Chương 12
Claire felt Harold stop breathing.
Victoria looked toward the kitchen counter. A wooden spoon lay beside the stove.
Then she opened her hands.
“I need five minutes,” she said.
She walked into the backyard and closed the door behind her.
Nobody spoke.
Through the glass, Claire watched her stand near the fence with both arms wrapped around herself. She did not throw anything. She did not call Margaret. She did not return with a speech.
Five minutes later, she came back.
“I’m angry,” she said. “But Claire is not wrong about the burden she took on.”
Claire did not know what to do with the sentence.
Victoria sat down.
“I also think she likes being necessary.”
There it was.
Claire almost laughed.
Marisol looked between them. “Both things can be true.”
Claire leaned back.
Victoria continued, “I don’t want Lily returned because I won. I want her home because I can care for her safely.”
“Can you?” Claire asked.
Victoria’s eyes moved to the repaired table.
“I don’t know yet.”
The honesty frightened Claire more than certainty.
Victoria looked up.
“But I know I couldn’t before.”
The judge approved the gradual transition.
Lily chose to attend the next hearing. She sat in a private room with her advocate and spoke to the judge without the family present. No one told Claire exactly what she said.
Afterward, Lily asked to spend Saturday at Victoria’s house.
Claire drove her there.
At the curb, neither moved to open the car door.
“You can call me anytime,” Claire said.
“I know.”
“If you feel uncomfortable—”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to stay the whole day.”
“I know.”
Lily put her hand on the door handle.
“Are you mad?”
“No.”
“You look mad.”
“I’m scared.”
“Of Mom?”
Claire considered lying.
“Yes.”
Lily looked toward the townhouse. Victoria stood behind the front window, waiting without coming outside.
“I’m scared too,” Lily said.
“We can leave.”
“I want to go.”
Claire nodded.
Lily opened the door, then stopped.
“If she gets mad, I can leave?”
“Yes.”
“Even if she didn’t hit anything?”
“Yes.”
“Even if she says I’m overreacting?”
“Yes.”
Lily stepped out.
Victoria opened the front door but remained on the porch. She waited for Lily to cross the walkway.
At four that afternoon, Claire’s phone rang.
She answered before the first ring ended.
“Aunt Claire?”
“I’m here.”
There was noise in the background. Running water. A cabinet closing.
“Mom got mad.”
Claire stood from the couch.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to come?”
A pause.
Victoria’s voice sounded far away. “Tell her what happened.”
Lily whispered, “I dropped a plate.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Did anyone get hurt?”
“No.”
“What did your mom do?”
“She yelled my name.”
In the background, Victoria said, “I raised my voice.”
Lily continued, “Then she went outside.”
“Do you want to come home?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to decide quickly.”
Water stopped running.
Lily said, “Mom says she’s sorry.”
Victoria did not correct her.
Claire heard Lily breathe.
“I want to stay for dinner,” she said.
“All right.”
“But can you pick me up after? Not Grandpa.”
“I’ll be there at seven.”
When Claire arrived, the broken plate had been swept into a cardboard box on the counter. Victoria had not hidden it.
Lily sat at the table eating pasta. Victoria had added too much parsley.
“She wants to finish,” Victoria said.
Claire remained near the door.
“How was the rest of the afternoon?”
Lily answered. “Okay.”
Victoria leaned against the counter. “I yelled. I scared her. I stopped and went outside.”
Claire looked at the cardboard box.
“Why did the plate break?”
“Lily dropped it.”
Victoria said the words without accusation.
Lily twisted pasta around her fork.
“I was carrying too many.”
“I told her to carry two,” Victoria said. “She carried four.”
Claire felt the old pattern waiting in the room.
Victoria saw it too.
“She made a mistake,” she said. “I made another one after.”
Lily looked up.
Victoria added, “Her mistake broke a plate. Mine scared her.”
Nobody smiled.
Claire sat at the table.
Victoria served her pasta without asking.
They ate in awkward silence. A lawnmower started somewhere beyond the fence. Lily complained about the parsley. Victoria said it was barely visible. Claire picked a piece from her plate and held it up.
“This is a branch.”
Lily laughed.
Victoria did not, then did.
The sound was brief and uncomfortable. It did not repair the table, the bowl, the bruise, the courthouse hallway, or the months Lily had spent learning that fear could wear the face of love.
It was only a laugh.
That was all Claire allowed it to be.
The first overnight happened in August.
Claire packed Lily’s bag, though Lily insisted she could do it herself. She forgot socks, packed six books, and brought Mr. Button despite claiming she had outgrown him.
At Victoria’s house, the wooden serving bowl held apples. The repaired table still carried its shallow dent.
Lily touched it.
“Grandpa couldn’t get it out,” Victoria said.
“Does that bother you?”
“Yes.”
Lily waited.
Victoria ran one finger along the grain.
“I think it should.”
Claire left before darkness.
At two in the morning, she woke on the couch with the television still playing. For several seconds, she did not know why the apartment was so quiet. Then she remembered Lily was not there.
She checked her phone.
No missed calls.
She walked to Lily’s empty room. Mr. Button was gone. A glass of water sat on the desk beside an unfinished drawing of three women at a table. One had dark auburn hair. One had honey-brown hair. The smallest figure sat between them, not touching either.
Claire returned to the couch.
She did not sleep again.
At eight twelve, Lily called.
“Can you get me?”
Claire was already reaching for her shoes.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m coming.”
May you like
Victoria waited on the porch beside Lily’s overnight bag.
“She woke up and wanted you,” Victoria said.
