February 16, 2011 (Part Two)

(This is the sequel to this post.)

I think it was two hours after he had called that a local police officer showed up at my door. I was glad that Elise had fallen asleep on the sofa in front of a movie, so she wouldn't ask me any questions. The officer asked to come in. Honoring Jake's agreement to cooperate, I let her in.

My mother-in-law had been driving by to check on me at that very moment, so she came in behind the officer.

Kay and I stood for a moment, expecting the officer to ask us questions, but she instructed us to sit on the sofa. She sat at my dining table in the next room. And we all just sat silently for over an hour with zero explanation. Kay would look at me periodically as if searching for an answer. I would just shrug and sniffle (I had been crying on and off all afternoon). Finally, I grew annoyed with the awkward silence and asked the officer what was going on.

She said, "I don't know. I was instructed to watch the computers and wait for more instructions." So we waited a little longer.

Suddenly, my yard was full of cop cars. I looked out the front door to see my husband signing some paperwork. I had enough presence of mind to move Elise to her bed before they all came in. When they entered, I hugged Jake and asked him what was going on. He said they just needed the computers. He had one personal laptop and a business laptop (the one he had been erasing).

It turns out that they didn't just want the computers. The paperwork he signed outside the door gave them permission to search his personal things. They took apart his office and bagged every storage device they could find. They also bagged a few playboy-type magazines (they really had to dig for those because I never knew he had any). This process took hours and it felt like our house was flooded with police. They even asked for permission to view my computer, which was in a different room and I agreed since I actually had nothing to hide.

Meanwhile, a social worker showed up. Let's call her Umbridge, shall we? She seemed nice enough at the time, but it was also midnight and I was in emotional shock. She took Jake to the kitchen to talk and the police chief sat with me on the sofa. She asked me a few questions, like if I knew what was going on. I related the little that Jake had told me about the situation. I really had very little to tell her. But while we were talking, I could hear what Jake was telling Umbridge. He was saying something about running his hand down the girl's front. That was the first moment I realized that I was being lied to by my own husband. That is really when the seed of my anger was planted.

The police chief left me then with Umbridge. She smiled and said sympathetic things that I wanted to believe, but I could tell she was just going through the motions. She basically asked the same questions as the chief and I repeated my words, but by this time I knew that I was just repeating the lies Jake had told me. I felt like a fool.

Umbridge asked me if my husband had ever been in trouble for anything like this before. It popped into my mind that he had told me that he had been investigated for improper behavior toward a student at the first school he taught at. He had reassured me that it was just rumors. After all, the investigation found nothing, not even a student to claim that he had acted inappropriately. (This is one of the many pieces of information I had in my life that I never put much stock in, but maybe if I had put all the pieces together . . .) I mentioned this to Umbridge and emphasized that they investigated to no end.

She asked, "Do you believe that he has done nothing wrong?" Her tone was clearly judgmental. I was speechless. I couldn't give her a straight answer.

I think I said, "I believed him earlier today. I'm not really sure what to think right now."

Umbridge explained to me that Jake would have to live somewhere else during the investigation. Amidst sobs, I asked her how long that would take. With a little pout that I suppose she thought was sympathetic looking, she said, "Oh, sometimes a few days, sometimes longer . . . " She also said she'd be back in the morning to talk to Elise. She had Jake and I sign an "action plan" agreeing to some basic conditions and then she left.

Almost immediately after she left, all hell broke loose. An officer found a book in Jake's office that apparently had pictures of nude children in it. For the record, I had never laid eyes on it until that night . . .  but I knew about it. This is the point in the story where everyone freaks out and says, "You knew about this book!" and it starts all the shitty feelings all over again. So please, for my sanity hold yourself together for one more paragraph.

Jake got it in his head one day to buy rare books on eBay to resell on Amazon. This is one of many hare-brained schemes that I just rolled my eyes at and thought This will last ten seconds and be forgotten with the next project. Jake proceeded to find a rare book and he described it to me. I nodded with disinterest and went on with my life. I never heard about the book again. So in the moment that I heard the officer explaining to the investigator what was in the book, I recalled Jake's description of the rare book he planned to buy and resell: "a book from the 70's to teach children about their body." I knew it had to be the same book. I walked numbly to the office and looked upon the cover of the book. It was simply bound in black velvet with only the title on the front, "Show Me".

I just about puked when I saw it. Of course, I thought, of course this is child pornography. Why else would it be bound in black velvet? I should have been furious that he had bought such a thing and brought it in our house, but I was so horrified that I could feel no other emotion. I wondered to myself if he knew what it really was at the time he bought it. But I couldn't yet bring myself to think that way about him - not quite yet. Instead, my horror was slowly replaced with a feeling of guilt.

I said to the investigator, "I knew about the book." The whole world turned upside-down for a moment as the investigator turned on me. I tried to explain, but he just seemed to be yelling about how I had participated in buying child pornography. Finally, Jake convinced him that I had never looked at or really known what it was.

Jake had looked at it. He admitted to that. The investigator went crazy again. I remember standing there in my kitchen holding my precious 3-week-old baby, sobbing, while the investigator yelled, "We will take away your children! Neither of you will ever see them again!"

Suddenly, I straightened up and stopped crying. I had been passively listening to the investigator ask Jake the same questions over and over. He was grilling Jake, wheedling for confessions. I said something to Jake like,,"He's just trying to get you to say something damning. You should stop talking." To this day, I can't believe I said that, but part of me wishes I had said it long before the police entered my house and created the recurring nightmares I have about that night.

The investigator was mad at me. He said, "I'm just trying to help." Then he gathered everything and everyone up, including Jake, and they left.

It was 2am. I was left alone, watching through the window as the car lights faded away into the night. I just stood in the dark, silent house with my ears still ringing from the accusations of the investigator. I let out a few sobs, but then found that I was too tired to even cry. I went to the bedroom. Elise was asleep in her little bed, just opposite ours. I curled up next to her. I left the lamp on and lay there with my eyes open. I might have slept, but not much. I was scared that someone was coming to take the kids and I had to be ready . . . Ready to fight? Ready to run? I don't know, I was just holding on to them, like they were my only lifeline. It was a long night.

By the way, the book never showed up in the evidence against Jake. I was told that it really was a collectible book with the aim of teaching children about their bodies, but that it was edgy in an artistic way (it was the 70s, after all). Still, if you ever come across a book called "Show Me" in black velvet, walk away. Or better yet, throw it in the burn pile and take a picture for me. It represents too many horrors from that night.