The Last Mrs. Parrish(79)

Surrey tried to get Bella to go with her, but Bella refused, running in the other direction. I was glad that none of the other children’s mothers were around to witness it. I didn’t have the energy to go after her. At least she wasn’t bothering anyone now.

When I walked back to Amber and my mother, I was fixed with a disapproving look from the latter.

“That child is spoiled rotten.”

The blood pounded in my ears. “Mother, she just has a hard time managing her emotions.”

“She’s overindulged. Maybe if you didn’t leave the parenting to the nannies, she’d be better behaved.”

Amber gave me a sympathetic look, and I took a deep breath, afraid of saying something I’d regret.

“I would appreciate it if you kept your parenting opinions to yourself. Bella is my daughter, not yours.”

“No kidding. If she were mine, she wouldn’t act like that.”

I jumped up and ran into the house. Who was she to judge me? She had no idea what my life was like. And whose fault is that? a little voice asked. I wished she was a bigger part of my life, that she understood my reasons for the way I parented. But right now her disapproval and critical comments were just one more voice in a sea of accusations that I lived with daily.

I grabbed a Valium from my purse and downed it dry. Amber walked into the kitchen, came over, and put a hand on my shoulder.

“Mothers,” she said.

I blinked back the tears and said nothing.

“Don’t let her get to you. She means well. You’re a terrific mother.”

“I try to be. I know Bella’s a handful, but she has a good heart. Do you think I’m too easy on her?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. She’s a darling. Just impetuous, but she’ll grow out of it. What she needs is understanding and nurturing.”

“I don’t know.”

I couldn’t blame my mother. It did look like I turned a blind eye to Bella’s misbehavior. What my mother didn’t know was that Bella cried herself to sleep more nights than not. Jackson may have been the doting father in public, but in private, he knew just the right things to say to pit the girls against each other and to make Bella feel inferior to her older sister. Bella struggled with her reading and was behind her schoolmates. First grade was almost over, and she was not even close to reading. When Tallulah finished first grade, she was reading at a fifth-grade level. Jackson was quick to remind Bella of that. Poor Bella was lucky if she could get through the primers. Her teacher strongly recommended testing, but Jackson refused. We’d had an argument about it in the car on the way home from the conference.

“She may have a learning disability. It’s not so uncommon.”

He kept his eyes straight ahead and answered me through clenched teeth. “She’s just lazy. That child does what she wants to when she wants to.”

I felt frustration well up. “That’s not true. She tries so hard. She’s in tears every night trying to get through a page or two. I really think she needs help.”

He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “Damn it, we’re not having her labeled as dyslexic or whatever. That will follow her forever, and she’ll never get into Charterhouse. We’ll hire a private tutor, and I don’t care if she has to work five hours a day, she will learn to read.”

I’d closed my eyes in resignation. There was no use in arguing with him. When the girls reached high school, he planned to send them away to Charterhouse, an exclusive boarding school in England. But I knew in my heart that before that day ever came, I would find a way for us to escape. In the meantime, I pretended to go along.

I’d hired a tutor with a background in special education. Without Jackson or Bella realizing it, she had evaluated her and suspected dyslexia. How was Bella going to get through school without any accommodations, without anyone knowing the way she learned? I knew she was in the wrong place. St. Luke’s didn’t have the resources to provide her with what she needed, but Jackson refused to discuss moving her anywhere else.

The poor child went to school all day and then came home to more lessons with the tutor just to keep up. They worked together for hours, Bella’s progress torturously slow and further impeded by her resistance to more desk time. She wanted to go play, and she should have been able to. But every night at dinner, Jackson would insist she read to us. When she stumbled over a word or took too long to sound something out, he’d drum his fingers on the table until she began to stutter even more. The ironic thing was, he didn’t understand how his impatience was having the opposite of its intended effect. He actually thought he was doing the right thing, being on top of her schooling—or at least that’s what he claimed. We all began to dread family dinners. And Bella, poor thing, was exhausted all the time, overwrought and beset with self-doubt.

One particular night haunts me. Bella had had a horrible day at school and a meltdown with the tutor. By the time we sat down to dinner, she was like a volcano ready to erupt. After we’d finished eating, Margarita brought out the dessert.

“None for Bella until she reads,” Jackson commanded.

“I don’t want to read. I’m too tired.” She reached for the plate with the brownies.

“Margarita.” His voice had been so sharp that we’d all turned to look at him. “I said no.”