Chapter 9 - The Things We Called Small
I used to think the trouble started with the skillet. At Tess's house, I began remembering all the smaller mornings that led to it.
When Emma was two, Mom called her stubborn because she wouldn't kiss Vanessa goodbye. When Emma was three, Vanessa took a birthday toy out of her hands and said Lily deserved the better one. Each time I objected, somebody told me not to make a scene.
"Why did I keep bringing her back?" I asked Tess.
She was folding children's socks at the end of the couch. "Because you wanted your daughter to have a grandmother. That's not a crime. But now you know what that house costs her."
"I should've seen it."
"You saw pieces. They kept telling you the pieces were nothing."
I called my supervisor again and arranged to work remotely during Emma's follow-up appointments. Gloria asked whether I needed an advance on my paycheck. I said not yet and thanked her for letting me keep my dignity.
At night Emma woke crying because her face hurt. I sat beside her, following the care instructions, until she settled. Sometimes she asked whether Lily was in trouble too.
"Lily didn't do anything wrong," I told her.
"I just wanted some eggs."
"I know, baby."
On Friday, Detective Brooks visited Tess's house. She brought no dramatic revelations, only a careful question.
"Have you ever noticed Vanessa frightening either child before?"
I told her about Christmas. I gave her Ben's name and the date of the photographs I still had.
Brooks wrote everything down. "I can't promise a quick answer, Rachel. I can promise we're checking what can be checked."
Before she left, she showed me the list of people interviewed or scheduled. My mother was there. My father. Ben. The emergency staff. Miles.
One name wasn't on the list yet: Lily.
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"She's a child," Brooks said. "We won't rush her."
Then she added, "There's one thing I can tell you. Vanessa has changed her story again."
