Chương 12
His voice cracked.
“I believed her.”
The pain in that sentence mirrored my own too closely.
For a moment, neither of us knew what to do with it.
Then he said, “I’m leaving.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not staying here while my kid is in a hospital.”
“You leaving against medical advice won’t help her.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Ian.”
“They’re already saying I can’t take her.”
“Because you can’t.”
The silence turned dangerous.
“You think you can?”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“You’ve always thought you’re better than me.”
“I have never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I looked down at the tile.
There it was.
Old resentment finding a fresh door.
“Ian, listen to me.”
“No.”
“I am not trying to take Lizzy from you.”
“You filled out placement papers.”
“How do you know that?”
“Carmen told me they’re considering you.”
Of course she had.
He was the parent.
“I filled out an assessment because Lizzy needs somewhere safe.”
“And I’m not safe.”
“Right now, you are in residential treatment.”
“I’m sober.”
“I know.”
“One hundred and twenty-three days.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
His voice sharpened.
“You know the version Mom tells people.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is waking up and finding out my daughter has been locked in a closet while everybody who was supposed to watch her missed it.”
The sentence hit both of us.
I lowered my voice.
“You’re right.”
He went quiet.
“I missed it too.”
I swallowed.
“So did you.”
He made a broken sound.
“I know.”
For a few seconds, he sounded like my little brother again.
Not younger in years.
Younger in pain.
“I should’ve gotten better faster.”
“That isn’t how it works.”
“I should’ve known.”
“We all should have.”
He sniffed once.
Then his voice hardened again.
“I’m still leaving.”
I pressed my forehead to the cool wall.
“Then leave because your treatment team agrees you’re ready.”
“They won’t.”
“Then don’t make this about proving you love her.”
“You think I don’t?”
“I think you love her enough to make the harder decision.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You sound like a pamphlet.”
“Fine.”
I closed my eyes.
“Then here’s the non-pamphlet version.”
I lowered my voice.
“If you walk out today, Mom will use it.”
He said nothing.
“She will tell everyone you are unstable.”
Still nothing.
“She will say the same thing about you that she says about me.”
His breathing slowed.
“She’ll say you’re reckless.”
I continued.
“She’ll say you abandoned treatment.”
“She’ll say Lizzy needs stability and that you can’t provide it.”
His voice was barely audible.
“She already said that.”
I looked through the window again.
Lizzy had fallen asleep with the cartoon still playing.
“That doesn’t mean you hand her proof.”
The line stayed silent so long I checked the screen.
“Ian?”
“I’m here.”
“Stay.”
He breathed out.
“I hate you right now.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It can be for today.”
Another pause.
Then he said, “Let me talk to her when she wakes up.”
“I’ll ask her.”
“Don’t make it sound like she has to.”
“I won’t.”
His voice broke.
“Nat.”
“Yeah?”
“Did she really call you?”
“Yes.”
“From the closet?”
“Yes.”
A long silence followed.
Then he whispered, “Thank God she had your number.”
I looked toward the room.
At Lizzy’s small hand resting outside the blanket.
At Adam curled awkwardly on the terrible couch.
At dawn brightening the window behind them.
“No,” I said.
“Thank Dad for giving her the phone.”
Ian went completely silent.
Ian’s silence lasted so long that I heard voices moving somewhere behind him.
A door opened.
Someone asked if he needed anything.
He said no.
Then he came back to me.
“Dad gave her the phone?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew Mom was going to lock her in.”
Ian made a sound that was almost a laugh and almost a sob.
“So he knew.”
“Yes.”
“And he still left her there.”
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.”
He breathed through his nose.
“He always does that.”
“What?”
“Waits until after.”
I leaned against the wall.
“After what?”
“After Mom goes too far.”
His voice was flat now.
“Then he gets nice.”
The sentence opened another door in my memory.
Dad bringing me ice cream after arguments he claimed not to have heard.
Dad fixing the chain on my bicycle the morning after Gloria slapped me across the mouth for swearing.
Dad whispering, “Just stay out of her way today,” like weather had happened and not a person.
Ian continued.
“He used to come into my room afterward and say he was sorry she was stressed.”
I said nothing.
“He’d give me twenty bucks.”
The bitter laugh came again.
“Like I’d won a lawsuit.”
I stared through the hospital window at the pale parking garage.
“He told police about the closet.”
“Good.”
“He also admitted he didn’t stop her.”
“Better.”
“Ian.”
“I know.”
His voice softened.
“I know it doesn’t make him good.”
The distinction mattered.
I did not know what to do with it yet.
“I have to go,” he said.
“Where?”
“To meet with my counselor.”
Relief loosened something in my chest.
“You’re staying?”
“For now.”
“For now is enough.”
“Don’t make me feel noble.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“Text me when she wakes up.”
“And Nat?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let Mom talk to her.”
“I won’t.”
He ended the call.
For several seconds I stood with the phone against my ear anyway.
Then I lowered it.
Adam opened the room door.
“You okay?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“Coffee?”
“That stuff should be classified as evidence.”
He looked down at the paper cup in his hand.
“I’ve had worse.”
“Where?”
“Airport in Newark.”
“That wasn’t coffee.”
“Exactly.”
I went back inside.
Lizzy was still asleep.
Carmen had returned and was speaking quietly with Tasha near the nurses’ station.
When she saw me, she motioned me over.
“I’ve confirmed the guardianship order.”
My stomach tightened.
“And?”
May you like
“Your parents have legal guardianship, but Ian’s parental rights were not terminated.”
“What does that mean today?”
