Chương 9
I did not ask her what Taylor had done.
Every part of me wanted to.
Instead, I started the car and drove.
Lily watched buildings pass while I tried to keep my hands loose on the steering wheel.
At the first red light, my phone buzzed in the cup holder.
I ignored it.
At the second, it buzzed again.
Lily glanced down.
“Are you going to get that?”
“Not while I’m driving.”
“You check it at lights.”
“Usually.”
“So you’re doing the responsible dad thing now?”
Her tone was dry enough that I looked over.
She was almost smiling.
“Apparently I’m under review.”
“You are.”
The light changed.
I drove another block before she said, “Mom didn’t hurt anybody there.”
My chest tightened.
“I’m not asking you questions.”
“I know.”
“Okay.”
“She just cried.”
I swallowed.
“Okay.”
“And Grandma got mad.”
I wanted to pull over.
I wanted to turn the car around and drive straight back to the county office.
Instead, I kept going.
Dana had been clear.
Do not turn a frightened child into your witness.
By the time we reached the apartment, Rachel’s car was gone.
She had left a note on the counter in handwriting that leaned aggressively to the right.
There is soup in the fridge.
Actual soup.
Do not ruin it.
I put the note on the refrigerator.
Lily read it.
“Aunt Rachel thinks you’re helpless.”
“She has a rich imagination.”
“She brought food.”
“That was one time.”
“The whole kitchen is food now.”
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
She opened the refrigerator and inspected the shelves like a health department employee.
“I approve.”
I made grilled cheese because it was the only thing I could produce without supervision.
Lily ate half and then pushed the plate away.
“You need more.”
“I’m full.”
“You ate three bites.”
“I ate half.”
“Half of a small sandwich.”
She gave me a look.
I stopped.
The impulse to manage everything had arrived quickly.
Food.
Sleep.
Statements.
Doors.
Phones.
Maybe that was what fear did when it could not fix the actual problem.
It picked smaller problems and bossed them around.
“Sorry.”
She shrugged.
“I might eat later.”
“Okay.”
We sat in silence for a minute.
The dishwasher hummed.
Somebody outside was revving a motorcycle for no apparent reason.
Lily traced a finger through a smear of melted cheese on her plate.
“Do I have to go to school Monday?”
“It’s Friday.”
“I know.”
“That is impressive long-range planning.”
“Do I?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She sighed.
“You say that a lot now.”
“It’s growing on me.”
She looked toward the hallway.
“Can Mia sleep over?”
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because both of you have had a lot happen.”
“That’s why.”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
She had a point.
“I’ll talk to Nathan.”
She nodded as though negotiations had proceeded acceptably.
Then someone knocked.
Lily went rigid.
Not slightly.
Completely.
Her fork stopped halfway to the plate.
I stood.
“It’s okay.”
“You don’t know who it is.”
“You’re right.”
I moved toward the door.
The second knock was softer.
“Mark?”
Taylor.
Lily slid out of the chair.
I turned.
“Bedroom.”
She did not argue.
That scared me too.
I waited until her door closed, then looked through the peephole.
Taylor stood alone in the hallway.
Her face was streaked from crying.
I did not open the door.
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I’m not here for Lily.”
“That does not make it better.”
“I just need five minutes.”
“No.”
“Mark.”
“Leave.”
She pressed her forehead against the door.
“Please.”
I almost opened it.
Eleven years of marriage had trained me to respond to that version of her.
Not the angry Taylor.
Not the defensive one.
The exhausted one who became small and quiet and made me feel cruel for holding a boundary.
My hand reached the deadbolt.
Then Lily’s bedroom door creaked behind me.
I stopped.
“What do you want?”
Taylor’s voice dropped.
“To tell you what the quiet house was.”
The hallway seemed to narrow.
I looked back.
Lily stood halfway out of her room.
“Go inside, sweetheart.”
She shook her head.
“Now.”
My voice came out too harsh.
Her face changed.
I regretted it instantly.
“Please.”
She disappeared back into the room.
I kept the door locked.
“Tell the police.”
“I did.”
“Then I don’t need to hear it.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, Taylor.”
“It involves you.”
I went still.
“What does that mean?”
She looked toward the stairwell.
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“Someone could hear me.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“It will be.”
I should have called Dana immediately.
I should have called Martinez.
Instead, I stood there, listening to the woman I had loved speak through two inches of painted wood.
“I found out about the house when I was seventeen,” she said.
“What house?”
“My dad’s.”
“Frank’s place in Lakewood?”
“Yes.”
“What does any of this have to do with me?”
Taylor did not answer immediately.
Then she said, “Because my mother kept records there.”
“What records?”
“Things about people.”
I almost laughed.
“That means nothing.”
“Bank statements.”
Silence.
“Copies of checks.”
Silence.
“Letters.”
“What kind of letters?”
“Anything she could use.”
The old nausea returned.
“Use for what?”
“To make people behave.”
That sounded too dramatic.
Too convenient.
I had spent enough time around Evelyn to know her weapon was usually social pressure, not secret files in a basement.
“She kept blackmail material in your father’s house?”
“Don’t call it that.”
“What would you call it?”
“Insurance.”
The word sounded like Evelyn.
I hated that.
“Why would your father allow it?”
“He didn’t know.”
“Taylor.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“You have not exactly built momentum in that direction.”
She flinched on the other side of the peephole.
I saw it.
I also saw the anger arrive immediately afterward.
“Do you want to hear this or not?”
May you like
“I want you to leave.”
“Mom has copies of our financial records.”
