Before I Let You Go(74)
I’m not even sure how I feel about it—my thoughts on the possibility of longer-term care for Daisy change all the time. Some days, I’m resigned to its inevitability, and perhaps that’s why I’m too afraid to discuss it with Sam. On those days, all that matters is that the gentle love I had for Daisy has grown into something extraordinary and powerful. That devotion is already becoming a force to be reckoned with—my beautiful, innocent niece is relying on me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure she has a stable upbringing.
And occasionally, I have fleeting moments of clarity when I know somehow that I’ll be raising Daisy, and I’m petrified of what that means for Sam and me. He’s not accustomed to a family that throws curveballs like this. Longer-term care of Daisy may mean assuming responsibility for Daisy while Annie pops in and out of our lives, probably bringing drama with every new encounter. What if Sam decides it’s just too much? What do I do then? I don’t know. I won’t let my niece or my sister down, but Sam is the best thing that ever happened to me. What if he asked me to choose? I couldn’t, and I can’t even begin to process how I might, and so I don’t let myself go there.
Besides which, sometimes I genuinely believe that Annie is going to be fine. All she has to do is stay at rehab, then I can help her set up and resume responsibility for her daughter. When I frame this situation like that in my mind, I can convince myself that I don’t even need to talk to Sam about a longer-term future with Daisy because everything is going to be just fine.
And as for right now, I’m exactly on the fence. Longer-term care of Daisy might be required, but equally it might not, and Sam and I haven’t discussed it so I can’t really give Mary a definitive answer.
“We would have to really give that some thought if it happened,” I tell her quietly.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t consider longer-term care of Daisy?” Bill seems to latch on to this, and his gaze narrows a little.
“No, that’s not what we’re saying,” Sam murmurs. “We’re saying we haven’t talked about it.”
“I think it would be wise if you did.” Bill starts to pack up his paperwork.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I can’t help it; I’m defensive of Annie. I might doubt her ability to overcome these challenges with every second heartbeat, but I can’t bear the thought of someone else doing it.
“Dr. Vidler, I’m praying that in eight weeks’ time, I’m getting ready to tell the judge that Annie is clean, she has somewhere suitable to live and the means to support herself. I—” Mary pauses, then nods toward Bill “—we would love nothing more than to be able to recommend to Judge Brown that the responsibilities for Daisy’s care be transferred back to her mother.”
There’s a but hanging in the air. I hold my breath as I wait for it, and I’m fighting the urge to put my hands over my ears like a toddler and shout don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it. Mary’s gaze becomes almost pleading. She offers me a very sad smile and she murmurs, “But I think you and I both know that’s an unlikely prospect at best, given Annie’s history.”
“Annie is going to beat this,” I say stiffly.
“I really do hope that you’re right about that.” Bill sighs. “It’s curious, isn’t it? How one family can produce someone like yourself, and someone like your sister. It really makes you wonder sometimes.”
The way Bill’s lip curls whenever he refers to Annie sets my teeth on edge. I rise abruptly and say, “Is that all?”
I show Mary and Bill to the door, and we shake hands and exchange farewells with an artificial level of politeness. Once I close the door behind them, Sam and I stare at one another.
“Did that go well?” he asks, his face set in a confused frown. “I thought it did, but there were some moments there . . .”
I keep seeing Bill’s curled lip in my mind, and my anger simmers.
“They don’t know her,” I mutter. “How dare they presume to know her?”
I run my hand through my hair and exhale. I need a glass of wine, or a bath, maybe a walk to clear my mind. Sam is standing in the center of the hallway, almost blocking my way back to the living area, and when I take a step, he doesn’t move. I frown at him.
“Lex,” he says cautiously. “We really do need to talk about what happens if—”
“Don’t you do it, too,” I cut him off sharply, and Sam falls silent, but still, he doesn’t shift out of my way.
“You keep postponing this discussion, Lexie, and I don’t know what that means. Can’t we just talk about?”
“Just talking about it is a betrayal of Annie,” I say flatly. “If I don’t believe in her, who will? So no, I don’t want to ‘just talk about it’ because I want to focus my energies on believing that she can do this.”
“But do you?” Sam says, and I scowl at him.
“Do I what?”
“Do you believe that she can do this?”
That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Perhaps if I were a braver person, I’d be vulnerable with Sam right now and admit my doubts. I really could do with a good, soul-fortifying cry in his arms. I could admit to him how scared I am that tossing Annie out of my life two years ago was a colossal mistake that we can’t come back from. I could confess to him how out of control my life feels right now and how crazy that makes me feel. I could give voice to the way that the thought that I might not be able to help Annie shakes me to the very core of who I understand myself to be, and how frightened I am that I’ll overcompensate for all of that turmoil and doubt by clinging to Daisy too tightly and make an even bigger mess.