Two more bruises on Gia’s back. From her own experience, Marin determines that the ones on the back are older. As a teenager, Marin would wonder what her maximum number would be at one time. Just as the old ones would fade, new ones were created to replace them. Ten was the max. The magic number. Four is apparently Gia’s.
“Who did this to you?” Marin longs to reach out, to enfold Gia in the security of her arms. But when your mother never offered you comfort, you are unsure how to give it to your daughter. “Who hit you?”
“You just did.” Gia pulls on her shirt and buttons it, hiding the bruises. Finished, she palms the cheek Marin slapped. “Seconds ago.”
“Gia.” Marin is adrift with no compass to steer her. She graduated high school at sixteen and college at nineteen. When she was hired in finance at the age of twenty, she swore she would never be lost again. She believed herself free, capable of being her own beacon. “I’m sorry.”
It is the first time Marin has ever apologized to her daughter. Whether it is for the bruises that mark Gia’s body or for the slap, neither can say for sure. Regardless, it shocks Gia. Her eyes fill with tears. She wipes them away quickly. Tucking her shirt back into her skirt, she meets Marin’s gaze. “I should get to my schoolwork.”
“Not yet. Please.” Marin reaches for her daughter’s hand, but Gia pulls away. Accepting the gulf she has created, Marin asks her to join her on the sofa. When Gia refuses yet again, Marin pleads, “Were you in some kind of a fight?”
“No.”
“Was it . . .” She pauses, struggling to say the name aloud. A desperate reach for all the imaginable ways the bruises might have come about. Raj? The possibility occurs to her only in the darkness that has descended. It would seem impossible on its face. He was the loving father, the gentle giant incapable of hurting his beloved Gia. But the world saw Brent differently too. No one would have ever guessed what he was capable of. The monster he became when no one was watching. “Did your dad do this?”
“No!” Gia finally drops onto the sofa. Her eyes wide, she pleads silently with her mother to believe her. “Never. It’s not possible.”
No, Marin knows, it is not possible for Raj to do such a thing. But she just did, she realizes. Gia couldn’t say the same about her. Not anymore.
Tapping her feet, Gia is clearly anxious to be anywhere else. “I have to go.”
Her patience worn thin, Marin snaps, “We’re not going to do this anymore.” She will not play twenty questions with her daughter. Not when Gia knows the answer but refuses to tell. “Tell me now.”
“This is my life.” The sofa no longer a refuge, Gia stands, walking toward Marin’s desk. She picks up a picture of herself when she was five. She had won her first trophy by coming in third at a swim competition. Her parents, bursting with pride, had taken an entire roll worth of film.
Marin takes the picture from Gia’s hand, glances at it. The picture epitomized what Gia’s life was supposed to be—success at every turn. “Gia.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Without another word she walks out, leaving Marin to stare into the empty space.
SONYA