Chapter 2 - Behind the Blue Curtain
The bay smelled of rubbing alcohol, iodine, and the faint, sweet scent of strawberry lip balm.
Lily sat on the edge of the high hospital bed, her small legs dangling inches above the cold floor. She was wearing an oversized grey hoodie—Daniel’s hoodie—with the left sleeve pushed up to her elbow. Her left arm was resting on a white pillow, wrapped in a temporary padded splint.
She looked so small under the harsh overhead fluorescent light. At twelve years old, she had her mother’s dark, almond-shaped eyes and my family’s quiet, stubborn chin.
When the curtain rings slid along the metal track, she flinched, her body tensing like a spring.
Then she saw my face.
The tension didn't leave her, but her shoulders dropped half an inch.
"Grandpa," she whispered.
I didn't rush across the room. I didn't shout. I didn't break down. Children who have been terrorized by unstable adults don't need wild emotion from the people who come to rescue them; they need stability. They need an anchor.
I walked to the side of the bed, pulled up a vinyl-topped rolling stool, and sat down so my eyes were level with hers.
"Hey, kiddo," I said softly.
I reached out and gently laid my hand on her right shoulder—the uninjured side. She leaned her forehead against my chest, her breathing ragged, though she didn't cry. She had learned, somewhere along the line, that crying brought more attention, and attention in that house was dangerous.
"You did good calling me," I told her, resting my cheek against her soft hair. "You did everything right."
"Dad took my phone," she whispered against my jacket. "After... after it happened. He took it out of my pocket while Natalie was calling 911. But he didn't know about the prepaid one in my shoe."
I stroked her hair gently. "Smart girl."
"Grandpa... she twisted it," Lily said, her voice cracking for the first time. "I was in my room studying for my science test. She came in because I hadn't unloaded the dishwasher. I told her I would do it in ten minutes when I finished my chapter. She... she grabbed my hand off the desk and twisted it until I felt a pop."
My teeth clicked together. "And your father?"
"He was downstairs in the kitchen," she said. "I screamed. When he came running up, Natalie was kneeling beside me on the floor, crying. She told Dad that I had lost my balance on the rug and tried to grab her arm, and that when we fell together, my wrist got trapped under her body."
"And what did Daniel say?"
Lily pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes. The heartbreak in her face was far worse than the swelling in her arm.
"He looked at me," she whispered. "And then he looked at her. And he told her, 'It's okay, honey, it was an accident. We'll go to the hospital.' He didn't even ask me if she was telling the truth. He just took her hand."
"He chose the lie," I said quietly.
"He always chooses her lie," Lily said. "Every time I have a bruise, every time a dish breaks, every time my things disappear from my room... he looks at her like he's afraid she's going to leave him if he doesn't believe her."
I reached inside my jacket and pulled out my small notebook.
"Lily," I said, opening to a fresh page. "I'm going to ask you a few questions. I need you to answer them as clearly as you can. Can you do that for me?"
She looked at the pen in my hand. She knew what that notebook meant. She had seen me use it her whole life whenever I was working a case.
"Are you taking notes for a judge?" she asked.
"I'm taking notes for everyone who is about to try and silence you," I said. "Four months ago, in October... what happened to your ribs?"
Lily’s breath hitched. She looked down at her hands. "How did you know about that?"
"The doctor showed me the pictures, sweetie. The bone remembers."
She swallowed hard. "She pushed me down the stairs into the laundry room. She said I was walking too slowly."
"And six months ago? Your right arm?"
"She slammed the car door on my arm when we were at the country club," Lily said, a tear finally escaping her eye and tracing a track down her pale cheek. "She told Dad I was trying to jump out of the moving car."
I wrote down every word. Names. Dates. Locations. Context.
"Gerald?" a voice called out from behind the curtain.
I didn't turn around immediately. I finished writing the date October 14th, drew a precise line beneath it, and clicked my pen shut.
Then I stood up and turned around.
My son, Daniel, was standing in the gap between the plastic curtains.
He was thirty-eight years old, wearing a tailored fleece pullover and designer jeans. He looked handsome, successful, and thoroughly hollowed out. Behind his eyes was the frantic, flickering panic of a man who knows his house is built on dry leaves, and someone has just struck a match.
Behind him stood Natalie.
May you like
She was thirty-two, perfectly put together even at three in the morning, wearing a beige cashmere sweater and silk trousers. Her blonde hair was styled in a casual, expensive bun. Her eyes were bright with rehearsed concern, but beneath that concern was a cold, sharp calculation that I had spent forty years recognizing in bad people.
"Dad?" Daniel said, his voice dropping into an angry, defensive pitch. "What are you doing here?"
