Chapter 1 - The dinner table
My daughter was under Diane Carter’s chair when I came home.
For eleven days I had been in Boston helping my mother after hip surgery.
Ryan and I had argued about whether Lily should come with me.
He said the travel would exhaust her.
He promised:
“She’ll be with me every night.”
I believed him.
At 7:36 on the evening I returned, I rolled my suitcase through the front hall and heard laughter coming from the dining room.
Ryan had not mentioned a dinner.
I followed the voices.
Then stopped.
Eight people sat around the table.
Ryan.
Diane.
Ryan’s uncle.
Two cousins.
A family friend and his wife.
Food everywhere.
Steak.
Roasted potatoes.
Warm bread.
Wine.
Dessert plates waiting on the sideboard.
And beneath Diane’s chair sat Lily.
My two-year-old daughter.
Dirty yellow pajamas.
Tangled auburn hair.
Tear tracks drying on both cheeks.
Bare feet against cold marble.
Her stuffed rabbit clutched under one arm.
She reached toward a piece of meat that had fallen beside Diane’s heel.
Diane looked down.
Then slowly pushed the food toward Lily with the toe of her black shoe.
“If she acts like an animal, she eats like one.”
My suitcase fell.
Ryan stood.
“Emma—”
I crossed the room.
Lily saw me.
Her face changed so quickly I nearly lost control of my legs.
“Mommy.”
Not loud.
Not excited.
Relieved.
I picked her up.
Her body felt hot and light.
Too light?
Maybe.
I could not tell yet.
Her fingers smelled sour.
Her lips were dry.
She grabbed my coat so hard the fabric pulled against my neck.
I looked at the table.
“Why is she on the floor?”
Diane lifted her wine.
“She’s been impossible.”
I took Diane’s full dinner plate.
Then dumped it into her lap.
Steak.
Potatoes.
Sauce.
All over burgundy silk.
People gasped.
Diane stood.
Ryan caught my arm.
“Emma, stop.”
I ripped free and slapped his hand away.
“You starved your own daughter.”
“I did not starve her.”
“She’s eating food off the floor.”
“She refused dinner.”
“Then why isn’t she in a high chair?”
Silence.
I looked at Lily.
Her eyes were half closed.
“Baby, when did you eat?”
She pressed her face into me.
Diane said:
“She ate earlier.”
“What?”
“Enough.”
My entire body went cold.
I turned toward Ryan.
“How long has she been like this?”
He looked at his mother.
That was the first answer.
Not words.
The glance.
He was waiting for Diane.
I took out my phone.
Diane said:
“Do not bring police into my house.”
I called anyway.
Ryan whispered:
“Emma.”
“Move.”
“Think about what you’re doing.”
“I am.”
Lily trembled when Diane took one step toward us.
That was the second answer.
I backed away.
“Don’t come near her.”
Diane’s expression hardened.
“You disappear for almost two weeks and come home pretending to be mother of the year.”
“I was caring for my mother.”
“Your child needed structure.”
Ryan said:
“Mom.”
Too weak.
Too late.
Then Lily whispered into my coat:
“Downstairs no.”
I looked at her.
“What downstairs?”
Her fingers tightened around the rabbit.
“Dark.”
Diane stopped moving.
I saw it.
A flicker.
Fear.
May you like
Then the doorbell rang.
Police.
