Chapter 4 Daphne

By the time I get home, I've talked myself out of it. What was I thinking? Allowing Jackson back into our lives is not the answer. There has to be another way. Maybe I've been wrong in keeping the truth from my daughters. They're young, yes, but old enough to understand danger. As much as I've wanted to shield them from the naked truth about their father and all he's capable of, wouldn't it be better in the long run if they knew that I didn't make the decision to move them away lightly? I sigh as I pull into the drive, my heart heavy. The house is quiet when I enter, my mother at the kitchen table doing a crossword and Tallulah nowhere in sight. Bella is still at school.

"Has she come out of her room at all?" I ask as I walk into the kitchen.

"She let me make her some pancakes for breakfast."

"Did she say anything?"

"I tried to ask about it, but she got very angry and jumped up from the table. I apologized and told her I'd mind my own business. She sat down, ate her pancakes, and then went right back to her room."

I look over my shoulder, making sure Tallulah's not lurking in the hallway, and lower my voice, recapping my visit with the psychologist. "Tallulah's so angry at me for keeping her from Jackson. Dr. Marshall thinks it was too abrupt a rift." I hesitate, knowing the impact my next words are going to have. "She wants me to take the girls to see him this summer."

Her eyes are wide with disbelief. "You can't be seriously thinking of letting Jackson see them?"

"I don't know what else to do. What if she runs away? She could be trafficked, anything. I can't risk it."

She scoffs. "I'll tell you exactly what you do. You tell her the truth. What kind of man he really is. You keep that monster away from my granddaughters! Letting him back into their lives will not end well. Keeping him away is for their own good."

"Is it? I'm not so sure any longer. She's clearly in a lot of pain."

"Well, letting Jackson near her isn't going to make things any better."

"I have to do something. The therapist is very concerned and so am I." I stand. "I'm going to check on her."

I knock but Tallulah doesn't open the door. Pushing it open, I enter, and she gives me a rebellious look, one eye obscured by a lock of long brown hair. She's got headphones on and I can hear the rock music coming from them. Her pink Chuck Taylors are strewn on the floor next to her jean jacket and she's lying on her stomach, The Hate U Give propped on the pillow in front of her.

"I told you to leave me alone!" She turns back to her book.

"Please, sweetheart. I'm not mad at you. I just want to understand." I move closer to the bed and pull her headphones off and lay them on the bed.

"She's such a bitch!" she spits out.

"Who?" I ask, keeping my voice level.

"Mrs. Banner. She yelled at me in front of all my friends. Said I was a disgrace to the school. To the student council where I'm supposed to be a leader. Why can't she understand how hard it is? I was so close, just a few hours from our house. I couldn't let the chance go by. You moved us clear across the country to get away from him!" She turns now, her eyes mere slits, her nostrils flaring.

"Honey, you know that's not the whole story." It doesn't escape me that she still refers to the dwelling in Bishops Harbor as "our house." I sit down on the bed and take a deep breath, stalling for time and for inspiration. Her room is immaculate and tidy, with the exception of the jacket and shoes on the floor—the complete opposite of her sister's where chaos reigns. Tallulah's room is painted a tranquil sea blue and bookcases line every wall filled to the brim with the books she's devoured since we moved in. I think back to my room when I was her age, the posters of boys and bands taped to the wall, and marvel at how different hers is. She's always been my little adult, and I have to remind myself that despite her precociousness, she's still a child.

She pushes herself back against the headboard, putting more distance between us, and glares at me. "Just because he was a jerk to you doesn't give you the right to keep him from us. He was a good dad."

"When you're older you'll under—"

"Stop!" Her face is red. "Don't hand me that bullshit. It's just a convenient way for you to get what you want without having to explain anything. I'm not a baby. What is so terrible about him that you had to steal us away?"

This use of profanities is something new and it jars me. I can't tell her the terrible things he did to me. But I can tell her he's in prison, I decide.

"I know you think he's a good father. And maybe he was. But he's not a good man. He's in prison right now."

She laughs. "You think I don't know that? Wake up, Mom! It's the twenty-first century; there's a thing called the internet. He's there for tax evasion. Not exactly murder. So he hid some money from the government. Big deal. All the politicians are corrupt anyway. I want to see him."

Alarm pulses through me like an electric current. "How do you know that?"

She gives me a triumphant look. "I've spoken to him."

My mouth drops open. "You what?…How?" I can't imagine how she's managed this. Prisoners can't take incoming calls, and Jackson doesn't have any of our phone numbers.

"I called Amber. She conferenced us on her phone."

My face flushes hot. "Amber? Tallulah, really?"

"You left me no choice," she thunders. "At least she isn't trying to separate me from my father. She promised to take me to see him."

I stand up, needing to leave before I say something I'll regret. Amber is good at pretending to care, to be an ally. I think of how she made up a sister who died from cystic fibrosis in order to connect with me. All the stories she told me of the sister she had loved and lost and it was a complete and utter lie. And now she's talking to my daughter?

"We'll finish this later."

"Whatever," she shoots back.

My mother looks at me expectantly when I join her at the kitchen table. "She's spoken to Jackson," I tell her.

"Isn't that in violation of his restraining order?"

My patience snaps. "Mom, we've been over this before. There's no restraining order. He gave up his parental rights, but he hasn't broken any laws by speaking to her."

"How in the world did he get in touch with her?"

I shake my head. "Amber."

My mother rolls her eyes. "Of course. That woman would do anything to annoy you. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to follow the advice of the therapist and go back." I put a hand up before she can object. "I'll set the ground rules, and he'll never be alone with them. Dr. Marshall is going to set us up with a therapist in Connecticut."

"I think it's a mistake."

She's made that crystal clear. "Maybe it is, but I have to do what I think is best for my daughters. I'm not going to have our relationship ruined because they think I'm unfairly keeping them from Jackson. At the end of summer, we'll be back here, and we'll have a whole year before we need to think about seeing him again."

She reaches out and puts a hand on mine. "I know it hurts you to see your girls upset, but, Daphne, you know how manipulative he is, and how controlling. I'm worried."

"Half his power came from his influence, and that's gone now. He's been shamed, imprisoned, and humbled. There's nothing he can do to me anymore, and I know he wouldn't hurt the girls."

"I can see you've made up your mind," she says quietly. "But if you insist on going, I'm coming with you."

"Absolutely not. You'd have to cancel your trip, and I'm not going to let you do that. You've been counting the days. You're going on that trip in two weeks."

"I can travel anytime. This is more important, Daphne."

My mother has been planning this vacation with her friends for the last two years—seven weeks in South America starting in Quito, Ecuador, and the Galápagos Islands and on to Peru and Bolivia. It's the trip of a lifetime for her and one she and my late father always dreamed about. "No, Mom. You've been looking forward to this for so long, and your friends will be hugely disappointed if you don't go. Not to mention that at this point it's nonrefundable. I can't let you do that."

She starts to object, but I stop her. "Look, Meredith is there. I'll be sure she's with me whenever Jackson's around. You need to go and not worry about me. I'm a big girl." The one good thing about going back to Bishops Harbor will be seeing my best friend, Meredith. She was the only genuine friend I made when I lived there. It was Meredith who first discovered that Amber was a fraud. And even though at the time I couldn't let Meredith know that I was investigating Amber and had to pretend to believe Amber's lies, she respected my choice. That's one of the qualities I love best about her—it's never about getting her way, or being right, but rather being supportive.

My mother shakes her head, but says no more, and I'm grateful that she's stopped trying to convince me otherwise. I look up when I hear footsteps and see Tallulah walking towardme.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. But you don't know how hard it is. It's like he's dead. I really miss him." A tear rolls down her cheek and my heart breaks. I open my arms, and she collapses againstme.

"We'll go back for the summer. I'll make the arrangements."

She pulls back and looks at me. "Really? You mean it?"

I nod. "All I want is your happiness. We'll go back to Bishops Harbor for the summer. But you can't see him without me being there, and you'll just have to trust that I have my reasons. Everything I do is to protect you even if you don't believe that. Can you do that?"

A smile lights up her face, and she jumps up and down then hugs me again. "Yes, yes! Thank you, thank you!"

I close my eyes, hugging her tight, and hope with all my might that her gratitude doesn't one day turn into reproach.