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  “I’d rather not say.”

  The two officers exchanged glances. “I think it’d be fair to tell you, sir,” Officer Williams continued, “that your daughter told us all about it.”

  My father’s face grew pale beneath a sheen of sweat. “If my daughter were completely sane, she wouldn’t be seeing a therapist, now would she?”

  “I’ll ask you again, sir. What was the argument about?”

  Daddy closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. When he opened his eyes again, I saw that they were pooling with tears. “That damn therapist was supposed to be helping my daughter get well. Instead, she was filling her head with nonsense.” He took a deep breath. “It’s all a pack of lies.”

  “Lies? What kind of lies?”

  Daddy looked at me, desperation in his eyes. “Don’t tell your mother,” he pleaded.

  I grabbed his arm and shook it. “Don’t tell her what?”

  Daddy took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. The silence roared in my ears. When Daddy finally spoke, I thought at first that I’d misunderstood what he’d said. “That woman has Georgina convinced that I sexually abused her.”

  “What!” My head swam.

  A tear ran down his cheek and dripped, unchecked, onto the front of his shirt. “How can she say such a thing?”

  I sat there, too dumbfounded to speak.

  “Exactly the question I was going to ask, Captain Alexander. Why would your daughter say such a thing?”

  “She’s delusional, Officer.” He swiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll admit I went there for the therapy session. I thought maybe it would help. But then, they bushwhacked me. Georgina looked me straight in the eye and accused me of all sorts of atrocities!” He jabbed a finger in the air. “And that damn woman sitting behind her desk, egging Georgina on …” A shudder ran through his body. “I tell you, I just cracked. Lost my temper and yelled at the two of them until my throat was sore. Goddamn therapist!” He searched my face for understanding. “I got out of there, pumpkin. Jesus! It was like Jonestown without the Kool-Aid! I got out of that hellhole and never went back.”

  I turned from him then, sick with confusion. It seemed a hundred miles to the sink, but I managed to get there and lean over it, the metal hard and cold beneath my hands. Outside the window, a bird hopped gaily from limb to limb of the sycamore tree. I felt like popping it one. Why should he be allowed to be so happy when our world was falling apart?

  “Granddaddy? Are you sick?” I spun around. Julie! My niece stood at her grandfather’s knee, Abby dangling by one bedraggled ear from her chubby fist. How much had she heard?

  My father raised his head from where it rested on his arms and smiled at his granddaughter. “No, honey, your granddaddy’s just a little bit tired.” He laid a gentle hand on top of her head, then stroked her cheek with his thumb.

  Julie studied him seriously, a worried look on her face. She was the image of her mother at the age of four; her copper ponytails hung like fat sausages, just grazing her shoulders. “Abby wants a drink.”

  I took Julie’s hand and steered her gently away from the table. “Let’s take care of Abby,” I said. While the officers made small talk behind me, I rummaged quickly in the refrigerator, coming up with a carton of orange juice and a Pyrex dish of yellow cheese cubes covered with plastic wrap. I hustled Julie out of the room. When I had her settled again on the family room couch I watched with affection as she offered her cheese first to Abby, then when Abby didn’t appear to care for cheese, thank you, nibbled on it herself.

  Abby wasn’t the only one who had completely lost her appetite. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to eat again. How could Daddy? How could anybody? I swallowed hard. “Impossible,” I said aloud. “Absolutely impossible.”

  chapter

  5

  I decided to hide out downstairs with the children until the police had finished their business. I couldn’t bear to watch my father shrivel with humiliation before my eyes. He was my hero—the man who had bought me a cowgirl suit with cap pistols on my sixth birthday; who had wiped away my tears when the boy of my dreams jilted me for a bleach-blond cheerleader; who had walked me down the aisle, tall and proud, the day I married Paul.

  When I heard the front door slam and felt my spine relax into the sofa cushions, I realized how tense I had been. But my brain still churned. What would I do if Daddy continued to insist that I not tell Mother about Georgina’s wild claims? Yet Mom had looked drained, the deep lines in her brow already reflecting the wearying burden of the mess Georgina had gotten herself into. How could I heap on this new disaster?

  When their grandfather appeared at the foot of the basement stairs, Sean and Dylan each grabbed a hand and dragged him toward the pool table. Dad spent the time jockeying a little footstool around so they could reach the table to play eight-ball. In his grandchildren’s company, I watched the worried frown evaporate. Daddy wore the benign countenance of an innocent man with an unshakable belief in the infallibility of the system. As he racked up the balls for the boys, I wanted to slap him hard on both cheeks and shout, Wake up! Life is not like the movies. Truth doesn’t always reign triumphant.

  I left the children sending the cue ball ricocheting dangerously around the table and dashed upstairs to clean up the kitchen, reasoning that Mom would surely notice how the coffee cups had multiplied in her absence. I was inverting a souvenir mug from New Orleans over a peg in the dishwasher, feeling like my father’s accomplice, when the front door slammed again. I hardly had time to turn around before Mother was standing in the kitchen doorway, her eyes wild with panic. Paul towered like a protective giant behind her. Even in the darkened hallway I saw that his arms were laden with bulky plastic bags from Bed Bath & Beyond.

  “What were the police doing here? Have they arrested Georgina?” My mother’s voice trembled.

  Paul set the bags down in the doorway and laid a comforting hand on my mother’s shoulder. “We saw the police car pull out of the drive,” he explained.

  “Georgina’s fine, Mom. They’ve even sent her home.”

  “Then what …?”

  I took in my mother’s unusual pallor and decided a half truth would do. “The police are talking to everyone who saw Dr. Sturges in the last few weeks. Apparently Daddy went with Georgina to one of her therapy sessions.”

  Mother shrugged out of her down jacket, handed it to Paul, and collapsed into a kitchen chair. “Of course. I knew that.” Relief flooded her face with color. “So, what did they want to know?” A strand of pale peach hair had fallen forward over her cheek, and she tucked it back behind her ear.

  “You’ll have to ask Daddy about that.”

  “Where is your father?”

  I nodded toward the basement door. “Playing pool with the kids.”

  “I suspect Georgina—” She paused and swallowed. “—or Scott will come to collect them before long.”

  “But if they don’t, the children can spend the night with us.” Paul had returned from the utility room and I hugged him from behind, my arms encircling his narrow waist. “As grandparents ourselves now, we need a refresher course in kid control.”

  “Absolutely not!” My mother’s voice carried even over the sound of the dishwasher kicking in. “They’ll stay here with us. Look at this place!” She made a broad sweep with her arm. “If we didn’t plan to have everyone over, we wouldn’t have bought a house with so much space.”

  As bad an idea as I thought this was, I found it hard to reverse the parent/child roles. I could never outrank my mother. Still thinking that she might be overwhelmed by the rambunctiousness of her grandchildren, I quickly added, “Do you need me to stay?”

  Paul swiveled his head in my direction, a pout beginning to materialize on his lower lip. It morphed into a smile as Mother said, “No, we’ll be fine. Georgina needs a rest.”

  If she only knew the half of it. I prayed Daddy would tell her everything tonight.

  I touched her arm. “Are yo
u sure?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “The boys are pretty lively.”

  “It’s a pleasure to have them. We lived so far away for so long. I’ve missed watching them grow up.” She stood and pulled her sweater close around her. “I’ll just go look for the sheets.”

  Paul stood in the doorway like a guardian angel, watching until my mother was out of sight. “She’s gone upstairs,” he said.

  He took a step in my direction, then stopped short when I snapped, “Where’s the damn phone?” After holding it in with my mother, my father, and the kids, my nerves just fell apart.

  Paul pointed to a beige telephone mounted on the beige wall between the utility room and the refrigerator, a puzzled look clouding his face. Of course he didn’t know anything about Georgina’s accusations. I punched the auto dial button marked “G&S.” “Let me check with Scott. See what he wants us to do,” I told Paul.

  “Need me?” He raised a hopeful eyebrow.

  I wanted to tell him all about it then, but shook my head and blew him a conciliatory kiss instead. “Later, love.”

  “I’ll just take these down to the basement, then.” Paul gathered up the bags containing Mother’s purchases. “Hold that thought,” he said, and disappeared down the stairway.

  After four exasperating rings, I got the answering machine and Georgina’s naturally breathy voice telling me untruthfully that nobody was home. “Scott. I know you’re there. Pick up.” The silence stretched into an endless minute while I breathed quietly into the recording. “Pick up, dammit!” The line merely hissed and crackled.

  I hung up, counted to ten, and dialed again. This time Scott answered on the first ring. “Sorry, Hannah. I was putting Georgina to bed.”

  Almost unconsciously, I checked my watch. Six-thirty. Scott was putting his wife to bed like a child. “So, what happened with the police?”

  “Oh, God! They questioned her for hours. But she hung in there! Your baby sister hung right in there, Hannah. A regular trouper.”

  Yeah, sure. I could see it now. Flashing those jade-green eyes, seeking Scott’s approval for every lying word. I wondered how well Georgina’s demure damsel-in-distress act had played with the businesslike Sergeant Williams.

  Beating around the bush was never an option with my brother-in-law, so I got right to the point. “So, Scott, tell me this: What did Georgina say that made the police think they needed to talk to Daddy?”

  “How—?”

  Good. I’d caught him off guard. “They showed up in Annapolis over an hour ago.”

  Scott cleared his throat and mumbled something I didn’t understand.

  “Scott? Are you there?”

  “Sorry.” He sighed heavily. “Seems your father went to a therapy session with Georgina. He had a disagreement with the doctor.”

  I was hoping Scott would be more forthcoming about Georgina’s interview than the police had been, so I wasn’t about to make it easy for him. “A disagreement? What about, for Christ’s sake?”

  “Her treatment, I suppose. Or maybe her medication.”

  Liar, I thought. Aloud I asked, “What kind of treatment?”

  I knew I’d touched a nerve when he snarled, “You know I can’t talk about that!”

  “You mean it’s something you can talk about with the police—who the last time I noticed were complete strangers—rather than with your family?”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  “Then I ask you again, Scott. What kind of treatment?”

  He paused before answering. “Diane was urging Georgina to confront her demons head-on.”

  “Demons?”

  “If Georgina is going to be pulled from the abyss, she has to face what happened to her.”

  I hadn’t made it as far as the abyss. I was still stumbling over the demons. And then I made the awful leap. The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Daddy? A demon?”

  “So. You know about it.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact.

  “You think Daddy’s a demon?”

  “I didn’t say that, Hannah. You did.”

  I lost all patience with my brother-in-law. “That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard! How can you believe such crap?” I fumbled for the right words. “Daddy never touched us inappropriately. Never!”

  “Well, Diane was certainly right about that!” Scott sounded disgustingly pleased with himself.

  “Right about what?”

  “She warned Georgina to expect denials.”

  “Well, of course I’m denying it! Nothing like that ever happened.”

  “Hannah, you realize that by refusing to face this issue head-on, you’re no better than a coconspirator?”

  I gasped. “We’re all coconspirators, then. Ruth, Mother, Paul, probably even the paperboy and the Avon lady.” I fell back against the wall, breathless, as if I’d just taken a quick punch to the stomach. Scott was hopeless. If he wanted to label us coconspirators, I had a label for him, too. Enabler.

  I took a deep, steadying breath. “I want to talk to Georgina.”

  “She can’t come to the phone right now.”

  I’ll bet. Another handful of colorful pills had sent her off to la-la land. I wondered what Scott would do if those prescriptions ever ran out. “Will you have her call me when she wakes up?”

  Scott neatly sidestepped my question. “I’ll tell her you called.”

  I knew that nothing I said that day was going to change his mind about Daddy, so I tried another tack. “Have you completely forgotten that we have your children?”

  “Of course not!”

  “What about the children, Scott?”

  I could feel a request being formulated in the silence. “Do you think they could spend the night? Georgina’s in no fit state to take care of them right now.”

  “How about their father, then?” I asked. “Somebody put you on psychotropic drugs lately?”

  “Give me a break, Hannah! I’m looking after your sister and I have a business to run. The business, need I remind you, that pays for all her medical treatment.”

  I stared at a jumble of dirty spoons in the kitchen sink and didn’t say anything.

  “I’ll be down to pick the children up in the morning,” he said at last.

  Scott was slippery. I pushed for specifics. “When, exactly?”

  “Uh, around eight; time for Sunday school. Georgina needs to be playing by nine anyway.”

  I doubted Georgina would be ready to play the radio or anything else in the morning, let alone a pipe organ. “See that you are. Mom and Dad aren’t as young as they used to be.”

  “What? Aren’t the children with you and Paul?” Scott was shouting so loudly I had to pull the receiver away from my ear. What was his problem?

  “No. We’re at Mother’s. They’re spending the night here.”

  “No way! Not after what Georgina told me. No way they’ll stay in the same house with your father.”

  My stomach tightened and I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. He really believed it, then. It wasn’t just a husband’s blind, unquestioning support of a disturbed wife. He believed every one of Georgina’s lies. I took two deep breaths and found my voice. “If that’s the way you feel, then I suggest you get in your goddamn car and come pick them up yourself.”

  Scott must have had rocks for brains. “Are you sure they can’t stay with you?”

  “As you so succinctly put it, Scott, no way. No effing way.” I hung up before he could reply and pressed my forehead against the cool enamel of the kitchen doorframe, wondering when this nightmare would be over.

  When I turned around, I was surprised to see Mother standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, juggling a large box marked “Sheets / Twin.” Oh, God! How much had she overheard? I hurried to relieve her of the box and set it down on the kitchen table. “You won’t need these tonight, Mom. Scott decided to come get the kids after all.”

  The l
ight left her eyes. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Me, too, Mom. Me, too.”

  While we waited for Scott, Mother and I arranged towels and sheets in the upstairs linen closet and Paul called for Chinese carryout. After the delivery boy left, it didn’t take long to turn the kitchen table into a disaster area of red and white cartons, paper plates, overturned sauce cups, crumpled-up napkins, and the odd chopstick. At eight o’clock Scott pulled his SUV into the drive and honked. After a strained conversation with Scott in which I determined that Georgina would probably sleep through till morning, we sent the kids scurrying off with kisses and hugs and tummies full of shrimp fried rice. I had managed some hot-and-sour soup, but that was all I had the stomach for. When Mother gave me That Look, I claimed I was still too full of the pizza I had wolfed down at lunch.

  By the time Mother and I returned to the kitchen after escorting the children down the drive, Paul was ready to go, holding my coat folded over his arm. With my back to him, I struggled into it while he waved the coat around behind me like a matador, trying to anticipate where I’d put my arms. “Where’s Daddy? I want to tell him good-bye.”

  Mom kissed my cheek, handed me my cashmere scarf, then shoved me gently in the direction of the front door. “He’s gone up to his room.” I recognized that wounded expression. Daddy’d probably taken a bottle of scotch up with him. “Look after her, Paul.” Her eyes darted to the food, half-eaten, on my plate. “She needs to keep up her strength or she’ll be too weak for the surgery.”

  His lips brushed her cheek. “Don’t worry, Lois, I will.” Paul’s arm snaked around my waist. “And Lois?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a damn fine shopper.”

  Mother looked from Paul to me, a half smile brightening her face. “Be forewarned,” she said, shaking an index finger. “It’s in the genes.”

  Once we pulled the front door shut behind us, I stood on the porch, sick with dismay. I wanted Paul to bundle me into his arms and get me out of there. I wanted to snuggle against him as he drove me home, and the hell with mandatory seat-belt laws. I wanted a hot bath. A warm bed. But both his car and mine were parked out front.