Chương 3
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
It was a message from Rachel.
Emily stared at the screen before opening it.
I picked up some clothes from the guest room last night while you were sleeping.
Emily read it twice.
There was no apology.
No explanation.
No question about Lily.
That last part stayed with her.
She typed a response.
Then deleted it.
She typed again.
Then deleted that too.
Finally, she put the phone down.
At seven thirty, she woke Lily and helped her get ready for preschool.
Lily was quieter than usual.
She let Emily brush her hair without complaining.
Normally, she would twist away and laugh, saying Emily was pulling too hard even when she barely touched it.
"You okay?" Emily asked.
Lily nodded.
The answer was too fast.
Emily crouched in front of her.
"Baby."
Lily looked at the floor.
"I don't want Aunt Rachel to be mad."
Emily felt something tighten in her throat.
"Why do you think she is mad?"
Lily rubbed her fingers together.
"Because I ate her eggs."
Emily sat there for a moment.
"Did Aunt Rachel tell you not to eat them?"
Lily nodded.
"Did she tell you why?"
Another nod.
"She said they were special."
Emily frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Lily shrugged.
"She said they were for later."
The answer was innocent.
That almost made it harder.
Emily stood and helped Lily put on her shoes.
She wanted to ask more.
She wanted details.
She wanted Lily to give her something clear and undeniable.
But Lily was four.
She was not a witness.
She was a child who had experienced something frightening and was trying to make sense of it.
At preschool, Emily watched her daughter walk inside holding her teacher's hand.
Lily turned once before entering.
Emily waved.
She waited until Lily disappeared.
Then she sat in her car for fifteen minutes without starting the engine.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time it was a call from her mother-in-law, Diane.
Emily almost ignored it.
She answered on the fourth ring.
"Hi, Diane."
There was a pause.
Long enough for Emily to know this was not a casual call.
"I heard there was an incident."
Emily closed her eyes.
Of course.
Families had their own communication system.
Nobody called it gossip.
They called it checking in.
"Who told you?"
"Rachel called me."
Emily looked through the windshield at the rows of parked cars.
"What did she say?"
"She said things got out of control."
That wording bothered Emily.
Not because it was wrong.
Because it was incomplete.
"Things got out of control around my four-year-old daughter."
Diane sighed.
"Emily."
The tone irritated her.
It was the tone people used when they wanted her to calm down before deciding whether she had a right to be upset.
"No."
"I am not saying what happened was okay."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I am saying Rachel has been struggling."
Emily gripped the steering wheel.
"I know."
"Do you?"
The question landed unexpectedly.
Diane continued before Emily could answer.
"Rachel called me crying."
Emily looked away.
"Did she ask about Lily?"
Silence.
A small silence.
But enough.
Emily swallowed.
"No."
Diane exhaled slowly.
"She is not doing well."
"That does not excuse it."
"I know."
"Then why are we talking about her feelings before my daughter's?"
"Because both things can be true."
Emily hated that sentence because it was reasonable.
It was also frustrating.
Rachel could be struggling.
Rachel could be hurting.
Rachel could deserve compassion.
And Rachel could still be responsible for what she did.
Those truths could exist together.
Emily had spent years believing choosing one side meant denying the other.
Maybe that was why everything had become so complicated.
"Has Rachel ever scared you?" Emily asked.
Diane did not answer immediately.
That silence was different.
It was heavier.
"Why are you asking me that?"
"Because you are her mother."
"Emily."
"I am asking."
Diane lowered her voice.
"Your sister-in-law has always had a temper."
Emily looked down.
The answer felt obvious and impossible at the same time.
"What does that mean?"
"It means she has always been intense."
"That is not what I asked."
Another pause.
"When you and Rachel were younger, she would get angry when she felt ignored."
Emily remembered.
A slammed bedroom door.
A broken picture frame.
Rachel refusing to speak for two days after an argument.
But then Rachel would return with an apology.
Usually after someone else made her feel understood.
"Why didn't anyone say anything?"
Diane's voice softened.
"Because she was also the person who showed up when everyone else disappeared."
Emily looked at the rain sliding down the windshield.
That was the problem.
People were not only their worst moments.
But they were also not protected from consequences because they had good ones.
After the call ended, Emily drove home instead of going to work.
She sat at the kitchen table where Lily had been sitting.
The same chair.
The same place.
She placed her hand on the edge of the table.
She remembered how many mornings she had rushed through this room.
How many times she had answered emails while Lily ate breakfast.
How many times she had said, "Just one minute, sweetheart."
One minute became ten.
Ten became an hour.
She hated that.
She hated how easy it was to miss pieces of a person's life while trying to provide one.
A knock came at the front door.
Emily stood quickly.
For a second, she thought it was Rachel.
It was not.
It was Ava.
The seven-year-old stood outside holding a backpack.
Her hair was messy.
Her face looked tired.
Emily immediately opened the door.
"Ava?"
The girl looked behind her.
No car.
No Rachel.
"Mom said I could come get my notebook."
Emily stepped aside.
"Come in."
Ava walked inside slowly.
She did not look toward the kitchen.
Emily noticed.
"Your mom is coming?"
Ava shrugged.
May you like
"She said she had to work something out."
Emily did not know what that meant.
