I’m exhausted by the time the officers finally relent and decide to leave. I’m told that they will be ‘in touch’, and they’ll be speaking to Ethan and Frank in due course. My blood runs cold as I realize that it’s yet another promise that I’ve not kept. I promised Ethan that I wouldn’t tell anyone about the situation with his father. I sang like a canary once Officer Murphy asked me to elaborate on Ethan and Frank’s argument. Both officers sat staring at me and then glancing at each other, as if they were in some silent conversation while Mom kept squeezing my knee. I’m not sure whether it was in reassurance or sadness over what I was confessing. Once I mentioned the abuse the questions came faster. I got the feeling that they didn’t believe me and it was frustrating as hell. Why would I lie?
Apparently the truck driver had died of head injuries at the scene. I’d been told he hadn’t made it, but didn’t know how or why until now. I remember seeing him on his cell shouting for help covered in blood. I squeeze my eyes tight and try to remove the image. The cops said he’d been talking to his wife on his cell phone when he hit us. Turns out the truck had veered slightly without him realizing. If we hadn’t been stopped in the road like sitting ducks, we’d more than likely have been able to swerve and avoid the whole thing. They didn’t say that, but I know it’s true. I could have done without knowing he was on his cell to his poor wife. I’m pretty sure that I’ll be revisiting that little piece of information in my dreams tonight. I can’t imagine how awful it must have been for her to hear everything play out over the phone and not be able to do anything. The thought makes me shiver.
The officers leave the room, the soles of their shoes squeaking down the hall until finally they fade and silence descends once more. Before I can breathe a single word to break it Mom stops me.
“Why on earth did you not tell me what was going on, Blair?” She crushes me to her chest as she shakes her head over my shoulder chanting, “That poor boy,” over and over. My eyes fill as I realize that all I’ve accomplished by keeping Ethan’s secret is letting this whole situation escalate to where we are now. If I’d done the right thing and told somebody sooner, this wouldn’t be happening. Why do all the promises I make end up hurting?
“Sweetheart, I need you to tell me everything, okay? And we need to speak to Moira, too.”
I tense instantly and pull away from her embrace. “Moira knows. Well, not about the argument and the crash, I’m guessing, but she knows about the abuse.”
I’ve never seen my mom look so horrified before. She drops down onto the bed and shakes her head as if she can’t quite comprehend what I’m telling her.
“She knows?” she asks in disbelief.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “A few weeks back, Moira told Ethan that she wasn’t his biological mother. He had no clue. She told him that she had no legal right to ever be able to take him away and that she was too scared of Frank to do anything. That’s why she let it happen.” I feel the prickly cold remains of the tears I didn’t know were falling bite against my cheeks as the air conditioning unit kicks in. I shiver and wipe my face. I want to curl up on the bed and pretend this isn’t happening. My stomach aches, my head throbs and my heart hurts. Mom’s sitting in stunned silence as I climb into the middle of the bed and curl up, hugging my knees into my chest. I tug at the blankets that have been made with military tight precision until they loosen and I can pull them over me. My stitches are wrenching from the awkwardness of my position and I welcome the discomfort; I’d gladly take this pain over the feeling of guilt that is consuming me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“What are you sorry for, honey?” Mom asks moving closer and stroking the hair back from my face.
“For not telling you, for not telling anyone. I’d convinced myself that I was doing the right thing. That I was protecting him, but all I was doing was protecting Frank. I pushed all the bad things I knew were happening to the back of my mind. Then I made a promise to him that ultimately I knew I could never keep. How could I have done that to him? I’m so angry with myself for staying quiet as long as did.” I sniff and move my glasses so that I can wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt. “I’m confused Mom; I’m mad that I made that promise, but at the same time I’m upset that I broke it too.”
“Oh, Blair.” She draws her legs up and spoons me as we both lie on my hospital bed sobbing, her for my pain and me for Ethan’s.
I wake to the sound of a heated conversation. My mind is hazy from sleep and my eyes feel puffy and hot from crying. I sit up stretching and assess my surroundings. I’m alone in my room, but I can hear the muffled tones of my mom’s voice. I look down at my phone charging at the side of the bed for the time. It’s 5: 27 pm—I’ve only been asleep a little over an hour. I slide ungraciously off the side of the bed like a sloth and drag my feet across the room in a true zombified saunter, following my mom’s voice. The door is cracked slightly, and I stop when I recognize who she’s speaking to—Moira. I debate whether or not to stand and eavesdrop on their conversation but then I think better of it. I don’t like the idea of people listening in on my conversations, and I imagine that they are the same.
“Mom?” I say loudly, alerting them to the fact that I’m about to interrupt whatever’s going on. I open the door to find them both in tears.