I trail my finger along the artfully arranged wave of her hair.
“Don’t worry. I know you’re pretty depraved. Only a lunatic orders pizza to her kidnapper’s house.”
“You two bicker like an old married couple.” Hannah beams.
I jump back, panicking. What did she hear? But my half sister just snaps more photos.
“Graham, smile! Dani’s smiling.”
“Because Dani’s drunk.”
“Ethel said you need to come get ready for your speech.”
Dani looks around. “Your mom doesn’t come?” she asks delicately.
I stiffen.
Hannah sighs.
“No, I think she just—you know—after she was… Well, after surviving what she went through, I don’t think she really wants to think about it, you know?”
I’m holding my breath. My siblings and I don’t have conversations about that. When my half-siblings were older,Frank sat them down and told them… what happened. But me and them never talked about it. I certainly didn’t talk about my experience, because it doesn’t matter. I’m not the victim here.
“I’d better go.” I turn abruptly on my heel before they can say anything. I hate these events. I’ll never stop being involved in the charity, but I hate these events. Hate having to relive my mother’s pain, even the sanitized version.
Staring out over the crowd in their finery, I try to put on a good front as I shake hands with Ethel and set out my notes.
There’s Dani, next to Hannah. She’s got more of the mushroom, Gruyère, and thyme tartlets catered by Grey Dove Bakery. I’ll make sure to have some sent to Svensson’s Investment on Monday.
I suddenly wish I hadn’t brought Dani. I don’t want her to know. I don’t want her to see me like this. Not as a monster. Weak.
When I clear my throat, the noise echoes around the room. This is why people show up—not because they care, but because they want the spectacle. After all, how often do you get to hear the sordid tale straight from the mouth of someone born into captivity in the cellar of a madman?
“Almost thirty years ago, my mom was driving home from school. It was late. There was a football game, and she played clarinet, so she was in the band. She was rear-ended, and when she got out of the car, that was the last time she saw the Camaro she’d spent all her waitressing money to buy. She didn’t see another sunrise for nine years. What strikes me the most is the unfairness—how unfair it was for her to lose her senior year of high school: prom, senior skip day. And then her twenties. College, study abroad. Going to bad parties and passionately arguing with professors. She missed all of that. Instead, she was forced to live in the dark, her survival at the whim of a madman. And she had me, and I’m no substitute.”
I stare at Dani, wondering if this makes her hate me.
She is listening, her face serious, her eyes shining during my speech as I talk about my mom getting kidnapped.
“While her story is sensational, there are millions of women and girls who go through the same thing and don’t have bestselling books or HBO specials letting the world know their stories. We’re here to help them tonight, and thank you, everyone, for your support, financial and otherwise.” I nod to the applause.
Dani’s waiting for me when the speeches are done. Part of me hates it—doesn’t want her pity. Her disgust.
She takes my hand when she sees me. Squeezes it.
“I guess I shouldn’t have made those jokes earlier. I’m sorry.” Her nails trail lightly over the back of my hand. “It’s not a joking matter. I know better than that.”
I nudge her. “See? You’re nice.”
“Not nice at all. I feel terrible,” she moans.
“You’re the first person who’s made jokes to my face about it.”
“I’m going to hell.”
“Sometimes the dark humor is good.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better. I’m going to plan a nice date for you.” She doesn’t realize that she says “date,” just keeps talking. “I promise. No family members.”
