“Does that mean I can have it?”
“I said, we’ll discuss it later. Now go.”
The girl huffs, and pushes out her bottom lip. “Whatever…. You’re such a punish.”
While Madelyn-May waits in the store, I follow the girl into the changing-room. When the attendant is busy folding discarded garments, I grab a pen, and scribble on a discarded piece of paper. As I fold it neatly into my pocket, to my surprise, Madelyn-May appears in the doorway. In a panic not to be seen, I turn too quickly, and my prosthetic foot gets caught on a discarded hanger.
“Oh, my goodness,” Madelyn-May gasps, as she catches me under the arms. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” I tell her, pretending to smooth down my outfit so that I don’t have to turn around.
“You nearly took a fall there. Are you sure you don’t need help?”
My heart is beating so hard it echoes in my ears. The last thing I want is her feeling sorry for me. The very idea of her pity is enough to—
“Mom, is that you?” The girl calls out, and despite my anger I want to kiss her.
“I’m coming, Harlow, hold on….”
She excuses herself, and walks toward her daughter’s cubicle, where within seconds their bickering over the bikini starts up again.
“For God’s sake, Harlow,” I hear her say. “You are not going to parade around the beach wearing a leopard-print bikini at your age. If you try to act like an adult, there are sick people out there who will want to treat you like an adult, and I don’t think I need to explain to you what that means.”
“Maybe you do,” the girl replies, her voice dripping in sarcasm. “I am only twelve remember.”
“That’s it, get changed. I’m taking this stuff back to the counter, and we’re going home. When you’re ready to speak to me with a bit of respect, we’ll come back. Or you can wear the clothes you already have until you’re older, and can get an after-school job to buy your own. It’s your choice, but I have a pretty good idea by then they’re not going to fit.”
“I hate you,” the girl says flatly. “I wish you weren’t my mother.”
The girl’s got balls, I have to give her that. And she’s doing my work for me.
When Madelyn-May storms out from the dressing room, I slowly open the curtain of my cubicle. Any minute now….
Right on cue, the girl rips her curtain open with such force that I’m surprised it doesn’t tear from the rail. She stomps toward the exit, muttering curse words under her breath, and I silently count. One… two… three – then step out. “Your name is Harlow, right?”
She stops dead, and looks me over. “Yeah, so? Who are you?”
I search her face, so full of anger and disdain, and wonder if she might be the prettiest child I have ever seen. She is even more beautiful than—
“My mother will be back any minute to give me more shit, and I really don’t need it,” she tells me. “So, whatever you want, make it quick.”
“I couldn’t help overhearing your argument. I think your mother is being unfair about that pretty swimsuit.”
“Yeah, well, no surprise there,” she says, already bored and looking past me.
“Let me guess, you don’t have any sisters? Maybe just a brother and your dad?”
“How did you know that?”
I have her attention. “I see it all the time, believe me. I’m part of the Philadelphia Big Sisters program. We support girls your age who are misunderstood by their parents, and who don’t have a female sibling to talk to.”
She looks me over, and her eyes come to rest on the small visible section of my prosthetic leg. “You have a wooden leg?”
“It’s not wooden, but yes, it’s a prosthetic.”
“Cool. What happened?”
My mind pulls back to the night of the fire. “You know what? That’s something we can talk about when we catch up for a big sister chat. What do you say?”
She looks me over one more time, still not convinced. “You look a bit old to be a big sister. You look more like someone’s grandma.”
Spiteful little….
“Maybe… But I’m still a lot cooler than your mom.” I grin through gritted teeth.
She finally smiles, and I take the opening. “Do you have your own phone?”
“Yeah, I’m just not allowed any socials.”
“Alright, well, take this….” I hand her the piece of paper I scrawled my number on. “Have you ever heard of AA – Alcoholics Anonymous?”
“Yeah, why?”
“The Big Sisters program is a bit like that. To make sure young women feel comfortable telling their big sisters anything and everything, we keep it just between us. That way meddling moms don’t get in the way, and you get all the support you need. Sound good?”
“So good,” she smiles. “I hate my mom. Pretty sure she hates me too, most of the time, anyway.”
“Well, that makes you a perfect candidate. You text me whenever you need someone to talk to, alright?”
“Yeah, thanks. I better get going, or you-know-who will be back.”
She turns, and trots out into the brightly-lit store, where Madelyn-May places a hand protectively on her shoulder, and whispers something, probably an apology, into her ear.
“Apologize all you like, Madelyn-May,” I smile. “But it’s too late. I already have her.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Madelyn-May
Down the hall, Bastian is putting the kids to bed. It’s been a long day, and Harlow really tried my patience at the mall with that whole bikini nonsense. If only she knew what happened when young girls try to act like women. I close my eyes as my father’s voice whispers in my ear: “You just need to seem a bit older. A bit more mature….”
This is the trouble with trying to put the past behind you. When you least expect it, it comes creeping up to tap you on the shoulder. I slow my breathing, and run my fingers over the keypad of my laptop. An article online said that when bad memories threaten to pull you back to a place you don’t want to be, touching textured items, can anchor you in the present. I can’t change the past, but I can stop Harlow from posting images of herself on Instagram in a leopard-print bikini. Now all I have to do is stop myself from wanting to strangle her.
After a few minutes, my breath steadies, and I reach around to rub at my neck. My shoulders are tight, crunchy. How long has it been since I relaxed? Maybe joining Bastian to say goodnight to the twins will prove cathartic. That is, if Harlow has managed to forgive me.
In Harry’s room the light is out, but his face is bathed in the blue glow of his device. “Has Dad been in to say goodnight?”
“Yeah, I think he’s gone in to see Harlow.”
“Okay, well, it’s bedtime, buddy. Time to put that away.”
Reluctantly, he puts the device on charge, and I wait until the light goes dim. “Night, buddy.”
“Night, Mom.”
I smile to myself, and move toward Harlow’s room. It’s been a week since Bastian and I fought over the box of matches, and each day I’ve been trying. Despite the fact my shopping trip with Harlow didn’t exactly go to plan, it was a first step and—
A low murmur coming from her bedroom stops me in the middle of the hall. There’s whispering, and then a giggle. My heart skips a beat as I try to make out what she’s saying, but all I catch is the word “daddy.” It’s not unusual for Bastian to put them to bed, but there’s something intimate about the tone of her voice, something that makes my stomach twist.
When I gather the courage to look inside her room, a sound escapes my lips that I have never made before. My hand flies up to my mouth, hovers momentarily, and then I find my voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Get away from her!” It’s a roar inside the stillness of her bedroom.
Bastian’s head jerks up, and he stares at me, his face a mask of confusion. He is tucked up in bed with Harlow, her head cradled beneath his shoulder.
“Why are you i
n bed with her?” I demand, my voice shaking. “Where are your hands? Show me. Harlow, get out of that bed. I mean it, right now.”
Harlow immediately begins to cry, and Harry appears by my side. “Back to your room Harry, now.”
He turns and runs back down the hall, where his door slams. I forget to breathe as Bastian throws his legs over the side of the bed. He is wearing pajama shorts and a T-shirt. He turns and helps a now-hysterical Harlow out of bed, and to my relief she is dressed in pink summer pajamas, top and bottom.
“What the fuck, Madelyn-May?!” he says, not caring that Harlow is by his side.
It’s the first time he has ever cursed at me, but I’m too angry for the enormity of it to register. “Why were you in her bed?”
“What?”
“Answer me, Bastian. Why were you in her bed? She’s twelve years old.”
Blood has drained from his face, leaving it patchy with anger and confusion. “Jesus, Madelyn-May, I was giving her a cuddle.”
It’s not good enough to calm me. Right now, nothing is. “Why do you need to be in her bed for that?”
He helps Harlow back into bed, and pulls up her covers. “She was sad, for Christ’s sake. Can we do this downstairs? The way you’re acting is—”
“Sad about what?”
“Like I said, can we do this downstairs?”
“No, you tell me now. Sad about what?”
“You won’t let me have Instagram, and everyone thinks I’m an idiot.” Harlow’s choked-up voice finds its place between us. “And the other day, Sarah Kentwell told everyone in our class that her Mom thinks you’re full of shit, and that everything you write is a lie. They think you’re a shitty Mom. They know Dad does everything, and they all make fun of me because of you. I hate it!”
“Harlow!” I gasp. “Don’t you talk to me like that.”
“Well, it’s true!” she shouts. “They call you a bitch, and a phony, and I hate you. I wish you’d just leave, so we could live with Dad.”
“Harlow….”
“Get out of my room. Get out! Get out! Get out!” She collapses into her pillow, her sobs loud enough to deafen everything but my conscience.
Frozen to the spot, I stare at her bird-wing shoulders, and think of nothing except how fragile she looks. Beside her, Bastian’s eyes are boring into me, but I can’t look at him.
“Madelyn-May….”
Instead of answering, I turn, and take the stairs two at a time in my hurry to get away.
Down in our kitchen, I pour myself a glass of red from one of the bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon we bought on our last trip to Napa. My version of comfort food.
“You want to tell me what the hell that was?” Bastian demands, when he finally comes downstairs.
“Forget it, alright?” I say, the trembling glass a giveaway. “I was wrong. By the way, this whole thing is because I wouldn’t buy her a leopard-print bikini at the mall today. Did she mention that?”
“You were wrong? Is that what you just said?”
“Bastian, you don’t understand—”
“Well, you’re right about that,” he shouts. “Do you have any idea what you just did up there? To our daughter? To me?”
“Did you hear what I said? This has nothing to do with what anyone said at school. You spoil her so much, that the minute I say no, this is what happens,” I fling my free hand into the air for dramatic effect. “A leopard-print bikini, can you believe it? And not just that – she wanted it for Instagram.”
He stares at me as though I have gone crazy. “I heard you, Madelyn-May, but did you hear what I said? What the hell was that?”
“I’m sorry, alright? That was out of line, I know.” Images of my father slipping into bed beside me creep in, and I push myself out of the seat. I need to move.
“Not good enough, Madelyn-May. I want an explanation. You don’t just walk into a room and do what you did. You just don’t.”
He is on one side of the island bench, and I am on the other. It might as well be a continent between us. “It was a mistake, Bastian. I know that.”
“It was more than a mistake, Madelyn-May. You practically accused me of molesting our daughter.”
“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic.”
“Melodramatic?!”
Before I realize what’s happening, he is up against me, his hand closing tight around my arm. “Bastian,” I say, “let go, you’re hurting me.”
“You know what? I don’t give a shit.” His face is close to mine I can see the vein in his temple throbbing. “You’ve been hurting us for years. How dare you come in and accuse me of something like that, and in front of her? How dare you, Madelyn-May.”
“You know, I’m getting pretty sick and tired of people in this family speaking to me like I’m a piece of shit,” I counter. “Look around Bastian – everything this family has is because of me. I think I deserve a little respect.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
Everything I say is making it worse, and from the look on his face he is about to explode.
“Okay, alright, I didn’t mean that.” I glance down at his fingers, white-knuckled around my arm. “I’m tired, and she really pushed my buttons today. I’m sorry.”
“That’s no excuse for what you did.”
“I know, and I said I’m sorry. What do you want from me?”
“Something. Anything. An explanation. Give me something, Madelyn-May, because I’m drowning here. You’re hiding things from me, and acting in a way, that, to be honest, is just pushing me further away. In fact….”
“…In fact, what?”
“I can’t do this anymore.” He lets go of my arm, and instead grips the bench with both hands. His head drops forward, and to my surprise, he begins to cry.
“Bastian?”
“Just go, Madelyn-May. Leave me alone.”
My first instinct is to reach out and touch him, but as I lift my hand, I think better of it. And there’s nothing to say that will explain my behavior, other than the truth, and I certainly can’t tell him that.
I take the stairs, and pause outside Harry’s room. Inside, he’s crying. I consider going in, but instead hover in the doorway for a few minutes. When he doesn’t turn around, I gently close the door.
Although she claims to hate me, I continue down the hall, and dare to sneak a peek into Harlow’s room. Her back is turned, and she is eerily still. How can I possibly apologize to her for what I’ve done tonight? Technically, I didn’t say the words out loud, but I might as well have. Knowing she won’t hear me, I whisper to her back that I’m sorry, then head up the hall toward our bedroom.
In bed, I pull the covers over my head. My family hates me, and who would blame them? All these years, I have been terrified if I let them love me, really love me, I will fail them spectacularly. Tonight, it seems those fears have become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Madelyn-May, 1997
'’What in Christ have you stupid girls gone and done?” Mom screamed from the doorway. “You’ve killed him! Oh my God and Jesus Christ! He’s dead. You really killed him.” She tore her eyes away from Daddy’s body, and stared at us. “Which one of you did this, and don’t you dare lie to me.”
“It was Madelyn-May,” Melody shouted, pointing an accusing finger in my direction. “It was her. She did it.”
I couldn’t stop staring at the blood spiraling out of the crevice in Daddy’s temple. It was soaking into the floral bedspread, turning it black like a cancer.
“Tell her, Madelyn-May,” Melody was shouting. “Tell her you did it. Tell her it was you who killed him.”
I tore my eyes away from the quilt, and glanced at my sister folded up the corner. All I could think was that she looked so much smaller than when we were crushing up the pills. “I did it,” I said flatly. “I did it, Mom. I killed Daddy.”
Without warning, Mom stepped in and slapped me hard across the face. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done
?”
The blow snapped my head back, and in the same moment it struck me she hadn’t asked Melody why she was naked from the waist down. “You knew, didn’t you?” I whispered. “All this time you knew what he was doing to us.”
“Don’t you dare talk about your daddy like that.” Her bangles bashed against each other as she pushed her hair back. “If anyone was doing anything wrong around here it was you girls, wearing skirts too small, and trying to get his attention all the damned time. What did you think would happen?”
“That’s not true. I hated him coming into my room. We all did and—”
She brought her hand down to slap me again, but I caught her wrist. “You knew, and you didn’t help us. Why didn’t you stop him?”
“You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? You needed his attention so bad, and oh, you got it alright, didn’t you? All three of you, and none of you ever stopped to think about me.”
I glanced over at Melody, but she refused to meet my eye.
“None of you ever cared about me in all of this,” she continued. “So long as you had him all to yourselves. And all this time, I’ve had to live knowing what was going on, and not once did any of you give a damn about me. You never once asked me to make him stop. Three little mice all blind to how I felt.”
“You can’t be serious,” I managed. “Have you lost your mind?”
She reached into her pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with trembling hands. “I must be insane to have put up with all the shit that’s been going on behind my back. And now look what you’ve gone and done. How am I supposed to pay for the trailer now? That ever cross your stupid mind?”
“Didn’t Daddy have an insurance policy?” Melody asked quietly.
“Policy?” Her head whipped around, and I finally let out a breath. It was Melody’s turn. “Is that what this was about? Trying to cash in by killing your own daddy? Is that what I raised in this stinking trailer? Two murdering little whores?”
She took a long drag on the cigarette, then threw what was left onto the floor. When she looked away, I stepped forward, and stubbed the glowing butt out with my shoe.
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