Saving Meghan(101)

“Why?”

“Because he thought Meghan was going to resume her mitochondrial treatments, but Jill Mendoza and DCF had other plans—and, thanks to you, they’re still Meghan’s guardians, not us.”

Becky looked away. They were silent for a time as Carl navigated the Mercedes to the freeway entrance.

“We’ve sure fallen a ways, haven’t we, Becky?” he said.

“I’m not harming her,” Becky said. “I’m not. And I never have been.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? You’re in real trouble. God, what were you thinking?” Carl sounded disgusted, horrified, and baffled all at once.

“I was thinking that you must really have given Kelly London the goods to get her to turn against me like that,” Becky said with bite. “What was it, Carl? How much did it cost to buy her off? Or were you giving her something else?”

“Kelly came to that decision on her own,” Carl said. “I had nothing to do with it.”

The look Becky sent him implied that his lies needed more work than their marriage.

“The kidnapping charge is going to send you to prison—my lawyer says you’ll get seven years and do two, maybe one and a half. Maybe the judge will make it a suspended sentence.”

“I don’t give a shit about me right now,” Becky said. “I care that my daughter is right back where she started—on that floor, not getting the care she needs.”

“Funny, I thought she was our daughter,” Carl said.

“You know what I mean,” Becky said.

“What about our marriage? Do you give a shit about that?”

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

“I bailed you out, didn’t I?”

“What do you want me to do, Carl? I thanked you. I thank you. I honestly can’t do more than that.”

Carl drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “What about our ‘get through this together’ pep talk we had at Andrea Leers’s office? Or was that just a bunch of BS?”

“It wasn’t BS until you turned against me. She needed that biopsy.”

“And you need professional help,” Carl said cuttingly. “I don’t claim to understand what’s gotten into your head, but I do know that you’re not well.”

“Is this your pitch to win me back, sweetheart? Because I’ll tell you, it could use some polish.”

Carl smiled. “Can I win you back?” he asked.

“It’s all about Meghan right now. I can’t think about us—I don’t even want to.”

“Fair enough,” Carl said. “But I still think it’s all about you.”

“Which is why I’m moving out,” Becky said.

“We don’t need to be like this,” Carl said.

“Like what?” Becky answered coolly.

“Like enemies. I still love you. You’re still my wife.”

Becky glared at him hard.

“What?” Carl asked.

“Why did you do it?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Hit Meghan. Why would you ever do that?”

“What are you talking about?” There was a notable unease in his voice.

“Why did you hit her?” Becky asked again.

“That’s … that’s utterly ridiculous,” Carl said. “She told you that? What did she say?” Again, Becky heard the tremble that betrayed his anxiousness.

“She said it’s been hard for her that you don’t believe she’s sick, and that she confronted you about it. The only explanation she could come up with, which she told you, is that you wanted her dead. And that’s when she said you must have been glad Sammy died because you probably never wanted children. And then you hit her, open palm, against her cheek. Is it true?”

Becky fixed Carl with a fierce stare, expecting him to rage, even to strike her but, to her surprise, his whole body seemed to relax.

“She said all that?” His faint smile would have been imperceptible without decades of marriage for her to reference.

“Yes. So, did you do it? Did you hit her?”

“No,” Carl said with certainty, and this time Becky detected no deception from him. “I never did. I never hit her and I never would. And yes, she did say all those things to me, but you have to believe me, what she told you never happened. Don’t you see?”

“See what?”

Carl shifted the Mercedes over to the fast lane. He glanced in the rearview, perhaps to make sure no news vans were following.

“Meghan is so desperate for your approval, for your love, that she’s going along with your delusions. You’re re-creating the same dynamic you had with your mom. Your daughter is trying to reconnect with you, to reach you, which is why she’s inventing things that never happened.”

“I’m not delusional,” said Becky, striking a defiant tone.

“She’s making up stories about me that are as crazy as the ones you’re inventing about her. You’re making her sick, Becky—physically, emotionally, mentally sick. And you need to stop. You need to stop right now before it’s too late.”

Becky brushed strands of hair away from her face. On her wrist, she could still see a trace of red where the handcuffs had been, but the real scars were invisible. Those were scars from Cora, or Sammy, the ones that Carl and Sabrina seemed to think had driven her mad.