TERESA SEPOLINO FRETTED for hours. Reporting this incident to Sister Annunciata was unimaginable. She didn’t think she could utter the word penis to the nun; it was that simple. And forget about the priests; out of the question.
But Clarisse McCarthy would know what to do. Approaching her would entail putting pride aside, as Clarisse had never given her the time of day. Teresa decided to call Clarisse for the sake of the child.
“I’m sorry to bother you at night,” said Teresa. And she unburdened herself.
“In the cafeteria? That’s disgusting,” said Clarisse. “You can’t be serious. Oh my God.”
Clarisse, Stephanie, and Teresa sat in Clarisse’s kitchen the following morning around a tray of Fig Newtons. Clarisse didn’t waste any time with small talk.
“Here’s what I think. Felix Spoon is demented. Little Alice, good Lord, what next?” Clarisse was saying.
Steph noticed that Clarisse often referred to Alice as “little” Alice, and to Lil as “poor” Lil. She suspected that her diminishing adjectives had less to do with compassion and more to do with the fact that Clarisse had no jurisdiction over Lil O’Brien. Steph took it upon herself to play devil’s advocate, knowing that Teresa might not be so inclined to stand up to Clarisse. She put her cookie down.
“Okay, I agree this is disturbing, and, yes, the kid is an oddball, but what did you actually see, Teresa?”
Teresa bit her bottom lip, and concentrated, as if it were a trick question on a quiz. “Well, I walked in … the two of them were under the table … very, very close,” she said, putting her hands together like a prayer. “The boy ran … shouting to Alice, ‘don’t be stupid’ and by the time I fished her out from under the table, she was … you know … shaking, and speechless. And when I asked her what they were doing, she wouldn’t tell. She just said, ‘he showed me something.’ So, I don’t know, but it didn’t feel right.”
“That’s an understatement,” said Clarisse, who shuddered as if she had just pictured a car crash in her head. “Poor Lil is in no condition to handle something like this,” Clarisse said.
When further pressed by Steph, Teresa said she couldn’t quite be sure about what actual touching had occurred, and that’s when Clarisse jumped in.
“Please, Steph. We get that it was something sexual, no need to mince around. We have to move on this. That boy is trouble. I mean, come on … he’s already hurt my girls and now this. Honestly, I don’t care much for the father, either.”
The women got quiet.
Steph crossed her arms and smiled ever so slightly at Clarisse. “Really?”
“Look, Teresa, thanks for telling us about this. We’ll think about a plan of action.” Clarisse stood up, putting an abrupt end to Teresa’s visit and ushering her to the door as fast as she could.
“I thought you said Luke Spoon was the perfect gentleman when he came to apologize,” said Steph after Teresa left.
Clarisse pursed her lips and took a moment to pull at an eyelash. “I don’t know. I’ve had a few days to think about it, and, so what, he can turn on the charm. Something about him gives me the creeps,” said Clarisse. “You can’t just do nothing in a case like this, Steph. Come on. I feel I should step up.”
“Yeah, but I don’t really think there’s enough evidence here.”
“Oh, so we should wait until he goes further than showing? How about touching?” said Clarisse.
“Clarisse, he’s seven years old!” Stephanie Conte didn’t buy it. Clarisse had done a flip-flop. When Clarisse had called her saying that Luke Spoon had paid her a visit, you would have thought he was Paul Newman or something. But she was on the warpath now, and Steph was reminded of the time Clarisse had almost driven the Witters out of town with her campaign to ostracize them because they’d painted their house red, which according to Clarisse looked like something you’d find on a whore’s lips.
“Well, what are you going to do?” said Steph.
“I’m going to think about it, Steph. I’ll figure something out. But I really wish you’d be with me on this. I could use your support.”