Before I Let You Go(52)
If he had set out to break my spirit, Robert finally found a way to do it. It didn’t stop his visits at night—but conforming meant that at least Mom was proud of me again.
And I hated him—and I hate him—and every second that I was there and I saw the triumph in his eyes as I finally, finally gave in and complied with the stupid rules of that place, I hated him more, until that hate became part of who I am. People who have never had cause to hate do not understand how it stains you. Hating for the very first time is black dye seeping into white fabric—you can scrub and scrub and scrub and wash and wash and wash, but there will always be a stain—the fabric forever changed.
And if it has long enough to fester, hate stops feeling like anger or rage and it feels only like pain.
If you had asked me, before we moved to the community, when we were at that big house in the suburbs with the beautiful flowing agapanthus on the path, who are you, Annie? I would have said that I was the daughter of Neil and Deborah Vidler, and that my father was a hero, and that my mother nurtured as easily as she breathed. I’d have told you about my brilliantly clever big sister, and I’d have told you that one day, I was going to write a book, and until then I was going to read and read and read and live every adventure that life offered me.
I left the community when I was fourteen, right at dawn so I didn’t cause a fuss—just like Lexie did. I didn’t leave because I was old enough to leave. I left because my period had started, and I was terrified I would become pregnant if I stayed. I left because I had to, and I left because I figured that no one would bother to follow me. They all knew that I wasn’t worth saving.
I left with a broken spirit and an irrevocably damaged soul. And as I walked away from those gates that day, if you had asked me who I was, I’d have told you that I was a sinner—a girl who been used because that was what she deserved. Someone who cost her family its happiness, someone who cost herself her soul.
19
LEXIE
When I arrive at the hospital the next day, I find my sister sitting up in the chair by the window with her daughter in her arms. She barely moves when I open the door. Her gaze is fixed on Daisy, and I’m anxious that I might be interrupting a private moment between my sister and her daughter. I hesitate and almost leave the room to give her privacy, but as I take my first step back she looks up. Annie smiles at me, a serene, proud smile—she’s a completely different person today.
“Hey,” she whispers. “Come on in.”
Despite the rough farewell we had the night before, I asked Sam to stop on the way into the hospital so I could pick up coffees and more sweet treats for Annie. I set all the gifts on the bed and approach the chair.
“She’s so perfect,” Annie whispers, awestruck. “I can’t believe how much I love her. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. No one told me it would feel like this.”
“I’m amazed you’re already out of bed. Are you feeling okay?” I ask gently, and I sit very carefully on the arm of her chair. I still feel like I’m interrupting—but then Annie angles the baby toward me and very gently slides her into my arms. Suddenly, this isn’t their moment—it’s ours. As I nestle Daisy against myself, an involuntary smile crosses my face. “Hi there, Daisy.”
“I’m actually feeling okay,” Annie says. “I thought I was going to die when they made me get out of bed, but I took a shower, so I’m feeling even better now. And I slept like a log last night, but the nurses woke me up a few times so I could try to give her the colostrum.”
“So you decided to breastfeed her after all?”
“For the next few days, yeah. That hurts, too, but they said it’ll help her with sucking and stuff so . . . I’ll make it work.” She clears her throat and says, “I’m going to be okay, you know.”
“Of course you are,” I say. “And this little one . . . well, I think she might be the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.”
“I thought that, too . . .” Annie says. “I thought the hormones had made me blind. She could have two heads and I don’t think I’d notice this morning.”
We both laugh softly, and then I press my forefinger against Daisy’s palm. Her fingers contract too stiffly around mine, and I wonder about her muscle tone.
“Do you know what her NAS scores have been?” I ask Annie.
“They were great yesterday, three and four, I think they said. But this morning was seven, and a while ago it was nine. They said if her score is over eight for three checks in a row they’ll medicate her. I know it’s pretty much inevitable.”
“Some babies skip it. But it’s pretty unlikely.”
“I know. And I know I’ve already asked a lot, but I’m really going to need your help, Lexie.”
“Anything, Annie,” I promise her, and she bites her lip.
“I need to go to rehab, and I need to make it work this time.”
“I know.”
“I tried, all of the other times. I really did. But this time, she needs me. I think that will make a difference. I’ve never loved anything in this life as much as I love that baby. I’m going to make this work. I’m going to give her a better life—I have to.”
I can see the determination in Annie’s eyes again, and I’m comforted by it. It’s funny, because I’ve always seen the potential in her. It was there all along, buried under a pile of chaos, hidden from the world—but I caught just enough glimpses of it to keep on believing in her, at least on some level. This is another peek at a future that I have always seen in my mind, another glimpse of the woman whom I have always believed in. I haven’t put up with Annie’s shenanigans for all these years because I’m an idiot, I have put up with them because I just couldn’t give up on the person I knew she could be.