The Word Game (10 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

AL
YSON

Saturday evening

Alyson was in the kitchen prepping for dinner, when the doorbell rang. She quickly dropped the onion she was about to peel, wiped her hands on her apron, and rushed to the door. It had to be Tricia with an update.

She’d been on pins and needles all afternoon waiting for her sister to call or text about her conversation with Katy. They needed to form a plan, discuss the next steps. God forbid Keera was out with Eddie right now . . . Her stomach clenched at the idea, and she pushed it aside. There was no way Tricia would let that happen. She’d call Myah first. She knew she would.

She opened the door prepared to see her sister on the other side, but it was her mother.

“What’s up?” she asked as she opened the screen door to allow Ida in.

“We need to talk.” Ida stood there, purse clutched in her hands, and frowned.

“I’m in the middle of getting dinner ready.” Alyson turned and walked toward the kitchen, assuming her mother would follow, but in reality, not caring in the least.

Her mother wasn’t one of her favorite people, for a lot of reasons, but normally Alyson managed to hide how she felt, or at least, she thought she did. But right now, all her emotions were at the forefront, and she doubted she could hide anything if she tried.

“Can I help?” Ida asked.

Alyson shook her head and pointed toward the table. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

She took a moment to breathe deeply—she knew she needed to relax. Taking her frustration out on her mother wasn’t the right thing to do. So she uncorked a bottle of red wine and poured herself a glass.

“Would you like some?”

Ida shook her head. “I won’t be here long. Your father is waiting for me at the Legion for dinner.”

Alyson took a sip of her wine, letting it settle on her tongue for a moment before she swallowed. “What do we need to talk about, Mom?”

Ida’s face morphed into a look Alyson knew all too well.

“Let me guess,” Alyson said before her mother could start. “Tricia called to talk, or maybe to ask your opinion, as a good daughter would, and you decided that you needed to come and talk me down, to stop me from doing anything drastic—again.” She took another sip of her wine and watched the way her mother’s eyes widened. “Am I close?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice if she’d tried.

“You don’t need to talk to me with that tone. What have I ever done to you to deserve your condescension?” Ida asked. “No, don’t answer that.” She stopped Alyson with a wave of her hand. “I’m well aware of what you think gives you the right, but for once in your life, can you stop reacting as a child and act like the adult you’re supposed to be.” Ida stood up and stepped to the counter, facing Alyson.

“Everything I have done in my life has been to protect you, to help you . . . as best as I knew how. Condemn me all you want for falling short, but remember one thing: everything you do for your daughter, I did for you.” Ida gripped the edges of the counter, and for the first time in a long time, Alyson saw the hurt in her mother’s eyes. “It may not have been enough, but it was all I could do.”

“Mom, I’m sorry.” Ida was right. Of course she was right. “I thought I’d dealt with everything a long time ago, but it’s times like this, when I know something is wrong, that it all comes flooding back. I can’t ignore it, I can’t push it down deep into that well like you and Tricia seem to be able to do . . . I try, but I can’t.”

“Maybe it’s time to go back to counseling?”

Alyson was shocked at Ida’s suggestion. In the beginning, when Alyson first started seeing a psychiatrist, her mother had scoffed at the idea.

“It helped you before. Maybe it will help you now. I know you feel Keera is being abused by Myah’s husband, but until you know for sure, I think you need to take a step back. That’s why I’m here.”

“I don’t need to take a step back. Why would I? I’m not making up what Lyla told me.”

“I don’t think you are. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. But . . .” Ida shook her head and looked away.

“But what?” Alyson prodded.

“Do you remember what happened with that mother’s group you used to attend when Lyla was just a baby?”

Alyson grimaced. She’d forgotten about that.

She’d joined a local moms’ group where they met for an hour a few times a week at different homes—it was a chance to get to know other young moms, let their kids socialize with other children, ask for advice . . . and develop some good friendships. On a day when it was Alyson’s turn to host, she’d caught two little boys, the ages of two and three, in the bathroom with their pants pulled down and with the two-year-old on his knees. Shocked at what she saw, Alyson asked the boys what they were doing. The boy who was three said his daddy told him it felt good, so they wanted to try it.

Alyson had flipped out, caused quite the stir at her house, and ended up calling Child Protective Services on the parents of the three-year-old boy.

What Alyson thought had been sexual abuse turned out to be a little boy who’d woken up in the middle of the night and saw something his parents never intended him to see or hear.

“I remember,” Alyson said. “But this is different. I know it is.” She had no doubt, not after the things Lyla told her. “But I’m not rushing into anything, I’m waiting on Tricia, for her to talk with Katy and find out for herself.”

Relief washed over Ida’s features until she gave her daughter a sharp look. “Are you sure? Or are you just saying that to placate me?”

Alyson sighed. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t need you to check in on me or give me permission to do what I know is best.”

“I realize that.” Ida hitched her purse over her shoulder. “But I wanted to be sure that you weren’t going to do something foolish.”

A moment of guilt flashed through Alyson’s mind. The accusation of being a child abuser doesn’t go away just because it turns out to be untrue.

“I wouldn’t do that to Myah, not unless I was sure.”

“We all need to be sure.”

“I don’t need you to be sure of anything. This doesn’t concern you at all, in fact. It involves my daughter and her friend and my sister since it happened at her house. I don’t need you to give me permission to do anything, Mother.” She could feel her body begin to shake with stress and took a deep breath. “Thank you for coming over, for giving me your advice. But I didn’t ask for it—so don’t be too upset if I don’t follow it.”

She picked up the knife on the counter and cut the onion she’d been ignoring in half. The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board filled the room with a thud.

After a solemn pause, Ida took the hint and walked out of the house.

Alyson set the knife down and held up her trembling hands. She needed to calm down. One thing she’d learned through counseling was that she allowed her mother too much power over her emotions.

She picked up her glass and, in one swallow, drank the rest of the wine before filling it up again.

All throughout dinner, the only thing Alyson could think about was the situation her mother had mentioned earlier. She couldn’t even remember the names of the parents involved, but she would always remember the guilt she’d felt afterward when she’d found out the truth.

She’d placed a spotlight on a family that didn’t deserve it and ruined their reputation in the process.

Her father had a saying.
Die vergangenheit wiederholt sich immer, aber wir sehen es nie kommen.
The past always repeats itself, but we never see it coming.

There was a niggling piece of doubt—it was small but present—that maybe she was overreacting. Maybe she was looking for more in a situation than was actually there.

But then she would remember the words Lyla said.
Does a boy kiss like a man?
Why would Keera say something like that unless she would know? And the seductive dance moves . . . Yes, it was completely plausible that what Alyson considered inappropriate others might not. Especially Eddie, whose life was dancing, but . . .

With Lyla in bed and Scott in the other room watching television, Alyson sat in her reading chair in the study, phone in hand, and debated whether to send Rachel a text asking to talk. Or she could just wait.

“Having second thoughts?” Scott stood in the doorway, startling Alyson.

She’d talked to him while they were cleaning up the kitchen, and while Scott listened to all she had to say, he also cautioned her to wait. But what if by waiting, Keera continued to be hurt?

“I wish Tricia would call me.” She hadn’t responded to any of her texts, e-mails, or phone calls. That could only mean one of two things: she was leaving it in Alyson’s hands to deal with, or she had no good news.

“Don’t do anything tonight, okay? Sleep on it. Think about it a bit more. There’s no rush,” Scott said.

No rush? What was he thinking? What if it had been Lyla?

“Someone needs to protect our girls.” If no one else would do it, then she would.

“Whose job is it to protect Lyla?” Scott asked.

“Ours.” She knew where he was headed with this. “And don’t even go there.”

His eyebrow rose at her remark. “I wouldn’t have to if you’d stop letting your past dictate your present.” He rubbed his face. “Aly, I know you trust our daughter, but . . .” He shook his head and didn’t finish his sentence.

“Talk to her tomorrow after dinner. That’s all I ask. Okay?” He stared at her, willing her to promise him something she wasn’t sure she could do.

She gave him a side-glance and a halfhearted smile while mentally praying that he’d just leave her alone.

Either he heard her or God answered her prayers, because the next thing she knew, he turned and walked away. “Want coffee or a glass of wine?” he called out.

“Wine.” What was the harm with one more glass? Besides, what she was about to do wasn’t for the faint of heart. “But I’ll come and get it,” she called back to him. The last thing she wanted was for him to return and continue his crusade to get her to wait.

She pushed herself up from her chair and went toward the kitchen, when her husband stopped her. He held a bottle of her favorite wine in one hand and a glass in the other.

“I said I would come and get it,” she said.

He nodded. “I know. I also know you only said it to get rid of me.”

“Not true.”

“You’ll do whatever you want to do, and nothing I can say or even do will stop you. I know that.” He held out the wineglass to her.

He knew her so well. “So now what?”

“So now”—he twisted off the wine stopper—“I pour you a glass of wine and remind you that no matter what, I’ll always have your back—whether I agree with you or not.” He poured wine into her glass and once it was half-full, he replaced the stopper and leaned forward, giving her a kiss.

Alyson took her wine and sat back down, bolstered by his support.

She did know best.

She hesitated for a few seconds before typing her text.

Rachel, this weekend something happened, and I need to talk to you about it. Can we meet for coffee in the morning?

She hit send and tried to relax. At least Lyla was okay. Her daughter was okay. She would do everything in her power to ensure her daughter
never
had to go through what she did.

Her memory of what happened that afternoon when she was a young teen might be fuzzy, but she knew . . . she knew deep in her soul . . . that her innocence had been lost, that she’d been abused, and no one had believed her. Except for her sister. She’d been the one to come into the room while . . .
he
 . . . was there. But not even her own mother had believed her, not even when Alyson had broken down in front of her, sobbing in the corner of her bedroom. She could remember, however, the scowl on her mother’s face, the way she left the room, her shoulders stiff, hands clenched at her side. She recalled the shame she’d felt when she had to repeat her story to the neighbor next door, the mother of the teen who’d taken advantage of her. She knew what it was like to be called a liar, to have her words doubted, and to become a pariah.

She breathed a sigh of relief as the weight of her decision eased. Yes, she’d meet Rachel in the morning, but they’d just chat. She wouldn’t say anything. She’d wait. She’d talk to her sister and see what Katy said. If need be, the two of them, her and Tricia, could talk to Myah together.

It was the least she could do, dealing with this together, after everything Tricia had done for her.

She rinsed her mouth out and then stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, watching as the stress around her eyes eased. An old saying her mom used to tell her came to mind. Sie
können nicht allen retten, aber wenigstens diese eine.
You can’t save everyone, but you can save the one. Her mom used to tell her she carried the world on her shoulders, and it was true. It always had been true.

“You okay?” Scott knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yeah, I’m okay now.” She gave him a smile as she came out.

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “I’m glad you didn’t contact Rachel. Her being the principal of the elementary school means she’s going to look at this as a school safety issue.”