Before I Let You Go(32)

“It needs a feminine touch,” Mom admitted to Lexie and me as we slowly packed the life we’d shared with Dad into moving boxes. “But . . . give me a few months, and I’ll make that place feel like home for you. It’s a beautiful house, so much potential . . .”

But as the wedding day neared, Robert was at our real home more and more, and he became increasingly involved in our decisions about what to take and what to throw out.

He deemed the most innocent of possessions “worldly”—and showing any sign of attachment to something was a surefire way to have him declare it as an idol and insist that it make its way into the trash. Even Lexie, who was so good at flying under Robert’s radar, got into a few teary arguments with him about what she was or wasn’t to take. In the end, he insisted that we whittle our entire house of possessions down to only a handful of boxes. By moving day, all that followed me from my old life to my new one was a box of clothing, a few teddy bears and a handful of books—including, thankfully, my precious journal.

When the truck pulled up to his house, one final shock was in store. When Lexie asked where our room was, Robert shook his head.

“In my home, you’ll have separate rooms.”

“The girls have always shared a room, Robert,” Mom said hesitantly.

“I’m the head of this house, Deborah. The girls will have their own rooms.”

“Maybe they could share just for a while, until they get used to—”

“ No! ” Robert said flatly, and then he turned on his heel and went back outside to the truck. Lexie and I looked to Mom, who stared back at us helplessly.

“I’m sorry, girls. We need to respect Robert’s wishes.”

I sobbed as I set up my new bedroom. In the house we grew up in, Lexie and I had beds side by side in a big bedroom with pink walls and beautiful lace curtains that Mom had sewn herself. In the new house, our rooms were at separate ends of a long hall. The walls in our rooms were white, and the few belongings I had been allowed to keep did nothing at all to make my room feel mine. I felt utter disconnection from everything I had ever known, from the very first moments in that place. Like a plant torn from the earth, the roots of my soul were exposed.

At dinner that night, Robert fired one final prewedding missive.

“From tomorrow,” he said, “you’ll both call me Father.”

“I’m so sorry, Robert, but we can’t do that,” Lexie said automatically. It was the first time I’d heard her defy Robert—but in typical Lexie fashion, she did it with the utmost respect.

“This is my home. Your mother will be my wife. You will be my children, and you’ll address me appropriately,” Robert said.

Lexie took a careful breath, and she said quietly, “Dad is, and always will be, my father.”

“I can’t call you it, either,” I said, and I glanced at Mom to find she was pleading with us with her eyes.

“Well, you won’t eat my food unless you give me the respect I deserve,” Robert snapped. “Go to your rooms.”

“Mom?” I whispered, but Mom was staring at her plate. The smile was gone—Mom was back to being fragile, and she withheld herself from us again—just as she had during that awful year of near silence after Dad’s death.

“Fine!” Lexie snapped, and she ran from the table, so I followed her. We lay together on her bed, and she wrapped her arms around me.

“We’ll find a way to get out of here,” she promised me. “Mom will come to her senses. You’ll see.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“I don’t know. We’ll find a way.”

It wasn’t long before Robert threw the door open and insisted that I go to my own room. Lexie held on to me, her fingers digging into my waist, her body shaking against mine. I cowered in her arms as he shouted at us.

“This is my home. You are children—female children. You will learn your place here—this filthy, worldly disrespect has no place in this house—”

Until that night, I’d never really heard an adult scream at a child in fury. Robert’s thundering voice was violence to my ears, and I eventually released my hold on Lexie to cover them to block the sound out. As I did so, Robert tried to drag me out of Lexie’s arms, and Mom appeared in the doorway.

“Please, Robert,” she begged, and we all fell silent. When I looked to her, I was surprised to see Mom was crying, too. “Please, let them share a room—just until they settle in. This is such a change for them—and they have so much to adjust to. I’m sure the girls will agree to call you Father if you let them share a room. Right, girls?”

I looked to Lexie next. We held a conversation with our tear-filled eyes. I simply could not bear the thought of walking down that corridor on my own and climbing into a cold bed without Lexie nearby to comfort me. Everything might be wrong with our lives now, but as long as Lexie and I stuck together, I was sure I’d be okay. And for her part, I could see determination in Lexie’s eyes. Either she needed me close, too, or she truly understood just how much I needed her. When the silent conversation came to an end, Lexie nodded toward me, and I echoed the movement with a nod toward Mom. Lexie spoke for both of us. She whispered, “Right. We will.”

Robert refused to help us move the bed, so Lexie, Mom and I struggled to get it down the hallway, but it was worth it. We pressed the two twin beds right up close to one another so I could hold her hand as we went to sleep.