“Why wouldn’t I?” her mother asks, aghast.
“Oh, you always believe everything she says,” her father says, sounding irritable. “You always have.”
“I believe you knocked her to the floor!”
“Yes, I did,” he admits heatedly. “I don’t know what came over me, Erin. It was like she was goading me, on purpose—but I know that’s no excuse. I was instantly sorry. I’ve never felt so much shame and remorse in my life. I hated myself for it; I still do. I begged her to forgive me. I told her I loved her, that I didn’t mean to hurt her. That I should behave better. For Christ’s sake!” His voice sounds frustrated. “She left that bit out of her account.” Now he sounds bitter. “But she didn’t forget about how I asked her not to tell you.” There’s a silence, and then he says, sounding uneasy, “Don’t you think she’s—manipulative?”
“Children are always manipulative,” her mother says dismissively. “They try to get their own way.”
“Not like her though,” he says. “Michael’s not like that.”
Avery feels a familiar spurt of anger at her father.
Her mother speaks. “I know Avery is difficult, I’m not denying that. God knows. She’s willful, and oppositional, and not very good with people, but I don’t like what you seem to be implying.” She pauses. “You seem to be suggesting that—that things didn’t happen the way she says.”
“What if they didn’t?”
Avery has to strain to hear him now.
“How can you say that?” her mother replies angrily. “After everything she’s been through! Talk about blaming the victim! She’s only nine years old!” There’s a moment where neither of them speaks. Then her mother says, “I think you should leave.”
“I’m going.”
Avery can hear him moving downstairs; she’ll have to retreat, so that he doesn’t see her from the door.
“Erin,” her father says, “I love Avery, she’s my daughter—but I’m afraid of her. I’m not sure what she’s capable of. Just . . . keep your eyes open.”
“Get out.”
Avery sneaks back to her bedroom.
Fifty-one
Erin remains on the sofa, unmoving, after her husband leaves. She’s thinking about how they used to be, as a family, and what they’ll be like now.
It’s repugnant to her, what William was suggesting. She thinks he’s trying to whitewash what he did—to shift the blame for his shameful behavior onto his daughter somehow. He struck her and he feels embarrassed and ashamed and sorry for himself now that she and the detectives know the real extent of it. He doesn’t like it that Avery is still angry at him for it—angry enough to tell the truth. Perhaps he’s worried that he might be charged. Maybe he should be.
Manipulative—because she left out that he begged for her forgiveness? Why shouldn’t she leave that out? Why do men always think they should be forgiven? That they only have to ask? Maybe what he thinks is relevant is not what her daughter and she and millions of other girls and women think is relevant. So he begged for forgiveness—so what? That makes it all right? And now he’s trying to discredit their daughter—don’t believe everything she says—because that’s how he sees the world, through his male bias. As if Avery had a hand in it somehow. Well, it’s not how she sees it. Avery is a victim, anyone can see that. And Erin has been a victim, too—of her husband’s infidelity, of all his filthy lies.
How did she not see this in him before? She sees it clearly enough now. Erin is still angry at the world—at her husband, his lover, and the crazy, dead woman who was obsessed with him. They have caused all of this. And now she’s left with an even more damaged daughter, with nothing but a list of doctors’ names to help her. William clearly isn’t going to be much help.
She gets up slowly. She finally has a chance to be alone with Avery, to talk to her privately, with no one else listening. She doesn’t know if she can get her daughter to open up to her; she knows what she’s like. It’s going to take time. She wonders what’s ahead:Will there be nightmares? Withdrawal? Will she act out—be angry, volatile? How will she manage the return to school? Oh God—she must, at some point, go back to school, and everyone will know what’s happened to her, what she’s done. Maybe they will have to move away, to protect Avery from the publicity. Must she uproot poor Michael, who’s happy here, with his friends, and his teams, and who may still want to maintain some kind of relationship with his father?
For a moment, it all overwhelms her, and she sits down suddenly on the bottom stair, overcome with exhaustion. But then she remembers that her daughter is alive and has come back to her, which is what she prayed so desperately for, so she can’t feel sorry for herself now. It’s just—when she imagined getting Avery back, she never thought beyond that joyful moment, to what would happen after. To what’s ahead.
She rises and makes her way upstairs and to Avery’s room. She taps lightly at the door and opens it.
“Hey,” Erin says. Avery looks at her. She seems wary. “It’s just us now,” Erin says soothingly, “you, me, and Michael. Everyone else has gone.” She comes over and sits on the bed.
Avery nods and says, “Good.”
Erin can’t help it—she reaches for Avery and pulls her body close, kissing the top of her head, trying to soothe her as she knows she must need to be soothed, and knowing that this is nowhere near enough, but it’s all she has. And Avery lets herself be held, which is unlike her, so she must recognize the need for it, too, Erin thinks. They have both been through so much. She holds her and whispers into her hair, “It’s going to be all right, Avery. Everything’s going to be all right.” She holds her and waits for her little girl to cry, to let it all out. But she doesn’t. She’s quiet, unemotional. It’s Erin who’s crying.
Finally, Erin pulls back and looks at her dry-eyed daughter. She must still be in shock, Erin thinks. It’s going to take time. The doctors will help—if she’ll let them. Avery has never cooperated with any of the specialists they’ve taken her to. But surely this is different? Something terrible has happened to her. Erin says, “Avery, I’m here for you, you know that, right? Any time of the day or night, I’ll listen. Or if you just want a hug . . . If there’s anything you want to tell me . . . it might help to share it.”
“Okay,” Avery says, but stops there.
“Okay,” Erin agrees. Avery’s obviously not ready to open up yet. It’s going to take time. But Erin has time, she has all the time in the world for her daughter. Still, there’s one thing she wants to ask. “I was there, at Marion’s house last night, while you were in the basement . . . Did you know I was there? And you couldn’t call out?”
Avery shakes her head. “She kept me drugged. I must have been sleeping.”
Erin nods. “Of course.” She says, “I love you, Avery. Never forget that. When you were gone, I—” She bursts into tears, unable to articulate any of it.