Chapter 5 - The Ribbon From Our Childhood
I kept staring at June's photograph.
The little girl wasn't smiling.
Her mouth was pressed into a tight line, and her shoulders were raised almost to her ears.
The cardboard sign in her hands looked too large for her.
I showed Simon.
“That's not a confidence exercise.”
He took the laptop and studied the picture.
“Does Rose know this exists?”
“I don't think so.”
We sent her the photograph with a short explanation.
Ten minutes later, she called.
Her voice shook.
“Where did you get that?”
“From the event brochure.”
“June never told me they photographed her.”
“Did you know she attended Confidence Circle?”
“I knew Bianca sometimes entertained the children while I worked. She called it a little confidence club.”
Rose sounded exhausted.
“I thought it was dancing and crafts.”
“Did June ever come home upset?”
“Sometimes.”
“How often?”
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she said, “Enough that I should have asked more questions.”
I let her speak.
Rose explained that Bianca had been helping her find catering jobs after a hotel stopped scheduling her regular shifts.
Lorraine had recommended Rose to several wealthy families around Asheville.
Those referrals paid her rent.
Last summer, Bianca offered to include June in a children's workshop without charging the usual fee.
“I thought she was being kind,” Rose whispered.
One afternoon, June came home wearing a blue paper bracelet.
She refused to take it off until bedtime.
When Rose finally removed it, June began crying.
“She said she hadn't been brave enough.”
“What was she supposed to do?”
“Stand in front of the other children while they laughed at her silly face.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did somebody draw on her?”
“Washable paint. She said she wanted to stop, but they told her she wouldn't get a ribbon unless she finished.”
Rose's voice cracked.
“I thought it was one bad activity. Bianca promised it wouldn't happen again.”
“Did it?”
“I don't know.”
There was something terrible about that answer.
Rose wasn't a careless mother.
She was a tired one.
A woman who worked every weekend and trusted someone who seemed respectable.
Bianca had exploited that trust.
“I don't want June interviewed over and over,” Rose said.
“Neither do I.”
“Then what do we do?”
“We tell the people responsible for the program what we've learned. And we make sure both girls have support.”
Rose exhaled.
“I'm scared.”
“Me too.”
After we hung up, I sat beside Simon.
For years, I'd believed Bianca's cruelty was something she reserved for me.
Now I wondered how many children had been told their tears were weakness.
The following Monday, Elaine informed us that Confidence Circle was being suspended while the committee reviewed its practices.
She had also requested that all promotional images featuring Daisy and June be withdrawn.
It wasn't a complete solution.
But for the first time, somebody outside our family was listening.
Bianca reacted exactly as I'd expected.
She sent a message accusing me of sabotaging a charitable program.
Then she sent another.
You always hated that people liked me better.
I read it twice.
And suddenly I remembered something.
A blue ribbon.
Not June's paper bracelet.
An older one.
Satin.
Dark blue.
I hadn't thought about it in decades.
When I was little, our mother used to keep a box of photographs and ribbons from family celebrations.
Some were from school plays.
Some from birthday parties.
Some from the summer gatherings at our grandparents' house.
One ribbon had my name on it.
I remembered Bianca laughing whenever she saw it.
But I couldn't remember why.
That afternoon, I called Aunt Ruth.
She was my mother's younger sister, seventy-one now, sharp-minded and less interested in keeping appearances than anyone else in the family.
“Ruth, do you remember a blue ribbon from when I was little?”
She went quiet.
“Which one?”
“The one with my name.”
Another pause.
“Maeve, why are you asking?”
“Because Bianca used permanent blue marker on Daisy's face. And now I keep remembering something similar.”
Ruth sighed.
“I wondered when you'd put those things together.”
My heart started pounding.
“Put what together?”
“Your mother's confidence games.”
I gripped the phone.
“What games?”
“Lorraine believed children needed to toughen up. Especially shy children.”
“Bianca?”
“No,” Ruth said softly. “You.”
I sat completely still.
“Tell me.”
But Ruth hesitated.
Finally, she said, “I think you should see the photographs before I explain.”
“Where are they?”
“Your mother still has the old family albums. Unless she's thrown them away.”
“Why would she?”
Ruth didn't answer.
Then she asked, “Does Lorraine know you've been talking to me?”
“No.”
“Then don't tell her yet.”
The next morning, I arranged to collect a box of my childhood belongings from my mother's house.
Simon drove.
Daisy stayed with a trusted neighbor she'd known for years.
Lorraine met us in the entryway.
She looked tired.
“Your sister hasn't slept properly since this started.”
Neither had my daughter.
I didn't say it.
I simply asked for my old things.
Lorraine led us to a storage closet beside the upstairs bedrooms.
There were boxes of holiday decorations, sewing supplies, and photograph albums.
She pointed toward two plastic containers.
“Those are yours.”
Then she went downstairs.
Simon helped me carry them to the guest room.
We searched carefully.
School certificates.
Birthday cards.
A broken music box.
Then, at the bottom of the second container, I found a yellowing envelope.
Across the front, written in my mother's familiar handwriting, were four words.
MAEVE'S FIRST BLUE RIBBON.
Inside was a photograph.
I was nine years old.
My hair was tied into two uneven braids.
My cheeks were covered in thick blue lines.
A crooked shape had been drawn across my forehead.
Behind me stood fourteen-year-old Bianca.
She was laughing.
And beside her was Lorraine, holding the marker.
My mouth was open.
My eyes were full of tears.
Tucked behind the photograph was the dark blue ribbon.
Across it, in white paint, someone had written:
BEST SPORT — 1994.
Simon looked at the picture.
Then at me.
“Maeve, your mother didn't just excuse what Bianca did to Daisy.”
May you like
He swallowed.
“She taught her how to do it.”
