“We’ll deal with it as a family. The way it should have been handled in the first place,” Ida said to her daughter. She didn’t bother waiting for a reply and just hung up, slamming the phone down on the counter.
“Bescheuert. Bescheuert,” she muttered, so mad she couldn’t think of any other words to describe what she’d just heard. “That daughter of ours . . .”
“Which one?”
Ida filled a glass up with water and headed toward the dining table, where she sat down and smoothed out the tablecloth she’d ironed earlier this morning.
“Alyson.” Ida shook her head, not really wanting to say out loud what her silly daughter had done. “I need to get the roast in the oven. Tricia is coming over early with the kids.”
“The roast can wait. You’re agitated, and I don’t like it. If you don’t calm down and figure things out before the kids get here, we both know what will happen.”
Ida snorted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gordon pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. “Tell me what happened.”
Ida sighed.
“Alyson blew something out of proportion, and now everything is about to explode. Or so says Tricia.”
“I don’t understand.”
Of course he wouldn’t. She hadn’t told him about what happened at the sleepover or even the events that unfolded yesterday. So she filled him in, giving him the bare bones, knowing he could fill in the missing pieces on his own.
“I don’t understand it. Why would she do something like that? Why would she talk to Rachel when it’s a family issue? Family laundry does not get aired in public. Ever,” Ida said as she finished. Tears welled up, and she squeezed her eyes shut to stop them from flowing down her face. “Doesn’t she realize what she’s done?”
“Why does our daughter do the things she does? Fear. Plain and simple. She is afraid,” Gordon said at last.
“But why?”
He shook his head, unable to say the words both of them thought.
This was a topic they never discussed—the past. The time when they lived on Wellington Street, in that small little cottage where her favorite roses bloomed and where their girls had been born. From the time that family moved in beside them until the following year when they moved to their current house—well, they lived as if that period never happened. It was better that way.
“You going to talk to her?” Gordon asked.
Ida shook her head. “Tricia asked me not to. Said she’d deal with it.”
“At least tell her to wait until after dinner. I’d like to eat in peace. It’s the least we deserve in our old age. We can take the kids out for ice cream after, and they can yell and scream at each other all they want.” Gordon got up. “I’m making tea. Want some?”
“Don’t you think it’s a little too early for tea?” As much as she enjoyed a pot during the day, when Gordon made tea, he always added a little bit of whiskey, but he normally waited until the evening.
“When is your daughter coming over?” The look Gordon gave her was part dismay and part sarcasm—priceless.
“Our daughter”—she emphasized our—“will be here shortly. If you’re talking about Tricia.”
Gordon filled the teakettle with water. “Then I’d better get started. And I think you should join me.”
Goose bumps ran along Ida’s forearms and up her back. Yes, she probably should join him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALYSON
By the time she returned home from her coffee with Rachel, Alyson’s whole body shook. She walked past Scott and Lyla, who were watching a renovation show together, and walked up the stairs and drew a bath.
It seemed like it took forever for the heat of the water to permeate her bones and warm her up.
What had she done? She laid her head back and closed her eyes.
The coffee shop was busier than Alyson had expected this time of the morning but then, she shouldn’t be surprised. The café was located across the street from the town’s sports complex, where Lyla was at her swim practice.
She nodded at a few of the other moms who were in here and pretended not to see their surprised glances.
She was a firm believer in supporting your child in whatever activity they were in and that included being at all their practices. She’d even been a bit vocal about it, which explained the looks she was getting.
She could count on one hand the number of practices she’d missed, whether they were swim or dance. Even missing today’s had been a struggle, but it was the only time Rachel could meet her.
She waved to Rachel, who was bundled up in her coat and scarf with her hair in a messy bun as she walked in. Alyson had managed to snag a corner table away from the others so they wouldn’t be overheard or bothered, and she had sat there for the past five minutes or so thinking about what she was going to say.
“Thanks for meeting this morning. I’m sorry your day is so rushed.” She gave Rachel a hug before they both sat down.
“Thanks for the coffee.” Rachel wrapped her hands around the warm mug and inhaled.
“Half sweet, coconut milk. Right?”
Rachel nodded and took a sip. “Perfect. Have you tried coconut milk yet?”
Alyson shook her head. “It was hard enough to get Scott switched over to almond milk.”
“Try it for yourself. You’ll like it. If you can use coconut oil in your cooking, you can drink coconut milk, trust me.” Rachel sat back in her chair, sipping her coffee with a smile on her face.
They sat there, sipping their coffees and smiling at one another until Alyson couldn’t take it anymore.
“I need your help.”
At her words, Rachel set her coffee cup down and straightened her back. She looked Alyson directly in the eye. “I’m here.”
From out of nowhere, tears welled up in Alyson’s eyes, and she gave her head a quick shake.
“Aly?” Rachel leaned forward and touched her hand.
“I’m okay.” She smiled weakly. “I’m okay,” she repeated, as if to reassure herself.
“Whatever it is, I’m here, okay? God knows, you’ve been there for me enough. What can I do to help? Just tell me? Is it Lyla? Scott? Your parents?”
“Something happened this weekend that really scared me. Before I tell you, I need two things from you.” She waited for Rachel to nod. “I need you to listen to me all the way through, and I need you to listen to me as a friend, not as a principal. Okay?”
Rachel leaned back slightly. “It depends on what you’re about to tell me. If it places me in a situation where my ethics could be questioned . . .”
“Please, Rachel? I need your help.” It was very rare for Alyson to admit she needed anyone’s help, and truth be told, she wasn’t sure what she’d do if Rachel said no.
“Tell me.”
Alyson swallowed and, faltering only a few times, she managed to get the story out. About the sneaking out, about how Lyla felt uncomfortable with the videos and the dancing, and then she began telling Rachel about Keera’s comment.
Alyson lay awake all night thinking about all the possible scenarios, why a ten-year-old girl would say the things Keera had said, wondering if she was making too much out of it, remembering how she’d done so in the past . . . her insides were all torn apart from it all.
“It’s the anniversary of . . .” She choked up. “Of when—”
“I know. I remember.” Rachel leaned forward and placed her hand over Alyson’s. “That’s actually what I thought you wanted to talk about.”
“Keera sneaked out to see the boys because she wanted to know if a boy kissed like a man.” She pushed the words out, not taking a breath, needing Rachel to hear what she had to say. “She said her father had taught her some dance moves and some games. But the games were sexual, and she was sharing this
with both Katherine and Lyla and—”
“Stop.” Rachel released Alyson’s hand and sat back in her chair. She planted her hands on the table and shook her head, all sympathy and understanding erased from her face. “I can’t hear anymore. You can’t tell me anymore.” She held up her hand as Alyson opened her mouth. “I mean it, Aly.”
Rachel stood and gathered her purse. “You’ve placed me in a situation that’s not fair. Talk to me about your past, about what you went through, and I will be there for you as a friend 100 percent. But the moment you bring a child into this and suggest . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh Aly.”
Alyson sat there, stunned at Rachel’s outburst. “I don’t understand.”
“I know.” There was a sadness in Rachel’s voice. “If there was any doubt about how you feel, any doubt about what you were about to say, you wouldn’t be talking to me. But I think there isn’t any. I think you know in your heart that what you were about to tell me is true, and that’s why you asked me to meet you. Because you knew I would have to act. Legally, I have no choice.” She took out her phone. “There were a lot of girls at that sleepover, Alyson.” Rachel sighed. “Lyla, Katy, and Keera, right? Anyone else that I need to talk to?”
Alyson shook her head. “I don’t think so. Lyla only overheard the conversation between Keera and Katy because she sat beside them. What are you going to do?” There was a knot the size of a lime in her stomach as she realized what she’d just done. Was Rachel right? Had she gone to Rachel knowing she’d have to do something?
“Can you come in to the school before first period tomorrow? I’ll send you a calendar request once I know what time.” Rachel’s fingers danced along the screen of her phone while she talked. “I’ll have to have Tricia bring Katherine in and then Myah and Keera. I’ll need to hear from the girls themselves what happened before anything else.” She frowned. “And of course, I’ll need to bring Child Protective Services and the police in on this. I’ll call Debra Jacobs.”
“The one from the restaurant the other night?” This wasn’t what she wanted. “You don’t need Lyla. I just told you her story.” Her hands shook at the awareness of what she’d just done.
“Exactly. You told me. We’ll need to hear it from Lyla herself.” Rachel placed a hand on Alyson’s shoulder and squeezed. “I know that’s probably not what you wanted to hear. You probably wanted me to look into Keera’s story, but what if it’s not all you think it is?”
“But—”
“Or,” Rachel interrupted her, “what if it’s more?”
The bathwater was growing lukewarm by the time Scott came in. “What’s wrong?”
She quickly wiped the tears from her face. “I don’t know,” she whispered, unable to sort through all her emotions.
Scott knelt down and reached for her hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
A cold shiver ran along her body. “You don’t know that. What if I just made things worse? Will Myah ever forgive me?”
“We’ll cross that bridge if we have to. Together,” Scott said. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you get out of the bath, and I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee before we head over to your sister’s place. Lyla is making brownies for dessert—I picked up a mix yesterday and thought I could make them with her.” He smiled. “We’re even adding chocolate chips to it.”
“I could have made it from scratch you know. It would taste better.”
His eyes twinkled as he shook his head. “I’m in the mood for the really-bad-for-you-but-tastes-oh-so-good kind of brownies today.” He reached for the towel she’d laid on the counter and placed it to the side of the tub where she could reach it. “See you downstairs.”
Alyson listened to Scott whistle as he headed down the stairs and then smiled when she heard his voice.
“Let’s make some fudge brownies!”
Alyson climbed out of the tub, her movements slow as she went through the steps of drying off, rubbing lotion over her body, and then getting dressed. She almost didn’t want to go for dinner tonight, thought about calling it off . . . It was rare that anyone did that unless a child was sick, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to face her sister or her mother.
By now, both Tricia and Myah would have received a phone call or e-mail from Rachel. Tricia was going to be livid, feelings of anger and betrayal no doubt running rampant. But what was she to do? She’d ignored her texts and e-mails, not to mention phone calls.
She still firmly believed she’d done the right thing. But now she worried about the ramifications and everything that would follow. Rachel wouldn’t waste time on this, not when a child’s safety was at risk.
And a child’s safety was at risk. That’s what she needed to remember. It would be worth it if it meant protecting Keera.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TRICIA
Sunday afternoon
Tricia paced the floor of her kitchen. Mark had already herded the kids down into the basement with her father, which left her and her mom alone.
“Beer, whiskey, or wine?” Ida sipped at her tea, and Tricia knew from the way her mother’s eyes twinkled that the tea was spiked.
“Beer.” She opened the fridge and took out a doppelbock, a type of German beer her father always brought with him.
When these dinners were at her house, her mother always took over, and truth be told, Tricia didn’t mind. The kitchen became her mother’s domain, and Tricia was just there to help out.
“Have you talked to her yet?” Ida asked.
Tricia shook her head. “Hasn’t been a good idea so far.”
“You need to calm down before she gets here.”
Tricia snorted.
“I mean it. I won’t be having you both arguing or ruining a perfectly good meal over this.” Ida set her tea down and headed to the sink full of potatoes.
“I think this is more important than a roast, don’t you?” Since when did her mother care about ruining a good meal? Growing up, meal times were loud, raucous affairs—her parents would argue back and forth about the littlest things, and more often than not in German.
“What I think is that your father and I are getting old and can’t handle the stress anymore. That’s what I think.” Ida sighed as she began to scrub the potatoes and then set them in a bowl.
“You’re just afraid of how Alyson will respond, aren’t you?” She watched the way her mother kept her head down, unable to look her in the eye and knew . . . she knew . . .
“Oh my god, Mother. You can’t be serious? Alyson is not some frail child anymore. She’s a bloody adult.”
“Don’t you swear at me.” Ida’s shoulders stiffened, and Tricia threw her arms up in exasperation.
“So sorry.” She picked up a knife and potato and began chopping.
“The skins need to come off.”
“Let’s try something new for a change.” She continued to chop the potato into small pieces before throwing them in a pot.
They worked in silence, Ida cleaning while Tricia chopped, until she couldn’t stand it anymore.
“You do realize what’s she’s done, right?”
Her mother nodded. “I do.”
“There’s no going back. None. What if she’s wrong?” Tricia’s grip on the knife tightened. Ida reached over and gently placed her hand over top of the knife, and Tricia let go. The knife dropped into the sink, and Tricia let out the deep breath she’d been holding in.
Getting upset with her mother wasn’t going to solve anything. She needed her mom on her side. She needed an ally when she confronted her sister.
“No, you’re right. She has no idea. She’s reacting out of fear, when she should have talked to you first. But getting upset with her won’t help anything—you and I both know that.”
“Stop making excuses for her.” Tricia shook her head.
“I’m no
t.”
“You are. You always have. We both have. All this family has done is try to shelter her, to keep her safe when we should have made her face the truth. She thinks she’s so strong, but she’s not.” Clarity hit Tricia so hard she almost reeled back. She was just as much to blame as the rest of her family.
“I hope you’re not placing all of this on your father and I—”
Tricia reached out and rested a hand on her mother’s arm, stopping her. “Of course not. We’ve all done it.” She leaned her head back, staring up at the ceiling. “We’re all to blame,” she whispered.
“Tricia . . .” Her mother leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “I don’t even . . . I just . . . I want my family to be safe. To be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Tricia didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded. Things happened to their family years ago that they never fully recovered from, and it seemed like today was the day of reckoning.
“Whatever you do”—Ida went back to washing the dwindling mound of potatoes in the sink—“please don’t let it tear this family apart. Speak to your sister, get her to see what she’s done, and try to fix it. Please?”
Of course she would. That’s what she did—fixed things for her sister, even if Alyson never saw it that way. She’d lied to her all those years ago, never once admitting the truth to her.
There were secrets upon secrets within their family. What was one more secret?
She knew what her mother was asking. No matter what actually happened to her daughter or between their daughters, her mother wanted the truth hidden, swept under the rug. It was easier that way. Easier for Ida.
“Hey, Mom?” Katy appeared in the kitchen. “Um, Opa wants to know if there’s more tea.” Her gaze dropped to the floor.
Tricia knew she must have heard part of the conversation. But how much?
“Of course he wants his tea,” Ida mumbled beneath her breath and reached for the cup Katy held in her hand. “He should come out and get it himself rather than send you for it. Go tell him that.” She shooed Katy out of the kitchen and shook her head. “What is he thinking?”
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