added, laughing at her younger self. She clearly remembered insisting she wouldn't, forgetting the warning almost instantly—then regretting it and feeling sorry for herself the moment her Mom told her to wait for her in her room. That statement usually didn't bode well for her.
"Mm-hm. Your poor mother. Jude is lucky he didn't break his little neck." The cop wasn't sure how Colleen had managed to stay home with two rambunctious children as a young mom. The mere thought terrified her. "My love, as much as I would've loved to have had you when you were younger, your audacity and…boisterousness…would've nearly killed me." She pointed to her head. "These greys would have come in a decade earlier."
"You okay, baby?" Stef questioned, seeing the girl's chin tremble.
Callie sighed and wiped her eyes. "Yeah. Just remembering," she said shakily.
"You know that's not the same, right? That what you're describing to me is not the same as what happened to you and Jude when you went through all those homes?" Stef asked. She needed to be absolutely sure that there was no ambiguity.
She was not at all prepared for the girl to give her a look of sympathy. As if she was the one who was confused and Callie needed to be patient with.
"I know. She was just trying to remind me to think before I did anything…so I'd make a better choice next time and be better about listening. Not hurt us for real," her daughter replied with stunning maturity.
It had been different. Her Mom always waited until she wasn't angry—only ever using an open hand, never her fist, and never leaving a mark apart from maybe bruising her pride. When it was over, she'd help her clean up and would stay with her until she felt better. The slate would be clear.
Callie never understood why these details were drilled into her—why any of that mattered if it'd hurt anyway. Of course, the difference had become apparent after encountering their foster parents.
"That's what she said. That that's why she had to do something she didn't really like to, because she wanted me to be a good person. Kinda like you and Lena do, I guess," Callie continued before the woman could respond.
Overwhelmed with relief, Stef pulled her daughter into her arms. Because here they'd been—losing sleep over how they would help Callie make wisdom out of her wounds—and she had done it all by herself.
A/N:
At the risk of oversharing...I'm ashamed to admit that the scene in which Callie is standing in the tub getting her feet scrubbed is a true narrative. I don't really have a good reason for why I didn't like showering, but I do remember avoiding and fighting over it. As in the story, showers were battles that I'd eventually lose...every couple weeks I'd be cornered into the bathroom and get my ankles, knees, and neck cleaned. It sucked, and it repeated until something clicked and I got into the habit of bathing properly.
Next up: therapy (and possibly some drama)