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derstanding.

“He asked you to do something you shouldn’t have done. He was here to teach you art, not to exploit you for his own sexual needs.”

I could see that nothing was making sense to her. To her, I was just raving.

“Look, Sylvia, you should never undress in front of a strange man.”

“Was Mr. Price strange?”

“Not strange like that. Well, maybe, but what I mean is, he’s not family. He’s a stranger. He was supposed to just work for us, help you with your art. He used art as an excuse to have you undress.”

I thought a moment as she worked at understanding.

“Did you do this before today?”

She nodded.

“Did you undress more?”

She nodded.

I felt a cold chill first and then a hot flash in my chest. “Were you ever completely nude?”

“Like when I take a bath?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” she replied.

My heart was pounding. “Did he touch you?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Where?”

“In the studio.”

“No, where on your body did he touch you? Show me,” I told her.

She thought about it and then nodded and put her hands on her breasts, her stomach, her thighs.

I started to breathe some relief until she put both hands between her legs. The blood left my face. I sat back.

“I had to stand right for the drawing and not move.”

“Oh, Papa,” I muttered. All I could think of was how angry he would be at me, not Sylvia. I had broken a promise. I hadn’t protected her.

My mind was a workshop of miserable thoughts. While I had been dumbly cleaning the house, taking walks, reading, and minding my own business, Sylvia was being sexually abused, and the worst part of it was that she didn’t understand. I thought about all the times the three of us sat here after the lessons and had tea and biscuits together. I should have noticed something, realized something. How conniving and clever he was. He was probably the one telling Sylvia how to dress, do makeup, and brush her hair. I had stupidly thought she was simply learning to take pride in herself. Perhaps in her limited vision and thinking, she was, but that wasn’t why he was doing it. All those compliments he brushed over her, dipping her in the well of ego so that she would appreciate him and never resist his mauling of her beautiful body, now made sense to me.

“Mr. Price was simply another frustrated old man,” I muttered. “I don’t know why the alarms didn’t go off in me. I’m simply too inhibited, too cloistered here, too out of the social world to recognize the clues. It’s my fault, my fault. I’m sorry, Sylvia.”

I lowered my head and took her hand in both of mine. I couldn’t help it. The tears began to flow.

“I’m not mad at you,” Sylvia said. “Don’t cry, Audrina.”

“No, you’re not mad at me,” I said, smiling and wiping away my tears. “You’ll never be mad at me. You’re the angel here, Sylvia. I’m mad at myself.” I took a deep breath. “Let’s have some tea and biscuits, chocolate biscuits.”

She nodded and then paused. “But Mr. Price left,” she said.