Walking on soft feet through the house, I drift to my father's study in the back corner. Voices filter out into the hall, muted by the closed door.
When I arrive at the door, I don’t linger. I don't take a deep breath, or prepare myself. No need for eavesdropping. I want the truth, and I want it right now. I crash in, like a rhino. Or a pygmy hippo.
My father sits at his desk, horror on his face as his gaze falls on me in his open door. Penn whips his head around, and he doesn't wear the surprised look of someone who has been caught. He looks relieved.
"Why is he here?" I ask my father. Blood pounds in my ears, becauseI know. The details are blank spaces, but the events are taking shape. Penn crying over me, my blood on his hands. My father on phone calls behind a closed door in this same room. The way I overheard him sayI won't wait for this to happen a second time.
And now, my father, the man who spent his entire life caring for me, loving me, sacrificing for me, looks me in the eyes and prepares to lie.
"Hey, Daisy Mae," he greets, almost covering up the tremble in his voice. Almost, but not quite. "Penn had some questions about that property he’s selling. His old house."
Penn's shoulder blades bunch, agitation in his muscles and the flex of his jaw.
"Is that right?" I ask my dad, crossing my arms. "You’re a real estate lawyer now?"
He chuckles uncomfortably. "Well, no."
"Real estate agent?"
A second chuckle, tighter this time. "Also no."
"What specific knowledge do you have that would lead Penn"—I glance at the utterly silent man across from my father.His head dips fractionally, as if urging me on—"to come see you?"
"Oh, you know, this and that." It's heartbreaking to watch my dad hustle, like he has a broom and he's cleaning up the detritus of the past.
"Enough," Penn speaks, a quiet strength in his voice. "Stop lying to her, Mr. St. James. Juststop."
My dad has the absolute gall to look surprised. "Daisy," he licks his lips, a flush creeping over his neck. "I’m not sure what Penn is talking about right now, but?—"
Penn pushes back his chair, the legs protesting with the swiftness of his movement. In two strides he reaches me. I'm starved for his touch, but he keeps his hands to himself. "He paid me, Daisy." Penn's voice is urgent, like he needs me to know this old truth. "He offered my mom and I money to leave, and we accepted it. A new home for us in California. An opportunity for her to get better."
The words are a physical blow, as if they’ve grown hands and reached for me, pushing me back until my shoulder blades hit the wall behind me. My mind spins. Nothing that happened at the end of that summer made sense to me, and all those times I've looked back on it, I saw it through the eyes of a child. Muddy memories, blurred by time.
With two hands on Penn's upper arm, I push him aside as though I'm merely opening a closed curtain. My father, still seated, has prayer hands propped under his chin. He looks desolate. Exhausted. But not sorry.
"You paid him, Dad?" When he doesn't answer, I say, "How could you?"
"Dammit," my father cries, smacking his hand on the top of his desk. "It's been fifteen years. You don’t get to come in here now and act like this breaks your heart."
I can't believe what I'm hearing.All this time. "There is no statute of limitations on bad behavior. And youdidbreak my heart back then. And this? Right now? Thisdoeshurt my heart." My lower lip trembles. "Dad, I loved him, and you paid him to go away."
"My job as your dad is to do what’s best for you, and back then that meant keeping you away from this boy." He points at Penn, the boy who is now a man, and bigger than my father. "Penn, one day you will understand that. You will have a little girl, and she will become the center of your universe, and you'll watch her develop an impossible love for a boy who doesn't stand a chance at living a normal life. And then, when he hurts her,even when it's an accident, you will make a difficult choice in her best interest. That is the painful side of parenting. Making decisions that will be hard on them, knowing it will benefit them in the future."
"Daisy?"
Three pairs of eyes swing to the door. To my mother.
She grips the handle, the other hand braced on the frame. She looks tired and frail, with dark circles under her eyes. Bonnie stands unobtrusively behind her, her face a practiced blank mask.
"Mom," I say, glancing at Penn as I pass him on my way to her. He steps aside, his hand brushing mine. His face is stricken. This is his first time seeing my mother in this state.
"How was your nap?" I ask, reaching her. I lean in, folding her into a careful hug.
"Fine, until we came downstairs to check on the biscuits Bonnie made while I was sleeping, and heard raised voices." Her gaze starts with me, then darts to my father, and lands on Penn.
Penn offers his hand to my mom. "Mrs. St. James, it's me. Penn Bellamy."
"Penn Bellamy," she says, a smile blooming on her face. She glances at me, worried confusion in her gaze. I smile intentionally, letting her know it's ok. I'm ok. Content with my response, she turns back to Penn. "Welcome home. You grew up to be handsome."
