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“Your grandmother and I spent years trying to get someone to investigate her rapist after she went missing, but the police insisted there was no connection—and no rape. The case was basically dropped. There were rumors about corruption in the local force, and Susie said something about an Irish mobster in the area—but we don’t know for sure if that was the reason we were stonewalled.

We never got to the bottom of it, but the police weren’t going to pursue charges against that boy, that much was clear.

“But how do you know this, Izzy? Why are you asking about Aunt Susie? What are you up to at the newspaper?”

I can’t swallow. I can hardly breathe. The pressure building in my chest feels extraordinary. I can’t bear it a second longer.

“Mom, I’m not at the newspaper,” I say, barely getting out the words.

“What?” Her voice rockets in surprise. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

“I lied to you because I knew you wouldn’t let me come to Lake Timmeny. That’s where I am now—at the lake. I got a job working as a nanny for a man named David Dunne.”

It’s like I can feel my mother’s heart stop through the connection. Then she takes a short, sharp breath, and I do the same. For the second time today, tears stream down my cheeks. I feel so much shame my skin is on fire.

“Oh my god, Izzy, you don’t understand; that man is dangerous!” Her words clap back, shrill and urgent.

“I’m fine. I’m safe. Please don’t worry.

I’m not staying there anymore,” I say through a choked-back sob.

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I just wanted to help you.

I know how traumatic losing Aunt Susie was for you, and you’ve never been able to move past it.

Your anxiety is like a third person in the house.

And it’s been getting to me, too. I’m living your fear, and it’s affecting my life.

I thought if I could figure out what happened, I’d give you some closure and maybe help you get better—and help myself in the process. ”

“Oh, Izzy…” But she can’t finish the thought.

I know there are different degrees of pain, for I’ve experienced several of them throughout my life. A cut is at one level. A broken bone is at another. A broken heart, another still. And I’m afraid I’ve broken my mother’s heart by telling such a calculated and manipulative lie.

Eventually, my mother says, “Izzy, Izzy, Izzy,” in a disappointed tone that only my mother can deliver like the zing of an arrow. “I really wish you hadn’t done this.”

“But why?” I shoot back. “Someone needed to keep digging. He killed her, Mom! He did it to keep her silent. And we can’t just let that go unpunished. I know I can’t. Susie needs us to speak for her and get the justice she deserves.”

But now I’m wondering how my relationship with my mother will change—if I’ve done more harm than good.

Mom and I are close, in a way, but there’s always been a strange distance, too, as though Susie’s memory formed a wall between us, preventing my mother from being fully present.

Mom made it her mission in life to make sure I was safe.

She was the order in a world of chaos. It was always my father who did fun things with me.

He took me camping, taught me how to fish, and showed me how to shoot a basketball.

While Dad was the moon circling high above, casting his majestic glow, Mom was the planet Earth that kept me so grounded I often forgot she was the rock I stood on.

But I’m not forgetting her now. I had hoped this investigation would bring us closer. I want her to know I love her and care about her suffering. And that I’m old enough now to do something about it. We can be a team, not just a mother protecting her daughter. Would she—could she—understand?

“I’m coming to get you right now,” she says.

Guess that’s answer enough.

She can’t see me shake my head, but she hears my firm denial.

“Mom, no,” I tell her. “I’m fine. I’ll get a ride to the bus station tomorrow.

David is at the police station being questioned, and I have a friend I can stay with tonight.

I’m safe, and I need at least another night here.

I started this on my own, and I have to see this story through to the end.

Your blessing would mean everything to me, but I’m staying regardless.

I’m so sorry for hurting you, Mom. I hope you can forgive me. ”

The line goes silent and still.

“And, Mom…” I say, summoning my courage. “Why didn’t you tell me about Susie being raped?”

“That’s not something we ever needed to discuss,” she answers sternly.

“But it’s our family’s history.”

“No, Izzy, it’s not. It’s hers—it’s Susie’s. It’s not yours or mine. It’s hers alone.”

“But that’s not why you kept it from me, is it? You didn’t want me to know because you always want to shelter me from life. Don’t you understand that the more you try to keep something from me, the more I’m going to want to go after it?

“You can’t keep me safe from the world, not while I live in it. If you want me to be honest with you, then I need you to trust me. Have some faith in me. Let me fall. Let me get hurt. I’m not going to drown in a tablespoon of water.”

“But you could,” she says.

“Right,” I say, exasperated. “I could. But I’d rather die swimming than watching life pass me by from the safety of the shoreline.”

Mom clears her throat and, thank God, she laughs. “Stop being so dramatic,” she tells me. “You’re not writing an exposé about me. And no matter how persuasive you are, you’re still in big trouble.”

“You can’t send me to my room anymore,” I remind her.

She sighs. “I guess that’s true.” Another sigh.

“I love you, Izzy,” she says emphatically.

“And while I’m extremely upset about what you’ve done, you’re right.

You’re not a child anymore. And it’s true, I can’t control everything you do—it’s simply impossible.

But I just ask that from now on, if you want honesty from me, I expect the same from you—about everything. No more keeping big secrets from me.”

“Deal,” I say. “And I promise I’ll head home in the morning, don’t worry.”

While this is all well and good, and my mother and I have fixed something about our relationship, I still have an empty place inside me. “Mom, I need to know how you feel.”

“Feel?” she parroted back. “I told you. I’m pissed off. And rightfully so.”

“No, not that, Mom. About him. David Dunne.”

Her exhale fills my ears. “Well, if I’m being honest, Izzy, I feel a profound sense of relief knowing that son of a bitch will end up where he belongs, thanks in part to you.”

There. That’s what I needed to hear. The empty feeling is gone and I understand something I didn’t before. A podcast can inform and entertain, but only people can heal your heart.