Chapter 4
Linda was handcuffed in my kitchen.
There was frosting still dried along one side of her face.
Her expensive birthday dress was wet near the bottom from the pool deck.
She looked ridiculous.
But no one was laughing.
Officer Daniels read her rights.
Linda kept staring at Ryan.
Not me.
Not the police.
Ryan.
Like she believed there was still some secret cord between mother and son that she could pull hard enough to make him rescue her.
“Tell them to take these off.”
Ryan said nothing.
“Ryan.”
Nothing.
“I’m your mother.”
His face tightened.
“And Lily is my daughter.”
“You don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can’t with her standing there.”
She looked at me.
I almost smiled.
Even now.
Even in handcuffs.
Somehow I was still the enemy.
Ryan stepped between us.
“Sarah stays.”
Linda’s eyes narrowed.
“She doesn’t know this family.”
“She is my family.”
“She’s your wife.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not the same.”
Ryan stared at her for a long moment.
Then he said,
“It is now.”
Linda looked like he had slapped her.
The officers took her away.
The moment the front door closed, Ryan collapsed into a chair.
I didn’t know what to say.
So I said nothing.
Upstairs, Lily was sleeping after talking briefly with a child-services investigator.
They had kept it gentle.
No pressure.
No repeated questioning.
We had been told not to interrogate her ourselves.
Let trained people handle it.
Protect her.
Keep routine as normal as possible.
Normal.
What a strange word.
There was a police car outside our house.
Birthday decorations still hung from the patio.
A half-destroyed cake sat on the table.
And my mother-in-law had been arrested.
Nothing was normal.
At midnight, Ryan and I sat in the living room.
Neither of us had changed.
His shirt was still damp from holding Lily.
My hair had dried into knots.
Finally he said,
“You knew.”
I looked at him.
“Knew what?”
“That something was wrong with Mom.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I knew she was controlling.”
“You told me.”
“I told you she scared Lily sometimes.”
His eyes snapped to mine.
“You said Lily didn’t like being alone with her.”
“Yes.”
“And I said she needed to spend more time with Mom to get comfortable.”
I closed my eyes.
I remembered that conversation.
Six months earlier.
Lily had cried when Linda offered to pick her up for a sleepover.
Ryan had laughed.
“She’s just being clingy.”
I had said maybe we should cancel.
He accused me of encouraging Lily’s dependence.
So Lily went.
And the next day she came home quiet.
I thought she was tired.
Now I wondered if that was the night she had been locked in the closet.
Ryan stood and walked toward the window.
“Why didn’t you fight me harder?”
The question hit me like a slap.
I stared at his back.
“What?”
He turned.
“If you thought something was wrong, why didn’t you fight me harder?”
Anger flooded through me.
“You don’t get to do that.”
“I’m not blaming you.”
“That sounded exactly like blame.”
“I’m blaming myself.”
“Then blame yourself without dragging me into it.”
He winced.
I stood.
“For years I told you your mother crossed boundaries. You called me sensitive.”
“I know.”
“I told you she undermined me in front of Lily.”
“I know.”
“I told you she scared her.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
“And every time, you made me feel like I was trying to steal you from your mother.”
Ryan sat down again.
“I know.”
The anger left almost as quickly as it came.
Because he looked destroyed.
I sat across from him.
“We failed to see it.”
He shook his head.
“No. You saw more than I did.”
“I still left Lily there.”
“So did I.”
We sat in silence.
At one in the morning, my phone rang.
Officer Daniels.
I answered instantly.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to need you and your husband to come to the station tomorrow morning.”
“Why?”
“There have been developments.”
My stomach tightened.
“What developments?”
“I’d rather discuss them in person.”
“No.”
He paused.
“I’m sorry?”
“You can’t call a mother at one in the morning and say there have been developments involving her child and then ask her to sleep.”
Ryan was watching me.
I put the call on speaker.
Officer Daniels sighed.
“All right.”
We waited.
“The red box contained items labeled with four first names.”
“Lily and three others,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Who are they?”
“We’re still confirming identities.”
Ryan leaned forward.
“Are they children?”
“Yes.”
My hands began to shake.
“Did my mother-in-law hurt them?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“What were the items?”
“Personal items.”
“Like trophies?”
He went quiet.
That silence told me the thought had already occurred to investigators.
“I’m not going to characterize them tonight.”
Ryan rubbed his face.
“Why would my mother have things belonging to other girls?”
“We’re trying to determine that.”
I thought of Linda’s life.
Her friends.
Her church.
Her neighbors.
Birthday parties.
Family gatherings.
She had been a retired elementary school secretary.
Children had always been around her.
A horrible thought formed.
“How old are the other girls?”
“Mrs. Carter—”
“How old?”
Another pause.
“Approximately Lily’s age at the time the items appear to have been collected.”
“At the time?”
Ryan looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
Officer Daniels answered carefully.
“One item appears to be more than twenty years old.”
Ryan froze.
“Twenty?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
Then his face changed.
I watched him calculate.
Twenty years ago, Ryan had been sixteen.
His younger sister had been nine.
Ryan whispered,
“Emily.”
The room became silent.
I knew Emily.
Ryan’s sister.
Barely.
She lived in Vermont.
She visited maybe once every two years.
She almost never spoke to Linda.
Ryan always said they had “personality differences.”
Linda said Emily was selfish.
Ungrateful.
Dramatic.
I had never questioned it.
“What?” I whispered.
Ryan looked at the phone.
“What are the names on the box?”
“We need to confirm identities first.”
“Is one Emily?”
Officer Daniels didn’t answer.
Ryan stood.
“Is one of the labels Emily?”
“I can’t confirm that over the phone.”
“That means yes.”
“Ryan,” I said softly.
He walked away from us.
I followed.
“What are you thinking?”
He shook his head.
“When Emily was little…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“She used to hide in my room.”
My skin prickled.
“From Linda?”
“We called her Mom.”
“I know. What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
He pressed both hands to his forehead.
“She would come in at night and sleep on the floor.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen. Sixteen.”
“And her?”
“Eight or nine.”
“Did she say why?”
“She said she had nightmares.”
I stared at him.
“Did Linda know?”
“Yeah.”
“What did she do?”
His face went pale.
“She used to drag her back to her room.”
I felt cold.
“By her hair?”
Ryan shut his eyes.
That was the answer.
“Oh my God.”
“She said Emily was manipulative.”
“Ryan.”
“I believed her.”
“You were a child too.”
“I was sixteen.”
“You were her son.”
“I should have protected Emily.”
He walked to the kitchen counter and grabbed his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling her.”
“At one in the morning?”
“Yes.”
He dialed.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
A third time.
Then a sleepy voice.
“Ryan?”
His sister sounded alarmed.
“What happened?”
Ryan couldn’t speak.
I watched his throat move.
Finally he said,
“Is Mark okay? The kids?”
“Everyone’s fine. Why are you calling?”
Ryan sat down.
“Emily, I need to ask you something.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Did Mom ever lock you in a closet?”
The other end of the call went completely quiet.
Not confusion.
Not surprise.
Quiet.
Ryan started crying before Emily said a word.
Because he knew.
I knew.
We both knew.
Then Emily whispered,
“Who told you?”
Ryan lowered his head.
“My daughter.”
There was a sharp inhale.
“Lily?”
“Yes.”
“Ryan…”
“She did it to Lily.”
Emily made a sound.
Not a word.
A broken sound.
I took the phone.
“Emily, it’s Sarah.”
“Where is Lily?”
“Sleeping.”
“Is she safe?”
“Yes.”
“Is Linda there?”
“Police arrested her.”
“Good.”
The word came instantly.
No hesitation.
Ryan looked at me.
I put the phone back on speaker.
“Emily,” he whispered.
“What did she do to you?”
His sister was silent for so long I thought she had hung up.
Then she said,
“You don’t want that answer.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No. You want an answer you can survive.”
Ryan began to cry harder.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“I should have known.”
“You were a kid.”
“I watched her drag you upstairs.”
“You were a kid.”
“I believed her.”
“Ryan.”
“What?”
“You were scared of her too.”
He stopped.
I looked at him.
Ryan frowned.
“I wasn’t.”
Emily laughed sadly.
“Yes, you were.”
“No.”
“You just learned to obey faster.”
Ryan stared at the floor.
Emily continued.
“She never had to lock you in the closet because she only had to look at you.”
My husband’s face changed.
Pieces of his childhood were moving inside him.
Things he had called discipline.
Rules.
Respect.
Maybe they had always been fear.
I whispered,
“Emily, there were four names on a red box.”
She stopped breathing.
I could hear it.
The silence.
Then she said,
“Red box?”
“Yes.”
“Where did they find it?”
“In the closet.”
“No.”
Her voice became panicked.
“No, no, no.”
Ryan looked at me.
“What?”
Emily started crying.
“Tell the police not to touch anything.”
“They already found it.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
“What don’t we understand?”
Her breath shook.
“The red box isn’t where she kept the worst things.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
Ryan whispered,
“What worst things?”
May you like
Emily answered,
“The basement.”
