Silence. When I can’t talk any more there is just silence.

Linda exhales heavily. “Fuck, you were just a little girl.” She puts the car in gear and starts to drive. “And you’re remembering your brother wrong. I knew your brother, Chrissie. He was brilliant, he was a fuck-up, and a hardcore addict. And he was going to die one way or another eventually because he was on the ledge every fucking minute of his life, and not you or anyone was ever going to stop it.” She downshifts the car, shaking her head. “Fuck! You have nothing to do with him dying. He lived on the ledge. He died. End of story, Chrissie.”

Shakily wiping my nose with a tissue, I turn to look out the window. “Then why does my father hate me? Ten years. Not one word from Jack about that night. He can barely talk to me. He blames me.”

“Fuck, I don’t know. Why does my father hate me?” She backs off. “And I’m sure your dad doesn’t hate you. I’m sure that’s just another thing you’ve gotten wrong.”

She practically slams to a stop in front of the farmhouse, grabs my tissue and starts to dab at my face. “Pull yourself together. We are just going to walk in, Chrissie, and then you just go upstairs to the bedroom and be away from everyone for a while.”

I nod, watching Linda climb from the driver’s seat. She slams the door and starts walking around the car to me. I feel small, shaky and disoriented, as I listen to her shoes against the gravel drive. She opens my door and gives me one of her Linda will take care of everything expressions.

We are almost to the stairs when Bianca storms from the kitchen. “Where the fuck did you go?”

Bianca has her hideously angry face within inches of mine. Linda pulls me close against her. “We went to the village,” she snaps.

“Why?”

Linda makes a face and shakes her head. “Because it was there.”

Bianca crosses her arms. “I am not cleaning up that breakfast mess. And there is no dinner.”

“Deal with it. Call for pizza or something. Just fucking deal with something on your own for change.”

The girls start arguing and I’m trapped, shaking and being supported by Linda’s steady arm, with the others between me and the stairs. The verbal free-for-all is loud enough to draw Alan and Len from wherever they were in the house, and Len is babbling on that that’s enough of the cat fight, and Alan is watching me. I start to tremble more fiercely and the tears come back.

“Shut the fuck up everyone!” Linda silences the room, puncturing the sound barrier.

Alan’s face changes and I can see exactly when he realizes I’m crying. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying, Chrissie?” I don’t answer and his temper explodes. “Goddammit, Linda, what did you do to her?”

Linda shakes her head, they lock eyes and I can see that their closeness is the type of thing where they can communicate without words. Alan’s anger vanishes and he’s only worried now.

“I’m going to take her upstairs,” Linda says in a quiet voice that somehow makes everyone back off except Bianca.

Shaking her head, she exclaims, “Oh, no you’re not. You’re going to get your ass in there and clean the breakfast mess, Linda, and the little princess is going to make dinner.”

Alan grabs Bianca’s arm. “Why don’t you just shut up for once, you miserable cunt.”

Bianca pulls away. “Because I’m sick of everyone falling all over themselves for the little princess. I’m not going to spend another evening all about not upsetting Chrissie.”

“Fine. Then I’m done. Gone. Out of here,” Alan says, taking me from Linda and picking me up.

“Oh fuck, Bianca,” Kenny Jones shouts into the chaos of the room.

Alan starts climbing the stairs and I focus of the sound of the creaks rather than the arguing downstairs. He takes me to the bathroom, undresses me and sets me in the tub.

It is antique porcelain, sitting on legs in the middle of a fifties style black and white tile bathroom. The sink is a square pedestal and the toilet is old. The windows are high in the walls, foggy glass circles that mute the light. It is a room held in another time. Like me.

Alan sinks down beside the tub, reaches for a washcloth and a bottle of bath gel that someone left in here.

“Are you OK?” he asks.

I nod.

“What happened when you were out with Linda?”

I turn until my cheek is resting on my knees. “Nothing happened. We talked. I don’t know what it is about Linda. We talked about everything.” My eyes focus on him and there are fresh tears. “Everything, Alan. I told her everything.”

He continues to wash, but his faces changes and I can see he understands what I mean by everything, and that it hurts him that I opened up to Linda.

He reaches into the tub to pick up the cloth he dropped. “I’m glad you did that, Chrissie. Maybe someday you’ll trust me enough to do the same.”

He doesn’t push, he just kisses me softly on the cheek. He knows when to let there be quiet between us, when not to push me, when to use his meanness, when to use his kindness, when to love me and when to stand back.

I watch Alan wash me. He is gentle and kind. I never expected him to be that kind of guy. Alan was right. I did think he was safe. I did think he was going to prove only to be an asshole.

I start to cry again. He always takes such good care of me, but today I realize it is important to him to take care of me, something more about him than me.

I curl into a tight ball as he washes my back. I am someone Alan loves. And that is something more about him than me.

Chapter Sixteen

The next morning, I wake alone and go to the kitchen to find Alan making breakfast. I feel badly. It must be my turn and he’s cooking because I don’t know how to.

“Is pancakes all right with you?” he asks.

I nod and drop a kiss on his cheek. There are things I don’t like about Alan, but these sweet, thoughtful moments and how he loves me are enough to keep me here with him. I stay with him because I love how he loves me.

I sink at the piano. I start to play. I feel good today. Last night I told Alan I love him, it felt right finally to say the words, they flowed easily and honestly out of me, and those black eyes filled with some expression, something I don’t know if I’ve ever seen before. I love him. He loves me. What could be more wonderful than that?

Kenny Jones enters the room. “What the fuck is she playing?”

“Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” Alan flips a pancake. “And no, Kenny, it is not the Beatles. It’s Bach.”

“Are you sure she’s Jackson Parker’s daughter?”

Alan ignores him.

I feel Kenny too close to me. I continue to play.

“Play Chrissie, Joy of Kenny’s Desiring.”

Oh crap! I stop playing. There is never any telling what Alan’s reaction will be to shit like that. I grab my book of D.H. Lawrence and move to the sofa to read.

I look at Alan. He is pissed, but he isn’t exploding today. He continues to cook breakfast.

“You’re a fucking piece of shit, Kenny,” Alan says quietly easing food onto a plate.

“I know,” Kenny says, sinking on a chair at the table. He reaches for the coffee pot. He fills a cup. Kenny looks at me. “Hey, little kitty, what happened to the music? I thought you were going to play Chrissie, Joy of Kenny’s Desiring.”

I ignore him and turn a page. The Rowans step down the stairs. Linda pats me on the arm. Len drops a kiss on the top of my head. I follow them with my eyes as they go to the breakfast bar to grab pancakes.

The vibe in the room is strange, painfully taut, and then I remember last night during the girl melee, Alan had announced he was leaving and quitting. The strangeness in the room isn’t about me. It’s about Alan.

Alan brings me my plate and sets it on the coffee table beside me. “Do you at least know how to wash dishes?” he asks.

I make a face and shake my head.