Before I Let You Go(109)

Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she contact me? I would have come to get her, I would have found a way to get her out of there—I would have done something to make her safe again. But then I think about Annie’s time in the community, and I realize that by the time I left and the abuse started, she had already been broken down. She had been “the bad girl” for so many years by that stage. She already believed that she deserved no better.

I close the journal and I press it to the bottom of the top drawer in my bedside table, then I slam the drawer shut.

“I should have been there.”

“Would it have made any difference if you were, Lexie?”

“The abuse started after I left.”

We each ponder that for a moment, and then Sam asks quietly, “So, was this Annie’s fault?”

I gasp and twist to glare at him.

“What? Of course not!”

“So whose fault was it?” he presses, and I frown. I’m quickly becoming defensive, because Sam should know better than to ask these questions.

“Robert’s,” I snap, and he nods and I inhale as I realize the point he’s just made.

“Exactly. Robert. Robert’s decision, Robert’s actions, Robert’s fault. Not yours.”

I sigh again, and the fight drains out of me.

“Yeah. Okay.”

I’m imagining Annie, terrified in that bedroom we fought so hard to share. I see her wide-awake and staring at the roof, waiting for those footsteps in the hall, unsafe and alone.

I feel her anxiety now as if it were mine. My breath comes faster, and my pulse starts to race, and Sam lifts me until I’m sitting on his lap and his arms are tightly around my shoulders. I try to focus on the steady beat of his heart against my ear. All I can think is . . . at least Sam is here. I couldn’t have dealt with this alone.

“I should have known. She was so broken when she came out. I should have known something had happened.”

“Sweetheart, I wish I had some magic phrase to say to you to make all of this better, but I don’t.”

“I don’t need you to make it better. You’re doing exactly what I need you to do.” I choke the words out, then I turn and press my face into his shoulder. “You’re here for me.”

“Will you tell Deborah?” he asks me, and I groan softly and nod, then shake my head, then nod again.

“I have to, obviously. But . . .”

“I can be there when you do it. I can help you with that.”

“I think I need to read the rest of the journal first,” I whisper, but even as I say it, I’m quite terrified of what else I’m going to find.

“Tomorrow,” Sam says quietly. “Why don’t you take tomorrow to read the rest, and we can talk to her after your dinner?”

“Yeah.” I nod, and I take a deep breath. “That’s a really good plan.”

I tell Mom that I need to take the day to organize paperwork in my office—I mumble something about patient files and catching up on reading journals. I’m relieved when she seems excited to have Daisy to herself for the day.

I try to convince myself that Mom wouldn’t have known—couldn’t have known—but I’m frightened of what it means for our relationship if she did. Mom’s loyalty to Robert was always a mystery to me, but now I can’t help but wonder how deep it runs. If she knew, if she even suspected—that is the end of our relationship. I’ll never speak to her again—I’ll never let her see Daisy again.

I spend the day alone in the office. I start back at the very beginning of Annie’s journal and I parse every word and phrase looking for clues. By the time I get to the last few pages, I have climbed the highs and lows of her addiction with her, and I have been there for her in a way that I never managed to do during the course of her life.

I’ve seen the journey with her eyes, instead of mine—and I’m exhausted.

But I stop just before that last page. I’m going to be completely gutted if this journal ends without at least some kind of clue into Annie’s state of mind when she reached for the needle that last time. Even if she was angry at me, I want to know. I’ve had enough hiding; now I want to embrace the truth, regardless of how painful it is.

“Lexie?” Mom knocks hesitantly on the study door. “Sam will be home soon—do you still want to go for dinner?”

I close the journal and I leave it on my desk, then I open the door. Mom is a picture of a loving grandmother, with Daisy happy and content in her arms, but she’s also a woman reluctant to leave, and powerless to stay.

Mom is looking at me with an expectant, happy look in her eyes and I start to wonder if I can actually tell her about what happened with Annie without losing my mind or losing my temper? Maybe I’ll wait, and do it with Sam. I’ll try to read the mood at dinner, or do it afterward. It might be best to discuss this in private. God only knows how she’s going to react.

“Do you still want to go?” I ask her.

“Of course I do, I’m already dressed.”

My mother’s dress clothes look exactly like day clothes. I give her a smile, and I take Daisy from her arms and kiss her cheek.

“Let me take a shower.”

I’m sitting on the edge of our bed, pulling on my shoes, when Sam joins me in the bedroom.