Chapter 6 - THE SILENCE OF THE MOTHER
My mother was still in the armchair when I returned.
Brooke was gone.
Her car was missing from the driveway,
along with most of her inventory.
She had fled,
leaving her husband and her mother-in-law to drown.
I sat on the coffee table in front of my mother.
“Derek’s been arrested, Carol.”
She didn't move.
She looked through me,
at a world that no longer existed.
“He was always the sensitive one,” she whispered.
“He needed so much.”
“And I needed a lawyer, Mom.”
“I needed a mother who would look at the bank statements instead of the curtains.”
She finally looked at me.
Her eyes were hollow,
filled with a shame she had tried to spray away with alcohol.
“I knew,” she said.
The words were small,
but they filled the room.
“I knew he was taking the money.”
“He told me it was a loan.”
“He said you wouldn't mind.”
“Then when the police came...
he said if he went to jail,
the store would close.”
“He said we’d lose the house.”
“He said Dad wouldn't survive the shock.”
I felt a cold rage settle in my heart.
“So you let me take the fall.”
“You let them take two years of my life to save a hardware store.”
“I thought you were strong, Maren.”
“I thought you could handle it.”
“He was so fragile.”
I stood up.
“Strength isn't an invitation for abuse, Mom.”
“And fragility isn't an excuse for crime.”
I looked around the living room.
The Blessed Home sign.
The lavender plug-ins.
The lies.
“You’re going to have to testify, Mom.”
“The DA is going to ask you about the deposits.”
“They’re going to ask why you lied on the stand.”
“I’ll go to jail,” she whispered.
“Maybe.”
“But at least you’ll be in a place where the energy matches the actions.”
I walked to the hallway.
I went back into my room.
The office.
I started taking Brooke’s jewelry off the shelves.
I threw the boxes into the hallway.
I ripped the ring light off the desk.
I reclaimed the space,
inch by inch.
I found my grandma’s quilt in a box in the basement.
I brought it back up.
I laid it on the bed.
I sat in the middle of the room,
surrounded by the wreckage of their boutique.
The house was speaking now.
It was telling me about the late-night arguments.
It was telling me about the fear in my father’s heart.
It was telling me that I was home.
But it wasn't a family home anymore.
May you like
It was a crime scene.
And the investigation was just beginning.
