He thinks he is going to get away with it.
But he won’t. Not if I can help it.
I am in our kitchen with Amy. In the living room, my parents are telling Susan and Herb what Hannah has said.
Amy knows that in a few minutes she will be called out, and she will have to face him. She sits on the edge of the chair, head forward, brown hair curved around her cheeks, staring into her chocolate milk. She wonders how she can make the badness go away. Hannah was supposed to be her friend. Hannah has made things worse.
No she hasn’t, Amy.
I blow a breeze across the top of the milk, creating tiny bubbles.
Amy doesn’t even smile.
The time for smiles is over.
Amy is still afraid. In fact, she is more afraid than ever. I make her think about truth, and how important it is to be truthful. But Amy believes it is safer to lie.
The air in our kitchen shimmers and flickers. Amy can’t see it; I can. My senses are changing, getting sharper. I am more aware of the other side, the side called death. And how it connects with the living.
My body is changing too. When I first died, I looked solid, real. Now when I look at my hands and legs, I see smudgy shadows. It’s like I’m slowly dissolving.
Wade is here somewhere. I feel him. I feel Amy’s guides too. They are trying to comfort her and give her the courage to do the right thing.
But my sister...my sister is so young. And this is the hardest thing she has ever gone through.
Witnessing her terror makes me feel as scared and as helpless as I did at my funeral.
I cannot watch.
“You know I would never hurt Amy.” The rat bastard leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He keeps his wide blue eyes on Mom and Dad. To the living, he is the picture of innocence. Being dead, I see the evil that rides on his shoulders like a spare arm. Like a claw. “I love that kid.”
He sits in the green wingback chair; Susan sits in the chair beside him. Mom and Dad are on the couch opposite. Someone has made coffee. Four full cups sit untouched on the coffee table between them.
“Hannah says Amy’s shirt was undone.” Dad runs a hand through his hair. He is so sick about this, he feels nauseous. “And your fly was too.”
Herb’s grin is a touch embarrassed. “I’d gone to the john. I was in a hurry to check Amy’s rash and get back to Brad’s game.” He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know why Hannah would be looking down there.” He pauses just long enough to suggest that Hannah was the one in the wrong. “But if she says my fly was undone, then I guess I forgot to do it up.”
You animal, I scream. You lying bastard.
There are nods all around. Everyone wants to believe him. They need to believe him. If they don’t, they will be forced to admit there is a monster in our family.
Mom’s voice quavers. “Amy told Hannah you touched her.”
“Of course I touched her,” Herb says. “I was looking for the rash.”
The air in our living room swirls with truth and lies, goodness and evil. Others are here. I sense them crowding around me, watching this horror, yearning for justice.
“I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.” Aunt Susan’s eyes flicker nervously. She is yellow with fear.
When they bring Amy into the room, she tucks herself into a tiny spot between Mom and Dad. She will not look at Herb. I think it is a good sign. She is going to rat him out, I tell myself. That’s why she won’t look at him.
Aunt Susan is the first to speak. “Amy, you know we love you and we would never want to hurt you.” Amy nods. “If something is wrong and you don’t want to come to our house, we want to know why so we can fix it.”
Amy says nothing. She stares at the ground. Pookie can’t be fixed, she thinks. And Uncle Herb will fix her too, if she tells.
I don’t like where her thoughts are going. I crouch on the floor in front of her. Tell them, Amy! It’s okay. He won’t hurt you anymore.
“Did something happen with Uncle Herb?” Mom asks.
I hold my breath.
Amy nods.
“Did he touch you?” Dad asks.
Amy nods a second time.
Yes!
But then Herb says, “Tell them why, Amy.”
Nobody else hears the threat in Herb’s voice. But I do. And Amy does too. It takes her a long time but she finally says, “Because I was itchy and I thought I had a rash.” Her voice is so soft, Mom repeats the words.
Dad lets out his breath. “I’m sorry, Herb.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Herb’s lips stretch into a slithery grin. “When it comes to your kids, you can never be too careful.”
He is getting away with it.
This can’t be happening.
Mom stares at Aunt Susan. Aunt Susan stares back. They are two sisters caught on opposite sides of the same horror. Aunt Susan believes her husband. Mom wants to believe—she needs to believe for Amy’s sake—but she isn’t sure.
Listen to your instincts, Mom! He’s lying.
A tiny frown puckers Mom’s forehead. “But if Uncle Herb was just looking at your rash,” she asks Amy, “then why don’t you want to go to his house anymore?”
There’s a hush in the air. Dad and Susan are embarrassed; Herb is angry.
Yes, I think. Yes!
Amy doesn’t know what to say. So she says the first thing that pops into her mind. “I miss Logan.”
The air in the room sags. The other beings retreat, taking their sadness and their disappointment with them. Shocked, I stare at my baby sister.
She had her chance and she blew it.
I can’t hold it against her; I blew it too.
“Of course you miss him, honey.” Aunt Susan gives her a tender, shaky smile. “We all do.”
Ignoring Amy, Herb leans over and squeezes Dad’s shoulder. “This has been a hell of a time for you guys,” he says softly. “It’s no damn wonder Amy is overreacting.”
It is over.
I have failed.
Pulling Amy into my arms, I hold her tight. And I cry. It is not enough. It is nothing.
But it is all I can think of to do.
I will not leave her. Wade tugs at me, drags on my energy, pulls on my mind.
Leave me alone, I yell. I can’t leave my sister.
Later that night, when Amy is asleep, my parents come to her room. I sit on the end of her bed and watch while Mom covers her, while Dad checks the catch on her window.
I will be with Amy, I have decided, for the rest of her life. What she goes through, I will go through too. When Herb abuses her again, I will be there. I won’t be able to stop it, but I will share Amy’s pain.
It is my punishment. I deserve it.
“She hasn’t been herself lately,” Mom says. They have stopped in Amy’s doorway; they watch her sleep.
“None of us have,” Dad says. Because Logan died, he thinks.
They back away, pull Amy’s door shut. Curious, I leave the bedroom and follow them. They settle in the kitchen.
Mom scoops coffee, pours water. Her movements are jerky; her eyes are troubled. “Maybe something did happen but Amy is afraid to tell us.” She flicks the switch on the coffeemaker.
Two days ago, I would have jumped up and down, screamed and yelled at her words. I’m finished with that. They can’t hear me. And what’s the point of trying when I’m going to fail anyway?
“Barbara, we’ve been over this. Nothing happened,” Dad says. “We need to put this behind us.”
“Herb’s always shown Amy a lot of attention,” Mom murmurs. “Too much in a way.” The coffee hits the pot with a splatter and a hiss.
Dad’s eyes flash angrily. “What are you suggesting?”
Mom shrugs. Her wise self has gotten her attention and it won’t let go. “I don’t know. Something about this doesn’t feel right, that’s all.”
“This is Herb we’re talking about,” Dad says. “We’ve known him for over twenty-five years. He’s a father. A husband. A good man.”
Mom looks away. “Maybe,” she says softly.
Dad glares at her. “Herb is a pilot, for God’s sake. A captain. Pilots fly planes, keep people safe. They don’t go around hurting people.”
Mom thinks, That is the dumbest thing Robert has said in years.
I agree. Mom knows that evil can wear any uniform.
But I know where Dad is coming from. He won’t let himself think that Herb would hurt Amy. If he thought that, he would have to admit that he failed as a father. That he failed to keep his daughter safe.
And for my dad, failure is never an option.
Unlike me. I was born to fail.