Whisper Me This(90)

That’s the way it’s going to be, then. Straight to the heart of the matter.

I draw up courage from the earth beneath my feet. “She’ll come back with me. When I’m ready.”

Greg draws a deep breath, snorts it out through his nose. He reins himself in, all calm control, and actually smiles. Condescending and superior and deceptively calm.

“Maisey. You aren’t thinking straight. Perfectly understandable. You’re grieving. It’s been a difficult week. Our daughter needs to return to her normal routine. She needs to get back to school. All this chaos isn’t good for her.”

“She wants to stay.”

“She’s a child, Maisey. She doesn’t get to make decisions.”

“But I do, Greg.” I say it gently, surprising myself, as if he, Greg, is a child in the middle of a tantrum and needs soothing. “I’m the custodial parent. I’m actually pretty good at knowing what she needs. School is not an issue. There’s absolutely no reason why she can’t stay here.”

“Except that I’m taking her.”

“No. You’re not. Good night, Greg. Go home. And stop with the Realtors. If I want one, I know where to find one.”

I turn my back on him and start up the sidewalk.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Greg calls after me. “This isn’t like you.”

My feet grow roots that stop me short. I can’t run away from this. From him. I take a breath and turn back to face him.

“You. You are what got into me. You hurt me, Greg.”

He opens his mouth, but I keep talking. “Don’t start with the whole bit about how long it’s been since you hit me. You still put me down, every opportunity you get. You always make me feel stupid. You’ve followed me around the country, interfered with my relationships. I’ve put up with it, tolerated it, sometimes didn’t even notice it. Why? Because of Elle. And now—” My voice breaks, and the traitorous tears come in a rush.

Greg takes my emotion for weakness and starts up the sidewalk toward me. “Is that what this is about?” he asks, oh so gently. “You think I hurt Elle?”

My breath comes in gasps. I can’t stop the tears, don’t trust my voice.

Greg holds his hand out to me, palm up. Takes a step closer. “Come on, Maisey. You know better than that. I’d never harm her.”

“I saw you. You can’t—”

“Oh, Maisey.” He sounds sorrowful now. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but discipline is necessary. Does she act like an abused child to you? Think about it.”

Elle. Beautiful, confident, irrepressible Elle. Maybe he’s right. I know full well how my imagination can run away with me, make things seem real when they are only figments. Only Marley is real. Was real. Not a figment at all, no matter what my mother and the counselors drilled into me.

I wrap my arms around my chest, holding myself together.

And wince as my fingers press against the bruised place on my ribs. I press the sore place harder, deliberately invoking the pain and the memory that comes with it. Greg claiming possession of me, antagonizing Tony. The look on Elle’s face after he slapped her. His casual nonchalance.

I hold out both palms toward him, not in surrender but to ward him off.

“Stop.”

He doesn’t. His confident, patient steps bring him up the sidewalk to me. His chest against my hands. Mostly bone. I’m surprised by the relative slightness of him, compared to Tony.

I plant my heels and lean my weight against him, shoving him back. He staggers a little, rights himself.

His shock gives me space to square my chin. Level my voice. Look him in the eye.

“Maybe you believe what you’re saying. That’s the most positive spin I can find. But this is the truth. You hurt me then. You hurt me at Mom’s funeral dinner. I have bruises, Greg.”

“Because you were with that—”

“See? That’s an excuse. There is no excuse for that behavior, just like there’s no excuse for slapping Elle. I’m done. I’m not going to argue with you or try to explain. Go home to your wife. Try not to take this out on her.”

“Maisey. You can’t—”

“I can. And leave Dad alone while you’re at it.” This time, when I turn to walk away, I am not running from anything. Every step feels solid and right. My body feels more like it belongs to me, instead of a puppet dancing on invisible strings.

“You can expect legal papers in the immediate future.”

My smooth steps hitch. My right toe dips a little too far and catches on the sidewalk. A slow-motion recovery goes into play. Thigh muscles tightening. Brain zeroing in on balance.

I get myself back upright and keep walking. Don’t turn around or acknowledge his words. Dad is waiting on the other side of the door and opens it for me. When I walk through, Elle is standing there beside him. Nobody moves for a minute, or says anything.

Elle has a different expression in her eyes when she looks at me. I’m not precisely sure, but I think maybe it might be respect.





Leah’s Journal

I forgot all about leaving.

My life was Boots and the babies. I became grateful for being allowed to have this life. Grateful that he tolerated me. Grateful that he didn’t hit the girls. I took my beatings when they came to me. Took the time my husband deigned to share with me.