Page 134 of Bend
“Answer me!” She slammed her palm on the table.
I held my hands up and sat back. It was too much. I needed time to think, to talk to people. To breathe, for Chrissakes.
“Fiona, tell me. I’ll protect you. I’ll put myself between you and anything. But just tell me. Did he ever touch you in a way that made you uncomfortable?”
“No, Mom. He never touched me inappropriately.”
“Your sisters?”
“Why now? I’m twenty-three years old. What happened?”
She sighed then pursed her lips, a series of facial tics that meant she was holding in an emotion, any emotion. I said nothing. My heart was pounding too fast.
“There’s talk that he’d had a relationship with the girl who just died.”
“Jonathan’s girlfriend?”
“Previous to that, when she was a bit younger, but yes. Your brother didn’t know until recently, and he’s not happy with it. So.” She sat up straighter. “Did he ever touch one of your sisters?”
I wished for time, and my wish was not granted. The clock still moved. Things had been said in pledge. We’d held our hands up and made promises, and though I’d broken plenty of promises in life, I’d never broken pledge. None of us had. We had a code of silence, and inside of it sat our denials, our shame, our bonds.
“I can’t say,” I said. “Not directly.”
Mom’s face melted, constricting, as if her tears shrunk and crinkled it. I snapped up the ubiquitous box of tissues and put it in front of her.
“So it’s true,” she spit out before the sob choked her.
“It’s complicated, Mom. It’s not what you think, but I can’t say. It’s not my place.”
“You think you’re protecting someone, but have you thought that the way you all are… that you hurt each other with this wall you put up?”
“Yeah, I’ve thought about it.”
“What are you all afraid of?”
Afraid? I wasn’t afraid of being cut off from their money. I had more than I needed, and it couldn’t be touched. I wasn’t afraid of being cut off from my siblings, because we were strung together with strong twine.
I was afraid of Dad.
Dad had a way of making things happen. He had a way of using his relationships and his money to create chaos or order, as he saw fit.
But Mom was in distress, and how much worse could it all get? I was already up a creek; what would be the difference if I threw my paddle in the rushing billows of shit?
“You should talk to Carrie,” I said, instantly regretting it, yet feeling the release of something I hadn’t realized I was holding so close.
“It was Carrie?” she squeaked.
“Talk to her.”
She wiped her eyes, but her tears barely abated. “God damn that big house.” She folded and refolded the tissue. “God damn the corners. You can’t see what’s happening. You can’t hear. We avoid each other. Did you see how that happened? How we went to the far corners?”
“There were eight kids, Mom. You needed a big house. What were you supposed to do?”
“Pay attention. I was supposed to pay attention!”
Mom looked up and behind me. I followed her gaze.
Margie stood in the doorway. “What’s going on?”
