Before I Let You Go(111)

“What do you think it said, Mom?”

“Well . . .” Mom crosses her legs beneath her skirt now and smooths the fabric over her knees. After a moment she shrugs her shoulders, and says, “I think your sister was a very troubled young woman. She rejected everything good in her life many times over, so I can’t imagine there would have been anything positive in a journal like that. I almost wish you hadn’t had to read it, Lexie. I know that I shouldn’t speak evil of her . . . especially so soon after she’s gone—but she never took responsibility for her life. It didn’t have to go this way.”

I start to shake. I’m shaking so hard that I can’t sit beside my mother anymore, so I stand, and Mom looks up at me with alarm. Everything within me starts to burn and I snap—the words just burst out of me without care or caution.

“Robert hurt her, Mom. He ground her self-esteem into the dust, and then he took advantage of her—and you let it happen.”

“What?” Mom looks utterly bewildered, clearly clueless about what I’m suggesting—and that should be a relief. It is, but now . . . I can’t bring myself to say the words. God, if I can’t even say them, no wonder Annie never could. I’m suddenly regretting this decision—I can’t do this next to Annie. I don’t want her to hear me say this, in case hearing it makes her hurt even more.

It’s a ridiculous thought.

I stare at the grave as Mom pushes herself to her feet and she takes my hand in hers and she says urgently, “What are you saying? Lexie, whatever Annie suggested—”

“Robert raped her.”

My words echo around us in the otherwise heavy silence of the cemetery, and I look down at my sister’s grave, and I start to cry.

Did you hear me, Annie? I told her for you. He can’t hurt you anymore. Mom knows now. You’re safe now.

“No,” Mom gasps, and she steps back away from me. “Alexis, don’t you say that. It’s not true!”

“Annie wouldn’t have lied. Not in that journal.”

“You can’t make an accusation like that—it’s not fair at all,” Mom whispers. Her low tone is such a stark contrast to my shouting that I have to strain to hear her. “She was incredibly troubled, Lexie—and Robert would never have done such a thing.”

“You know as well I do that he used to hurt Annie in all kinds of ways. The beatings, the fasting—from the moment we got to that house, he tortured her—it just got worse and worse over the years. And he waited until I left to use her for his own disgusting gratification.”

“Lexie, listen to me,” Mom says urgently. “Robert was hard on her, but he cared about her. He just wanted to put her on the right path, and it seemed to work for a while. After you left, she changed—she fit in better and—”

“Because she was terrified of him! Because he convinced her that she was broken beyond repair and too damaged to save. Mom, can’t you see? Didn’t you notice anything?”

“I noticed how he tried so hard to help her, Lexie—he always gave her such special attention. I know he was hard on her, but that was because she needed it—”

She breaks off. Mom is breathing harder. I watch her pale—even in the moonlight I see the color draining from her face. But my anger is a living thing, and it’s not just for Annie that I’m angry. I’m angry for me, too. I’m angry for a childhood that I should have had—a childhood that I never got to experience . . . because of Mom.

“From the time Dad died, you never put us first—you chose your grief over us, you chose Robert over us. You let us down.”

“I moved you girls to the community because I thought it would be better for you. And I had to marry Robert, Lexie—I had been withdrawn from, and he was the only way we could get back in. Don’t you remember how depressed I was? That was no way for you to live. No way for any of us to live!”

“Don’t try to convince me you did it for us!” I’m shouting again, and now I clench my fists. “We were happy at home. You couldn’t cope—but Annie and I were coping just fine. You had to hide behind that stupid religion because you didn’t have Dad to hide behind anymore!”

“That’s not true, Lexie,” Mom whispers, and the pain on her face is breathtaking. Am I doing the right thing? Does this all really need to be said, or am I saying it to hurt her? I can’t even tell anymore. “I just wanted to be a better mom. Your dad and I went out into the world together and then he was gone, and I just didn’t know how to navigate it alone.”

“So you moved us all into the house of a monster.”

“Robert is not a monster!” Mom gasps, and I laugh bitterly and turn away from her, back toward my sister’s headstone.

“Tell that to Annie, Mom. Face her grave and tell her you don’t believe her.”

Mom approaches, but she stops just behind me. I listen to the sound of her ragged breathing, but my anger is fading—soon all I can feel is remorse. It feels bigger than me, and it’s just so big that I’m not sure how I’m ever going to go on with my life, knowing that Annie was dealing with this pain and I never, ever knew.

Eventually, Mom tentatively touches my shoulders. All of the shouting has faded, and we are both crying very softly. When I don’t shake her off, Mom steps closer and rests her arm over my shoulders as she whispers, “This just isn’t true, Lexie. How could it be? I would have known. She would have told me.”