Whisper Me This(62)

I was afraid more for the babies than I was for myself. What if that kick had broken something inside me? Harmed them? If it had been just me I’d like to think I’d have either stood up to him again or walked out. But I was young and frightened and so very pregnant. Where would I go? What would I do?

I had learned my lesson. When he came home, drunk, blubbering his apologies and begging my forgiveness, I held him and swore over and over that I would never leave him, that it would always be the two of us against the world, that even the babies would never come between us.

All of it lies.

I knew, right then, that I would figure out a plan to leave him.





Chapter Nineteen

When we pull up in the driveway of my parents’ house, all the lights are on. My fear sensors start blaring like a fire alarm. Dad should be in bed. He should be sleeping. Surely Tony’s mom wouldn’t let him start burning things again, but what do I really know about her?

I am out of the car before it comes to a full stop. No evidence of smoke or fire, thank God, but I still cross the space between me and the door in a series of giant leaps, superwoman without a cape.

Dad and Mrs. Medina are as comfy as can be at the kitchen table, both nursing mugs of hot tea. She is a plump, comfortable-looking woman, with the same blue eyes as Mia and Tony, but her hair is lighter, a mousy-brown color, streaked with gray. She sits close beside Dad, one hand resting on his shoulder. His eyes are red and swollen, as if he’s been crying.

Relief that he’s okay gives way to a sucker punch of guilt.

My mother is being buried tomorrow, and the stranger I’ve left Dad with is doing a better job than I have of comforting him.

He tries to smile at me, though. “There’s my girl,” he says. “Hannah told me you were fine and not to worry. But I couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“We brought ice cream.” Elle breezes in and plunks her bag up on the kitchen counter, beginning to unpack. “I hope you like chocolate, Grandpa. We didn’t know what you would want, so we went simple. If you don’t, though, you can have some of my cookies and cream.”

Mia joins her at the counter, the two of them setting out a row of ice cream cartons and pulling out spoons and bowls and digging through Mom’s spotlessly organized silverware drawers for an ice cream scoop.

Ignoring the ice cream, I drag a chair to where I can look directly into Dad’s eyes. He’s sad and lost, and I should leave him alone, but my need for answers is stronger than my better self.

“We went to a concert, Dad. To hear my sister, Marley, and her band. She was too pissed to talk to me. I can’t say I blame her.”

Dad’s body jerks like I’ve shocked him with a Taser. Tea sloshes over the edge of his mug and onto the table as he draws his hands back and puts them in his lap.

“I’ve made a mess,” he says.

“No worries, I’ve got it.” Mrs. Medina bustles over to the counter for paper towels, but I don’t think the tea is what he’s talking about.

“You burned papers. You shredded documents. You said you’d forgotten something. What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

He just shakes his head, avoiding my eyes.

In my peripheral vision, I’m aware that the ice cream preparation has stopped. Everybody is staring at us, waiting. I feel like a bully, an interrogator, but I can’t stop. I have to know.

“I found the birth certificates. I found the pink blankets. I found the part of the list that tells you to shred all the papers. I found the first page of Mom’s journal. Did you burn that, too?”

He draws in a tremulous breath. “Leave it at that, Maisey.”

“I can’t. Don’t you see? You knew. All along you knew Marley was real. You let Mom convince me I made her up. That I was imagining things. She dragged me to counseling, made me think I was crazy.”

He makes a small choking sound in his throat and drops his head into his hands.

“I don’t blame you for any of it; I know how she was. She made you promise something, but she’s not here now. You can tell me. You’ve been fantastic at being my dad. I know she made you do it. I know how she is—was—”

“Stop.” His head comes up. His eyes focus on me, laser clear.

“I’m not going to stop. She lied to me. She controlled you. She—”

“I said, stop!” Dad slams his hand on the table. His mug rattles. My stomach makes an elevator trip up into my throat. He has never raised his voice to me. Never slammed a door or made a threatening gesture. I freeze, like a terrified bunny.

“You don’t know anything about your mother, Maisey. I won’t hear it. I won’t talk about her. I won’t talk about this. Not tonight. Not ever. What’s done is done and stays done. Do you hear me?”

I stare at him in shock. We all do. Tony looks like he’s carved from stone. Mrs. Medina puts an arm around Mia and pulls her in close. Elle the irrepressible actually has her mouth open.

As for me, I want to simultaneously collapse into a bubbling little heap of apology and grab Dad’s shoulders and shake them.

“Just tell me this. Are we in danger? Mom had a gun. What was she afraid of? You have to tell me that at least.”

He blinks and rubs his eyes, looking at the faces in the kitchen as if he’s never seen them before.