Chapter 5 - The Laundry Room
How many nights had Ione slept there?
Two.
Not weeks.
Not months.
Two nights in the previous ten days.
The first followed a tantrum over cleaning up craft supplies.
Marjorie was babysitting while I attended an overnight work conference.
She told Ione:
“If you leave a mess, you sleep where work happens.”
She moved Ione’s pillow and blanket into the hallway alcove beside the laundry room.
Not inside the laundry room.
Not locked.
Not on bare concrete.
The hallway had hardwood floor and a rug.
Still inappropriate.
Ione slept there until around midnight, then Marjorie allowed her back to bed after she apologized.
The second happened the night before I discovered everything.
I had been in New York.
Vaughn was home but went to bed early.
He believed Ione was sleeping in her room.
Marjorie made her sleep beside the laundry room from roughly 9 p.m. until 5:30 a.m.
Why?
Ione had refused to finish folding towels.
When I asked Vaughn:
“How did you not see?”
He stared at the floor.
“Our rooms are on the other side of the house.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“I didn’t check.”
There.
Vaughn knew Marjorie had assigned chores.
Dishes.
Folding.
Sweeping.
He approved.
He believed Ione had become:
“too dependent.”
He did not know about forced floor sleeping.
He did not know Marjorie poured water over her.
He did not know international travel was booked.
But he knew Marjorie had become harsher.
He chose not to ask details.
His failure was not secret collaboration.
May you like
It was comfortable ignorance.
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