Chương 6
“All right.”
“I just don’t want her mad.”
Claire nodded.
“That makes sense.”
She helped Lily into one of her soft T-shirts and kept the room dark except for the bedside lamp. Every few hours, according to the instructions, Claire checked that Lily could wake and answer simple questions. Each time, Lily opened her eyes slowly and whispered the answers.
Her name. Claire’s apartment. Friday night.
At three in the morning, Lily asked, “Did Grandpa see?”
“Yes.”
“Did Grandma?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t they stop Mom?”
Claire looked at the child’s pale face and felt something tear inside her that no anger could repair.
“I don’t know.”
Lily closed her eyes.
Claire sat awake until dawn, listening to her breathe.
The next morning, someone knocked at seven twelve.
Claire checked the peephole.
Victoria stood in the hallway holding a pink overnight bag.
Claire opened the door but kept the chain fastened.
“You can’t be here.”
“Lily needs her things.”
“Leave the bag.”
“I need to see her.”
“No.”
Victoria glanced toward the neighboring door. “Don’t make a scene.”
“You came here.”
“I brought medication, clothes, her school tablet, the stuffed rabbit she sleeps with.”
Claire looked at the bag.
“Put it down.”
“I want five minutes.”
“You’re not allowed contact.”
“I’m her mother.”
“And there’s a safety plan.”
Victoria’s face hardened. “You think a piece of paper makes you her mother?”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like it.”
Lily appeared behind Claire, barefoot and unsteady.
“Mom?”
Victoria pushed against the door. The chain caught.
Claire moved her body into the opening.
“Go back to bed, Lily.”
Victoria’s eyes widened. “Baby, I brought Mr. Button.”
Lily looked at the bag.
“I said go back to bed,” Claire repeated, gentler.
“Don’t order her around,” Victoria said.
Claire closed the door.
Victoria knocked once, hard.
“Claire.”
Claire locked the deadbolt.
“Claire, open the door.”
Lily stood in the hallway, staring at the wood.
The knocking stopped.
A moment later, Claire’s phone began ringing.
She silenced it and called Marisol.
By the time the police arrived, Victoria had left the bag outside and gone. The overnight bag contained clothing, toiletries, the stuffed rabbit, Lily’s tablet, and a handwritten letter in an envelope marked FOR MY DAUGHTER.
The officer advised Claire not to give Lily the letter until the caseworker reviewed it.
Lily sat on the couch holding the rabbit.
“Is Mom going to jail?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because she came here?”
“No. The police just needed to make sure she left.”
Lily pressed the rabbit’s cloth ear against her mouth. “She’ll think I told you to call.”
“I called because she wasn’t supposed to come.”
“She’ll think it was me.”
Claire sat beside her.
“Your mom’s thoughts are not your responsibility.”
Lily frowned, as if Claire had spoken a language she almost understood.
At noon, Harold arrived with groceries. He had bought too much of everything: soup, crackers, applesauce, bananas, bread, pasta, three kinds of cereal, and a gallon of orange juice.
He saw the juice as he unpacked it and stopped.
“I can take this back.”
Claire looked at Lily.
The girl stared at the carton.
“Take it back,” Claire said.
Harold placed it in the bag again.
Margaret had not come.
“She couldn’t,” Harold said.
“Couldn’t what?”
“Face Lily. Or you. I’m not sure.”
Lily sat at the table coloring. She had drawn a house with no door.
Harold moved toward her slowly. “How’s my girl?”
Lily’s crayon stopped.
“I’m okay.”
He pulled out a chair but did not sit until she nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Lily looked at him.
“For the bowl?”
“No.”
Harold removed his glasses. “For not stopping your mother before she hit the table.”
Claire stood at the counter, holding a can opener.
Lily colored one side of the roof darker.
“You didn’t know it would fall.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Mom didn’t know either.”
Harold swallowed.
“No. But we knew she was angry. We knew you were frightened.”
Lily pressed the crayon hard enough that the tip broke.
Harold flinched.
“I should have helped you sooner,” he said.
Lily stared at the broken crayon.
“Grandma says Mom gets tired.”
“She does.”
“So it’s not her fault?”
Harold looked at Claire, but she offered nothing.
“It is her responsibility,” he said slowly. “Being tired doesn’t make what happened okay.”
Lily reached for another crayon.
Harold sat with her while Claire made soup. He did not ask for forgiveness. He did not touch her unless she leaned toward him first.
Margaret came the following day.
She brought a casserole, a bag of Lily’s favorite books, and the folded white towel from the kitchen. It had been washed and ironed.
“I don’t know why I brought this,” she said.
Claire took it.
Margaret stood in the entryway. “May I see her?”
“She’s in the bedroom.”
“Does she want to see me?”
“I don’t know. You can ask.”
Margaret did not move.
Claire lowered her voice. “Mom, she isn’t a judge. She’s a hurt child.”
“That’s worse.”
Lily called from the bedroom.
“Grandma?”
Margaret’s shoulders shook once. She set the casserole on the floor and went to her.
Claire remained in the kitchen. Through the open door, she heard Margaret ask about Lily’s headache. Lily said it was better. Margaret commented that Claire’s bedroom curtains were too thin. Lily asked whether Victoria had gone home after breakfast.
A pause followed.
“Yes,” Margaret said.
“Was she crying?”
“Yes.”
“Because of me?”
“No, sweetheart.”
Claire gripped the towel.
Margaret continued, “She was crying because she made a serious mistake.”
The word mistake angered Claire. She nearly interrupted, but Lily spoke first.
“Did she break the table?”
“There’s a mark.”
“Is Grandpa fixing it?”
“Not yet.”
“Mom hates marks on furniture.”
May you like
Margaret’s voice changed. “I know.”
That afternoon, Claire helped Lily shower without getting the bruise too wet. Lily kept one hand on the tile wall for balance. When Claire lifted the cream sweater from the bathroom floor, she saw a fading yellow bruise on Lily’s upper arm.
