“You don't get to make my leaving the emergency.”
Nathan looked away.
“That’s fair.”
At least that.
Claire picked up her purse.
Nathan said:
“Can I hug her?”
Claire looked toward Lily.
Not her decision.
“Do you want Daddy to hug you?”
Lily immediately shook her head.
Nathan flinched.
Claire saw.
She did not soften it.
“Okay.”
Nathan nodded.
“Okay.”
Claire carried Lily outside.
They drove to Evelyn Hart’s house twenty minutes away.
Lily fell asleep before they reached the highway.
Claire pulled into her mother's driveway and sat behind the wheel with the engine off.
She looked at her daughter in the rearview mirror.
Sleep had softened the fear from Lily's face.
Her cheeks were still blotchy.
Claire put both hands over her own mouth.
Then she cried.
Not loudly.
Not long.
Evelyn opened the front door before Claire could gather herself.
At sixty-eight, Claire’s mother had a sixth sense for family trouble and absolutely no respect for privacy once she sensed it.
She walked to the car.
Claire stepped out.
“Mom.”
Evelyn looked through the back window.
“What happened?”
Claire couldn't say it.
Not yet.
“Can she sleep here?”
Evelyn stared.
“Of course.”
“Tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe longer.”
Her mother's face changed.
“Nathan?”
Claire nodded.
Evelyn did not ask more in the driveway.
Good.
They carried Lily inside.
When the little girl woke an hour later, Evelyn made grilled cheese and cut it diagonally because Lily claimed squares tasted wrong.
Nobody mentioned the closet.
At least not until Lily refused to use the downstairs bathroom because the door closed automatically.
Evelyn noticed.
“Want me to leave it open?”
Lily nodded.
“Easy.”
She propped it with a slipper.
No question.
No why.
Claire watched.
Her chest hurt.
Later, after Lily fell asleep in Evelyn's guest room with the door completely open, Claire sat at the kitchen table.
Her mother put down tea.
“What did he do?”
Claire told her.
Not dramatically.
Fact by fact.
Locked linen room.
Outside bolt.
Lily crying.
“Bad room.”
Maybe ten times.
Evelyn did not interrupt.
When Claire finished, her mother stood.
Walked to the sink.
Put both hands against the counter.
Then whispered:
“I will kill him.”
Claire almost laughed.
“That is not helpful.”
“I know.”
Evelyn turned.
“Has he hit her?”
“No.”
“You know?”
Claire stopped.
She hated the question because she had wanted to say yes immediately.
“I don't know.”