SUNDAY, OCTOBER 7
Her father leaned back against the couch as if the few extra inches would keep him out of her orbit of crazy. “That’s why we’re here.”
Oh, Daddy. If he only understood how much she’d needed him.
Her mother sank against the couch’s back, then exchanged a worried look with her father. Jaime could feel the tug to surrender to the silence. To let her thoughts slip to a safe place where she didn’t have to tell her parents they’d been betrayed by someone who should have protected her and honored the family relationship.
That his evil still filled her dreams twenty years later. That she was destined for a life alone because the thought of intimacy with a man made her throw up. That she was marked as damaged goods in a way that predators sensed and that sent good men running.
That she’d learned all of this in college when she was desperate to fill the holes in her soul. When alcohol had about taken her under when the boys couldn’t. That she had fought her way to the surface the hard and long way. That she determined isolation was better than submitting to the call of darkness that yawned within her.
Jaime didn’t even know she’d started rocking on her feet until Caroline slipped up next to her and pulled her into a hug. How had her friend known to come out of the bedroom?
“I can’t do this.” Her words were muffled as she sank her forehead onto Caroline’s bony shoulder. Her friend rubbed her back and shushed her like she was a child who needed comforting.
How very true that was.
She’d needed comforting.
But she’d needed protection more.
If her parents had defended her, the comfort wouldn’t be needed. And maybe her voice wouldn’t be trapped so deep inside all she could hear was the echoing scream. If she opened her mouth, would the scream escape? And if it did, could she silence it?
“I’m making tea.”
Jaime sensed her mother standing and then moving toward the sink. Caroline continued to rub her back, and Jaime wished she could succumb to numbness, pretend this disastrous conversation could be avoided. Through it all, her father never moved. Frozen in place.
Before Jaime could collect her courage, her mother returned. Somehow she had found a tray and four mugs.
“I didn’t even know I had those.” Jaime wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
Caroline gave her another quick squeeze. “I’ll sneak out of the way, but I’ll be praying.” She looked deep into Jaime’s eyes, her gaze sober and focused. “You can do this.”
Jaime nodded, then accepted a mug from her mom. The warmth didn’t seep into her fingers. She tugged a stool from the island and sank onto it and clutched the mug. Maybe her counselor had been right all those years ago. It would take supreme courage to confront her parents and let them into her pain.
She studied the green tea as if somewhere in the depths of the hot beverage she would find the words. “Uncle Dane molested me while Dad was in Iraq.” She pushed the words out as fast as she could. “I went to the Commonwealth’s Attorney this week, and they are pursuing criminal charges.”
The words gushed from her to fall in the space with a thud.
Her father set his mug down and stared at her the way he probably stared at the soldiers under his command. It was the same glare he’d turned on any young man who dared to ask her out while she lived at home. If only he’d understood then how unnecessary that had been—she’d been too scared to let any guy close in high school.
“Explain yourself.” Daddy’s words fell like weights, clanking against the laminate floor.
“It should be enough that I’m telling you.”
“I don’t understand.” The color had blanched from Mom’s face.
“There’s not much to explain. Every time you sent me to Dane’s, I dreaded bedtime and what happened in the dark.”
“She knows about this?” Dad launched to his feet, his volume escalating with each word as he pointed toward the bedroom door. “Your friend knows, but your parents are just finding out?”
“Caroline knows the edges. I’ve talked to the Commonwealth’s Attorney. Charges are filed, and Dane will be exposed.”
“Exposed?” The words thundered into the space. “What do you mean, Jaime?”
Jaime pressed her fingers against her closed eyes. “I refuse to let the truth hide in the shadows one moment more. People need to know what he did to me before he harms someone else. I’ve wondered for years if I was the only one or if there are more, but I didn’t know how to find out. I still don’t, but I know I’ve remained silent too long.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?” Mom clenched her hands as if that would hold her together.
“I tried the best way I knew.”
“This is the first time I’ve heard these words. After twenty years?” The words were heavy and sad. “I’m sorry, Jaime, but I don’t understand.”
“He groomed me like I was some special pet.” The next words rushed out of her on a flood of tears. “And you didn’t stop him.”
Her mother looked devastated by the words, but Jaime couldn’t take them back because they were true.
Two hours later her dad looked like he was ready to go hunt down his brother and take revenge. Minimal color had returned to her mother’s cheeks.
“I don’t know what Dane will do.” Her father’s words sounded lost in the void of her pain. “You have to be careful, Jaime. There’s a lot at stake for him right now. Did you know he is up for a promotion?”
“I didn’t know when I made my decision and went to the CA.” Jaime rubbed her eyes. “I saw it in today’s paper.”
“What can we do, honey?”
“Nothing, Mom.” That would be the hardest for her mother, truly realizing that today there was nothing she could do to remove the pain.
Her mother shook her head. “There is always something.”
“Not this time.” Jaime wanted to lie down and put this horrible afternoon behind her.
“Yes.” Her mother stood and started collecting the empty mugs. “I can love you well in ways I didn’t before.” She hurried to the kitchen sink, and her shoulders slumped as she looked away. “I’m so sorry.”
Her whispered words barely reached Jaime, but she clutched them to herself like a bouquet of wilted flowers. They might be late, but they sat in the space between mother and daughter, waiting to be accepted. “I know.”
Her father stood and moved toward the front door. “I need to think about this.”
“I understand.” Jaime watched her parents leave, feeling the space between them that her confession had enlarged.
The door closed, and she felt drained. Emptied of caring. She wanted to sink onto her bed, pull the covers over her head, and never come out. She wasn’t an eight-year-old anymore. She didn’t have to ask for permission to speak and just pray someone would hear.
She was speaking. She would be heard.
Her gaze landed on the pan of brownies, untouched. An offering ignored.