I come moments later, quiet, in the dark, and then she holds me and starts sobbing against my chest.
Oh fuck. I pull out.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask, terrified that I applied too much pressure to her neck.
My hands are already checking—gentle fingers on her throat, feeling for any tenderness. Looking for marks. Assessing damage.
Check her breathing: steady.
Check her pulse at her throat: strong.
Check her eyes: crying, but focused.
But she shakes her head, glistening in the dim light of the nightlight plugged in by the sink. “Never. It was perfect.You’reperfect. I want this. I want you. I think I’m just scared about what this all?—”
I scan her face one more time. Two more times. Three. Four.
Four checks. She’s okay. She’s safe.
I wrap my arms around her and rock her back and forth against my chest.
“Shhh, shhh,” I whisper as she whimpers against my chest. “Shhh. Everything’s going to be okay. I swear it.”
THIRTY-ONE
HARPER
I’m sopissed off at Dad, so I’m not exactly in the holiday mood.
When Christmas morning comes around a couple of days later, I can tell Helen really wants to make it a special day. She’s got a full face of makeup on at eight in the morning, for God’s sake, and has so much pep in her voice.
Sox is curled up on the armchair by the fire, wearing a ridiculous red and green Christmas collar with a jingle bell that Helen must’ve put on her this morning. The cat looks supremely annoyed about it, but she’s tolerating the festive humiliation.
It’s the first time I’ve seen Sox allowed out with everyone. Usually, she’s banished upstairs when Silas is around.
“I took my Zyrtec,” Silas says when he catches me looking at the cat. “She deserves to enjoy Christmas too.”
Helen beams at him like he just donated a kidney.
Even that small gesture—letting Sox be here—would’ve meant something to me a few weeks ago. Now it just feels like part of the performance.
The huge Christmas tree we all set up weeks before glitters with lights as we sit in the overstuffed couches nearby, and with the adorable cat and that damn fireplace crackling away?—
It’s another scene out of a Hallmark movie.
A month ago, I was fully bought in. Helen put old homey Christmas music on a vinyl record player, and she and Dad danced around toRockin’ Around the Christmas Treewhile Caleb and I laughed and threw tinsel at each other.
Now there’s just the sour pit in the bottom of my stomach, knowing this is all a lie. A lie that’s going to come not just crumbling but smashing down sooner rather than later.
“Harper,” Silas barks at me. “Helen went to the trouble of making you breakfast from scratch. The least you could do is thank her.”
I glare at him from where I’m sitting with my arms crossed on the couch beside Z, who is already halfway through his first cinnamon roll. Helen set out a tray of them on the coffee table in the center of the living room. Caleb is quick to respond for me.
“These look great, Mom.”
He reaches forward and grabs a small red plate, dishing out one roll for himself and then another for me.
“I’m so impressed with your baking. I can’t believe how good you’ve gotten.”