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“Who?” I ask, keeping my voice level.
“Mrs. Banner. She yelled at me in front of all my friends. Said I was a disgrace to the school. To the student council where I’m supposed to be a leader. Why can’t she understand how hard it is? I was so close, just a few hours from our house. I couldn’t let the chance go by. You moved us clear across the country to get away from him!” She turns now, her eyes mere slits, her nostrils flaring.
“Honey, you know that’s not the whole story.” It doesn’t escape me that she still refers to the dwelling in Bishops Harbor as “our house.” I sit down on the bed and take a deep breath, stalling for time and for inspiration. Her room is immaculate and tidy, with the exception of the jacket and shoes on the floor—the complete opposite of her sister’s where chaos reigns. Tallulah’s room is painted a tranquil sea blue and bookcases line every wall filled to the brim with the books she’s devoured since we moved in. I think back to my room when I was her age, the posters of boys and bands taped to the wall, and marvel at how different hers is. She’s always been my little adult, and I have to remind myself that despite her precociousness, she’s still a child.
She pushes herself back against the headboard, putting more distance between us, and glares at me. “Just because he was a jerk to you doesn’t give you the right to keep him from us. He was a good dad.”
“When you’re older you’ll under—”
“Stop!” Her face is red. “Don’t hand me that bullshit. It’s just a convenient way for you to get what you want without having to explain anything. I’m not a baby. What is so terrible about him that you had to steal us away?”
This use of profanities is something new and it jars me. I can’t tell her the terrible things he did to me. But I can tell her he’s in prison, I decide.
“I know you think he’s a good father. And maybe he was. But he’s not a good man. He’s in prison right now.”
She laughs. “You think I don’t know that? Wake up, Mom! It’s the twenty-first century; there’s a thing called the internet. He’s there for tax evasion. Not exactly murder. So he hid some money from the government. Big deal. All the politicians are corrupt anyway. I want to see him.”
Alarm pulses through me like an electric current. “How do you know that?”
She gives me a triumphant look. “I’ve spoken to him.”
My mouth drops open. “You what?…How?” I can’t imagine how she’s managed this. Prisoners can’t take incoming calls, and Jackson doesn’t have any of our phone numbers.
“I called Amber. She conferenced us on her phone.”
My face flushes hot. “Amber? Tallulah, really?”
“You left me no choice,” she thunders. “At least she isn’t trying to separate me from my father. She promised to take me to see him.”
I stand up, needing to leave before I say something I’ll regret. Amber is good at pretending to care, to be an ally. I think of how she made up a sister who died from cystic fibrosis in order to connect with me. All the stories she told me of the sister she had loved and lost and it was a complete and utter lie. And now she’s talking to my daughter?
“We’ll finish this later.”
“Whatever,” she shoots back.
My mother looks at me expectantly when I join her at the kitchen table. “She’s spoken to Jackson,” I tell her.
“Isn’t that in violation of his restraining order?”
My patience snaps. “Mom, we’ve been over this before. There’s no restraining order. He gave up his parental rights, but he hasn’t broken any laws by speaking to her.”
“How in the world did he get in touch with her?”
I shake my head. “Amber.”
My mother rolls her eyes. “Of course. That woman would do anything to annoy you. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to follow the advice of the therapist and go back.” I put a hand up before she can object. “I’ll set the ground rules, and he’ll never be alone with them. Dr. Marshall is going to set us up with a therapist in Connecticut.”
“I think it’s a mistake.”
She’s made that crystal clear. “Maybe it is, but I have to do what I think is best for my daughters. I’m not going to have ourrelationship ruined because they think I’m unfairly keeping them from Jackson. At the end of summer, we’ll be back here, and we’ll have a whole year before we need to think about seeing him again.”
She reaches out and puts a hand on mine. “I know it hurts you to see your girls upset, but, Daphne, you know how manipulative he is, and how controlling. I’m worried.”
“Half his power came from his influence, and that’s gone now. He’s been shamed, imprisoned, and humbled. There’s nothing he can do to me anymore, and I know he wouldn’t hurt the girls.”
“I can see you’ve made up your mind,” she says quietly. “But if you insist on going, I’m coming with you.”