Chapter 20
By the time I reached high school, most people around me didn’t know the whole story.
I liked that.
For years I had been “the boy from the case.”
Then I became Ethan who liked science.
Ethan who hated running.
Ethan who was terrible at basketball.
Ethan who helped Marcus rebuild an old motorcycle even though Dad said motorcycles were “machines designed by orthopedic surgeons seeking customers.”
Sarah thought that joke was offensive.
Then admitted it was funny.
Lily was one grade behind me.
She grew into someone fearless.
At least that was how she looked from the outside.
She joined debate.
She argued with teachers.
She once corrected the principal during an assembly.
But every year around the anniversary of Ryan’s death, she became quiet.
At fourteen she asked Dad to take her to see Amanda.
Nobody expected it.
Amanda was still in prison.
She had completed years of therapy.
Her contact restrictions allowed supervised visits if Lily’s therapist and guardian approved.
Dad didn’t say no.
He said, “Let’s talk about why.”
“I want to see her.”
“That’s a reason. Not the why.”
Lily frowned.
“I want to know if she looks like I remember.”
That answer made Dad sad.
They worked with Dr. Harris.
Lily prepared for months.
She wrote questions.
She decided what topics were off limits.
She created a signal if she wanted the visit ended.
I asked whether she wanted me there.
“No.”
That hurt.
She saw my face.
“I need to do this as her daughter.”
I nodded.
Not every road siblings walked had to be shared.
Dad went with her.
A counselor supervised.
I stayed home with Sarah.
I checked the clock every five minutes.
When the front door finally opened, Lily walked in.
She looked older.
I stood.
“Well?”
She dropped her bag.
Then hugged me.
That told me enough.
Later she explained.
Amanda looked smaller.
Older.
Gray in her hair.
No perfect makeup.
No control over the room.
“She cried when she saw me.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you hug her?”
“At the end.”
“How was it?”
Lily stared at her hands.
“Sad.”
“Bad sad?”
“Just sad.”
Amanda apologized.
This time she didn’t say “but.”
No stress.
No excuses.
No blaming Dad.
She admitted lying about Ryan’s parents.
She admitted using Lily as leverage.
She admitted trying to flee.
Then Lily asked about me.
“What did she say?”
Lily looked at me.
“She said hurting you was the thing she was most ashamed of.”
I didn’t feel victorious.
I felt tired.
“Did she say why?”
“Yes.”
I waited.
“She was jealous.”
I almost laughed.
“Of a seven-year-old?”
“Before that.”
Lily explained.
Amanda was jealous of Mom.
Claire.
Not because Dad still romantically loved her.
Because Mom would always exist in our family.
In photographs.
Stories.
Me.
Amanda could never replace her.
So she punished the reminder.
“That’s messed up,” I said.
“Very.”
“Did she ask to see me?”
“Yes.”
My body stiffened.
“What did you say?”
“I told her that wasn’t my decision.”
I hugged Lily.
“Good answer.”
I did not visit Amanda.
Not then.
Maybe not ever.
That was my choice.
Dad never asked me to forgive her.
Sarah never did.
Lily didn’t.
That freedom made forgiveness less important.
Senior year, I wrote my college essay about food.
Not abuse.
Food.
I wrote about how a full refrigerator could become a symbol of safety.
How hunger changes the way a child thinks.
How school meal programs matter.
How teachers noticing a student hoarding snacks can save lives.
My guidance counselor cried.
I hated that.
“Is it too much?”
“No.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because it’s good.”
“People cry when writing is good?”
“Sometimes.”
“That’s weird.”
She laughed.
I applied to several universities.
I wanted to study psychology or social work.
Dad tried not to influence me.
He failed.
“You could also study business.”
“No.”
“Law?”
“No.”
“Engineering?”
“Dad.”
“I’m just naming majors.”
“You named yours.”
He smiled.
“Coincidence.”
I was accepted into my first-choice school.
With a scholarship.
Dad read the email three times.
Sarah screamed.
Lily tackled me.
Robert opened sparkling cider.
Ellen cried.
Marcus claimed he always knew.
Then Dad stepped outside.
I followed.
He stood on the porch.
“You okay?”
He nodded.
“You’re doing the face.”
He laughed.
“I’m thinking about the day you were born.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Here we go.”
“You fit on my forearm.”
“I doubt that.”
“You did.”
He looked at me.
“Your mom told me I was holding you too tightly.”
I stopped smiling.
He rarely talked about Mom without me asking.
“She said babies aren’t going anywhere.”
Dad’s eyes filled.
“I think I spent years holding too loosely after she died because I was scared of becoming overprotective.”
I didn’t interrupt.
“Then Amanda happened.”
“Dad.”
“I know.”
He smiled.
“No endless apologies.”
“Good.”
“I just wish Claire could see you.”
I looked through the window.
Lily was dancing with Sarah.
Robert was trying to open another bottle.
Ellen was moving plates.
“She can’t.”
“No.”
“But everybody else can.”
Dad looked at me.
I shrugged.
“That’s pretty good.”
He put his arm around my shoulders.
May you like
“Yeah.”
It was.
