Chapter 2 Daphne

When I was a little girl, I couldn't get enough of fairy tales. I especially loved the ones where the heroine escaped from the monster and went on to live happily ever after. But what I've come to learn is that sometimes there's no such thing as a happy ending. Yes, there's the blessed relief of freedom from tyranny and terror, but the scars live on. I still find myself reaching for the food journal Jackson made me keep, guilt consuming me when I eat anything not on his approved list. And then I remember, I don't have to keep track any longer. I see him in my dreams—or rather, my nightmares—varied scenarios in which I'm back with him, bewildered at why and how I find myself at his mercy, a prisoner in his carefully cultivated world. With the break of every dawn, I find release and breathe deeply air no longer tainted by his presence. There are times I have trouble trying to regain some of what he stole from me: trust in the goodness of others, the ability to let my guard down with new friends, belief in the veracity of my own judgment. I'm wary now. Careful in a way I never was before. But maybe that's a good thing.

California has been good for my daughters and me since we moved here a little over a year ago. Our home is peaceful. No angry arguments or yelling. People are friendly but not intrusive. A wave and a smile, a few polite words, and they let you go on with your day. My mother is in seventh heaven, thrilled to be a daily part of our lives, after being banished from it for so long. Jackson led her to believe that I didn't want her around too often, when the truth was, he delighted in keeping us apart. She takes the girls to school and all their activities and insists on cooking dinner for us every night. It feels good to be taken care of again, and so I let her. I continue my work for Julie's Smile, the foundation to raise money for cystic fibrosis that I'd started in memory of my sister, Julie, who died of the disease when she was sixteen. I've established a small headquarters here in Santa Cruz and continue to raise money for CF research. We don't do elaborate fundraisers like we used to in Bishops Harbor, but we generate support through social media and direct marketing campaigns. It's been a wonderful vehicle of healing for my mother too and a way for the two of us to feel we're still connected to my sister.

I've joined the neighborhood book club and it's so wonderful to make friends and be open with them. No more living in a silent hell and pretending it's paradise. We bond over our shared parenting struggles, philosophical views, and the occasional cute single dad spotted at the monthly PTA meeting. My life is serene and calm. I relishit.

"Since Tallulah's away, how about we cook the fillets you picked up the other day?" I suggest to my mother. Tallulah recently announced she was a vegetarian and can't abide even the smell of cooking meat.

"Great idea," she says, smiling.

We work together in the kitchen companionably, she seasoning the meat while I chop up veggies for a salad. I glance at my watch and see it's close to six. My friend Maggie will be dropping Bella home soon from her Girl Scout meeting.

My phone rings and I go to the counter to pick it up. I see the name of Tallulah's teacher on the screen and my stomach drops. She left two days ago for the eighth-grade field trip to D.C. I swipe left.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Parrish?"

"Yes, is Tallulah okay?"

"Yes, she's fine. But we do have a problem."

My hand tightens around the phone. "What is it?"

"I'm afraid she snuck out of the hotel this morning and took a train to Connecticut."

"What do you mean? Is she—"

"We have her. Her friend, Molly, finally told us of her plans, and we were able to intercept her at the Bridgeport Train Station. Apparently, she was trying to get to her father. You'll need to make arrangements to have her flown back today. I'm afraid we can't risk her doing something like this again. We'll have her escorted to the plane, but you will have to purchase the ticket and give us the flight details."

My head is spinning. I can't believe this. How did she even get the train ticket? I wonder. Then I remember the credit card I gave her for emergencies. Anger and relief vie for dominance, but in the end, relief wins.

"Did her father know of her plans?" I ask.

"Apparently not. She said she was planning to take an Uber and surprise him."

"May I speak to her, please." I do my best to keep my voice even.

"She doesn't want to speak to you right now. I think it's best if you talk to her in person."

I skirt her questions about Jackson and custody.

I end the call and turn to my mother.

"What in the world was that all about?"

"Tallulah took a train to Connecticut," I say, and as I fill her in on the details, her face turns white.

"What was she thinking? She could have been kidnapped! She's out of control, Daphne."

As if I don't know that. At first, both Tallulah and Bella seemed to be thriving. They assimilated into their new school seamlessly, made new friends, threw themselves into activities. At home Tallulah's book of the moment was never far from her, but she'd become a bit more outgoing. Bella seemed to reflect the California sun, with her bubbly personality and dazzling blond curls. In some ways she reminded me of Jackson—the good parts, her eyes the same blue as his and her take-charge personality rather unlike mine. Things were changing, however. They missed their father. And even though he was never violent or physically hurt them, I knew his psychological reign of terror would intensify and cripple them if he were in their lives. Bella struggled with reading, which embarrassed and infuriated him; in turn he would berate her when she stumbled over words. I can still hear him calling her stupid or ugly in those moments; I only hope her improved ability and newfound love of reading have blunted those memories. It still fills me with shame when I think of his cruel treatment. With Tallulah, he was kinder, more patient, and the two bonded over their shared love of literature. She was a daddy's girl from the start and despite her witnessing Jackson's darker moments, she seems to have banished them from her mind and remembers only the happy times.

"She told me before she left that she hates me for keeping her from Jackson. She doesn't understand that I'm only trying to protect her and Bella. I never imagined she'd do something like this," I say.

My mother purses her lips. "She's thirteen. Old enough to understand. You can't keep the truth from her forever. He tried to ruin our relationship, lying to me all those years and telling me you didn't want me to visit. He kept you a prisoner and isolated you from everyone. He's dangerous. The girls need to know…"

I put a hand up. I can't listen to another tirade about Jackson. Anytime one of the girls brings him up, she's ready to boil over and speak unkindly about him until I stop her with a look. She doesn't seem to get that her constant chatter about how awful he is only makes it harder to put the past behind me. "Not yet. If I tell Tallulah the things he did to me, how he essentially held me hostage all those years, I'll wipe out every good memory she has of us as a family. She's already depressed. That's not going to help her. And Bella is only eleven. If I tell Tallulah everything, she'll tell her sister." When we left Connecticut, all I could think about was getting away from Jackson and starting over. Getting him to terminate his parental rights gave me the illusion that we were all free. I should have realized that no court document could sever the ties that bind him to our children.

She throws her hands up. "Well, you've got to do something. Next time you might not be so lucky."

Last night didn't go well. Tallulah wouldn't even look at me when I picked her up and despite my best efforts at getting her to talk, she crossed her arms and kept her lips tightly sealed. Only when I threatened to take her phone away did she admit that Jackson had no idea of her plan. I haven't spoken to Jackson since I left Bishops Harbor. This morning Tallulah wouldn't go to school and told me that if I didn't let her see her father, she'd run away and I'd never find her. I intend to verify that she's telling the truth, but I need to speak with my therapist before I open up the can of worms that will be getting in touch with Jackson.

I arrive at Dr. Marshall's office ten minutes early for our session and take a seat in the waiting room. I scroll through my phone distractedly, then grab a People magazine from the table and flip through it. Sighing, I put it back down and stand, pacing. Finally, the door to her office opens and she calls mein.

"How are things today, Daphne?" The petite older woman wrinkles her brow with concern as I take a seat. The three of us have been seeing her since we first moved to California.

I shake my head. "Not good. Tallulah still isn't speaking to me, except to refuse to go to school and to threaten to leave again. I don't know what to do."

She sighs. "You know that normally I'd never suggest you regain contact with your abuser. But this is a complicated situation. This could have ended very badly. Did Jackson have any idea of her plan?"

I shake my head. "She says no. I know I need to call him, but I dread it."

"This is obviously a very serious situation. You're very lucky that nothing happened to her, but as we discussed, Tallulah's depression is getting worse. Are you absolutely sure you're unwilling to tell her the truth about their father? What he did?"

My impatience surges; we've been over this many times before. Won't anyone let this rest? "I tried to tell the girls, to explain why I stayed all those years. Not everything, of course. I softened things, didn't tell them that he made me out to be crazy by having me committed. But the girls didn't take it well. It was obvious to me they didn't want to hear it. Despite how Jackson treated me, he was a good father to them. Most of the time, anyway."

I don't tell her about the way he mercilessly pushed Bella when she struggled to read, or how he refused to consider that she had a learning disability. "I'm not sure they could bear hearing the full truth. They might not even believe it. It could damage my relationship with them. I can't let that happen."

She gives me a look I can't interpret, purses her lips, and finally speaks. "I understand, but in that case, you need to get in touch with Jackson and tell him what's going on. Things have escalated. Tallulah has become reckless. What if she decides to hitchhike across the country? You can't risk her running away. Maybe he can arrange to come and visit, supervised of course, and we can all meet together to try to figure out a way for him to be in their lives in a safe way."

Safeis not a word I would ever associate with Jackson. I don't want him here, contaminating our lives. I can't abide the thought of him in my house, seeing where we live, knowing the intimate details of our lives.

"I'm not even sure if he's been released from prison yet. Plus, I don't know if he can leave the state."

"Why did Tallulah try to go see him if he's still in prison?"

I blow out a breath. "I never told her he was in prison."

"Well, what if you took the girls there?"

My stomach tightens. There. The place I fought so hard to escape.

"I can't go back."

"Well, if Jackson can't come here, I don't see any other options. Are you willing to risk her running off again? Or even hurting herself?"

"No, of course not. Do you think she'd actually…" I can't complete the sentence, I'm so horrified by the thought. "There must be another way." Alarm twists my stomach.

She cocks her head, her face full of understanding. "I don't see how if Jackson can't come here."

I sigh and think for a moment. "Maybe we could go next month when the girls are out of school. Rent something for the summer. But I need support. Can you recommend someone for us to see in Connecticut?"

"Yes, of course." She gives me a sympathetic look. "I realize this is the last thing you want to do. But legally he has no right to the children, so he has to play by your rules."

I scoff. "Jackson doesn't play by anyone else's rules." Then I shrug. "Maybe these months in prison have mellowed him." But I don't believe that for a minute.

Dr. Marshall leans back in her chair, tapping her pen on a pad. "Both girls are curious about their little brother, Jackson Junior. What are your thoughts about allowing them to meet him?"

It's a question I've wrestled with since he was born. He's innocent in all this, only two years old. I know how precious siblings are; I still miss my sister after all these years. If Tallulah and Bella have the chance to have a relationship with a brother, I don't want to stand in the way.

"The problem is Amber. She and I are not exactly on good terms. I absolutely don't want her having anything to do with my girls. She's devious and scheming, a liar who plays mind games and will stop at nothing to get her own way. I won't have them subjected to her manipulation. But she'll never let her son be a part of our lives unless we include her."

"Well, perhaps Jackson can persuade her to allow him to bring little Jackson with him."

"There's no way—"

She puts up her hand. "You know what, one step at a time. Let me find you a therapist to work with. Give him or her all the background, and you can navigate these issues then. And of course, you can talk to me any time while you're away. The main thing is to help Tallulah and Bella come to terms with living apart from their father."

I know she's right, but a sense of dread fills me, nonetheless. "Okay. I'll get in touch with him as soon as I can."

"Have you filled the prescription Dr. Parker sent to the pharmacy?"

I shake my head. "I don't need anything."

"Just fill it and take it with you. If you get too anxious, the Klonopin can help."

I nod. "All right, I will."

On the drive back home, I rehearse what I'll say to Jackson, how to appeal to his better self on behalf of Tallulah. I would go to hell and back for my children, but with Jackson involved, there may not be a way back. He's a master manipulator, capable of assuming whatever persona is most advantageous to him at the time. He swept into my life like a hero, making me believe he was the answer to everything I needed. After we were married, Jackson's behavior seemed controlling at times, but I rationalized it away, thinking I was perhaps being too sensitive. It wasn't until after Tallulah was born that he showed his true colors, knowing my love for her was my Achilles' heel. He would go from being loving and attentive to cold and critical in the blink of an eye, and I never quite knew what provoked him. I tried my best to please him and to make it work but when he threatened the safety of our child, I took her and left. He was one step ahead of me, though, and after making me appear unstable and having me committed to a sanatorium for months, there was little I could do once I returned home, without losing my child. I shiver when I think back to the first night he became physically violent with me. Tallulah had been almost two years old. We'd gone out to dinner with clients and the waiter complimented me on my choice of an appetizer, saying it was his favorite. We must have exchanged only a few words, but Jackson barely spoke to me on the way home. I kept asking what was wrong, but he claimed nothing was. In the middle of the night, I felt like I was suffocating. I began coughing and suddenly realized he was holding a pillow over my head. I struggled against him, and he finally let go. My relief was short-lived. He flicked the lamp on, and I saw that he held a knife in his hands, its blade gleaming close to my face. He pushed it against my neck.

"Were you dreaming of the waiter, slut?"

"Jackson, please. Put the knife down!"

"You humiliated me. Flirting with him like I wasn't even there."

He nicked my neck, and I felt the burn. He put his finger on the blood, then smeared it on my cheek. To this day, I still wake up in the middle of the night, breathless, worried that there will be a knife at my throat or a gun at my head, until I remember that I'm free of him. And now I have to go back.