Chương 11
“Yes.”
“Did you feel guilty before?”
“Immediately.”
“Then why didn’t you tell the truth immediately?”
Marlene’s eyes filled.
“Because Amanda was my little girl before Lily was yours.”
Claire felt something inside her recoil.
Marlene lifted a hand.
“I know how that sounds.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She wiped beneath one eye.
“I thought protecting Amanda was still my first duty. Even when she was the dangerous person in the situation.”
Claire stared at her.
Marlene did not look away.
“I was wrong.”
The sentence had no defense attached.
Claire sat back.
Outside, a city bus stopped at the corner.
A man in a red coat ran for it and missed the door by seconds. He slapped the side once, then immediately looked embarrassed.
Claire watched him walk away.
When she looked back, Marlene was waiting.
“I’m not ready for you to see Lily,” Claire said.
“I know.”
“I don’t know when I will be.”
“I know.”
“It may not happen.”
Marlene’s mouth trembled.
“I know.”
Claire believed that she did.
They finished their coffee.
Nothing was repaired.
Something was different.
By spring, Lily was no longer asking Claire to check the apartment lock twice.
She still disliked metal gates.
The therapist suggested not avoiding every one.
So Claire started with the playground near the library.
It had a black metal gate.
The first visit, Lily refused to enter.
Claire sat with her on a bench outside.
They ate crackers.
The second time, Lily touched the latch but would not open it.
The third time, she opened it herself and then demanded Claire hold it while she walked through.
By the sixth visit, she forgot to be afraid until they were leaving.
Claire did not celebrate aloud.
She had learned not to turn recovery into another performance Lily had to give adults.
Richard came to the playground one Saturday.
Lily ran to him.
Claire felt something loosen.
He had brought the red ride-on firetruck.
Claire stared.
“I told you not to bring gifts.”
“It isn’t a gift.”
Richard opened the back of his SUV.
The truck had been cleaned.
One front wheel had been replaced where Amanda’s kick and the fall against the stone edging had bent the axle.
Claire looked at him.
“You repaired it.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“It was hers.”
Claire thought about that.
Lily came closer but stopped when she saw the truck.
Richard noticed.
He immediately lowered the liftgate halfway, blocking her view.
“We don’t have to take it out.”
Lily peered around him.
“That’s my firetruck.”
“Yes.”
“Aunt Amanda kicked it.”
Richard’s face tightened.
“Yes.”
Lily looked at Claire.
“Is it fixed?”
Claire crouched beside her.
“Grandpa fixed the wheel.”
“Does it still go?”
“I think so.”
Lily considered the vehicle as if it were a horse with a questionable temperament.
Then she walked up and touched the red plastic hood.
She did not climb on.
Richard did not encourage her.
After a minute Lily said, “Leave it in Grandpa’s car.”
“Okay,” Richard said.
He closed the liftgate.
They went to the swings.
Three weeks later Lily asked about the truck.
“Can Grandpa bring it?”
Claire said, “If you want.”
“I want.”
Richard brought it.
Lily rode for eleven seconds.
Then she got off and ran to the sandbox.
Claire looked at Richard.
He smiled.
Neither of them said anything.
That summer, almost a year after the attack, Claire agreed to take Lily back to Richard’s house.
The decision frightened her more than she expected.
Marlene would not be there.
She had volunteered to spend the afternoon with her sister.
Amanda remained barred from contact.
The locks had been changed long ago.
Richard had installed a new latch on the side gate, not because Claire asked him to but because the old one sometimes failed to catch.
Claire inspected it anyway.
Richard watched.
“It locks.”
“I can see that.”
“You’re still testing it.”
“Yes.”
“Want me to pretend I don’t notice?”
“Yes.”
He turned around theatrically and studied a hydrangea bush.
“Remarkable flowers.”
“Very convincing.”
“I’m giving you privacy.”
Lily ran past them.
The backyard looked smaller.
That shocked Claire.
For months it had lived in her head as an enormous landscape.
The grill.
The patio.
The stretch of grass.
The place where the red firetruck had fallen.
It was just a suburban backyard.
A neighbor was trimming hedges.
Somebody’s dog barked twice and stopped.
Richard had removed the patio table that had been there on Lily’s birthday. Not deliberately, he said. The glass top had cracked during a winter freeze.
Claire was glad.
Then annoyed with herself for being glad.
Lily wandered onto the lawn.
She was four now.
Longer legs.
Different sandals.
No princess dress.
She wore purple shorts and a shirt with a glittery dinosaur.
She stopped near the place where she had fallen.
Claire held her breath.
Lily crouched.
There was a dandelion in the grass.
She picked it.
That was all.
No memory.
No revelation.
A dandelion.
She carried it to Richard.
“This is for you.”
Richard accepted it solemnly.
“I’ve always wanted one.”
“You have lots.”
“I’ve been robbed at the florist all these years.”
Lily laughed.
Claire sat on the patio step.
Her body slowly understood what her eyes already knew.
The day was not repeating itself.
Richard grilled hamburgers.
He burned the first batch.
Claire took the spatula away from him.
“You own a stainless-steel grill that costs more than my first car.”
“That seems unnecessary to mention.”
“And you still can’t cook meat.”
“I have other skills.”
“Name one.”
Richard opened the cooler.
“Beverage logistics.”
“Strong résumé.”
Lily ate half a hamburger and then decided she disliked hamburgers.
Richard gave her strawberries.
Nobody argued.
Nobody demanded she appreciate the meal.
After lunch Richard disappeared into the house.
Claire stiffened automatically.
He returned carrying a small cardboard box.
“No surprises,” she said.
“I know.”
He set the box on the patio table and opened it facing Claire first.
May you like
Inside was the broken gold tiara.
Claire stared at him.
