“I have been asking myself for years what I could have said. I knew it must be worse than I could possibly imagine when you didn’t come home for your father’s funeral.” Frowning, she shook her head. “It wasn’t the skinny-dipping fight, was it?” Mom asked, taking a bite of a gingersnap. “Because I thought for sure we worked through that, even though I do remember screeching like a shrew about propriety. But that was my issue. My father once called me some very unflattering names for wearing a tank top around a young caretaker who worked for him.”
Amy blinked, never having heard about arguments like that between her mother and grandfather. “Seriously? And, yes, we had worked through the skinny-dipping thing. But then we had another blowout that pulled all previous arguments into it.”
Her mother pointed her cookie at Amy. “That, my daughter, is precisely how my mind was working at that time. A jittery, hopping, hot mess.”
Amy’s cookie caught in her throat at the unexpected characterization. Coughing, she couldn’t reply, so her mother continued.
“I jumped from one thought to another and tied random bits together in a way that made my whole existence feel unstable. I was paranoid all the time, certain all the neighbors were judging me because I couldn’t get my act together.”Her mom set the rest of her cookie on her plate and folded her hands on her lap, studying Amy. “Tell me. What happened?”
This was her chance. An opportunity to explain her side. To finally air the hurt that had weighed on her for so long.
“I was molested in the woods.” The words came out easier now. Unlike when she’d relived the nightmare as she recounted it to Sam, Amy now related the simple fact in the most straightforward way possible. “I was terrified, and I couldn’t see the man’s face. I was traumatized, Mom. And after walking my bike home for hours since I couldn’t possibly get on the thing to ride it—” She’d hurt. Really hurt. She didn’t remember those hours well at all, but she’d finally reached her front steps before dawn. “When I got here and told you what happened—” She’d wanted her mother’s embrace and understanding. She’d needed a mother’s tender compassion and willingness to fight for her child.
Her mother made a small sound. Amy met her gaze, seeing the tear slip down Diana Finley’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, Amy.”
Sorry she’d been molested? Or sorry because her mother had made it all worse with her reaction? Amy couldn’t think about that now; the moment had come to finally get it all out in the open.
“You told me you weren’t surprised. That it had been only a matter of time before something like that happened to me because I was teasing boys, sneaking out at night and skinny-dipping where anyone could see me—” Breaking off, she couldn’t go on. Didn’t want to share the worst of the names her mother had called her.
“I’m so sorry.” Her mother’s voice all but disappeared as she seemed to struggle to keep her own emotions in check.She swallowed hard. “That’s so much worse than anything I imagined.” She shook her head helplessly. “I sucked as a mother then, Amy. I should have demanded your father quit his job and be here to take care of you. But I was struggling so hard with my own issues, I couldn’t see past them?—”
“Even me telling you now—you don’t remember that night?” Amy sipped her lemonade, trying to shift her perspective on her mother. All these years, she’d assumed her mother had truly been grateful to be rid of a troubled daughter.
“No. My God, no. But I was also taking some medications I probably shouldn’t have been. I was seeing any doctor I could to try and find a new prescription that would help me. And your father had his own ideas.”
“So no one else in the family knows what we fought about, either?” She’d wondered sometimes if her father had known about The Incident. If he’d been as judgmental and uncaring as her mother.
“Of course not.” She bit her lip. “I probably didn’t remember what happened long enough to relate it to anyone. Furthermore, I think that would have been the straw that broke the back of my marriage. He would never have forgiven me.”
There was an odd comfort in that, somehow. More than any of her mother’s apologies, those words about Amy’s father soothed the old wound a little. Even after all this time, it felt nice to imagine her father standing up for her, indignant and protective on her behalf.
It reminded her of Sam, actually. That was the kind of parent he would be.
“Then no one knows about that night, Mom. And I’d prefer it stays that way.” Amy listened to the tick-tick-tick ofan old grandfather clock in the hallway, the sound a soft connection to the life she’d lived under this roof. Saturday morning cartoons with her sisters. Making paper chains for the Christmas tree at the dining room table. Wrestling with algebra problems at the desk against one wall.
There were more good memories here than bad ones.
“If that’s what you want. I lost the right to tell you how to lead your life a long time ago. But I do hope you pressed charges against whoever assaulted you. Or took your vengeance some other way.” Her mother scowled.
“Vengeance? That doesn’t sound like what the counselors would advise in therapy.” Amy frowned, sipping more lemonade.
“My daughter was molested. I think vengeance would make me feel a lot better than any therapy.”
Amy nearly choked on her lemonade, not expecting the dry bite of dark humor.
“I will keep that in mind,” she replied once she cleared her throat.
“And I know I can’t take back whatever putrid words shot from my mouth during those years. But I am more sorry than I can say. And if it helps, I’m trying to do a better job with my granddaughter.” Her mom turned a gold-framed photo toward her. It was the high school graduation photo of Amy’s niece.
Bethany and Scott’s daughter, Ally, had also been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, but apparently her therapy of medication and counseling kept the condition in check, and she was thriving in college.
“Heather’s letters have mentioned how much you’ve been a help to Ally.” She owed her sister thanks for keeping her in the loop on the family, a task that must have been frustrating since Amy had often found it difficultto reply. “I’ve realized that I should have come back a long time ago to face all this but—” She’d been afraid that the man who lurked in those woods outside the Chances’ house might still live in Heartache. “I just wasn’t ready.”
Not until she’d heard Jeremy Covington was in jail and suspected of other sexual crimes over the years. That had given her the confidence to come home. Coupled with the miscarriage, it had finally been time to make peace with her family.
“No one blames you. Especially after what you just said. But you’re here now, and I’ve heard the cabin renovation is going well. Your father would have enjoyed seeing you tackle that project, you know. He always wanted to expand that little cabin one day and put on a second story.” Her mother rose from her chair at the sound of scratching at the door. She opened a side entrance and her black Lab, Luce, came bounding in, tail wagging.
Setting aside her lemonade, Amy greeted the dog, who seemed to remember her. Actually, Luce seemed overjoyed to see her, tucking her head into Amy’s lap and licking her chin until Amy had no choice but to share her seat with the dog.
