“No, Mom, I—”
“Enough! Go pack your things. We’re leaving right now,” Mom shouts. “The painting is at the Chicago Museum of Art, Mrs. Thackeray. I sent it to a friend who works there. It will be returned to you, unless you want to sell it. The head curator is drooling over it.”
“Darla, maybe we should—” Sylvie starts to say in her halting English, but Mom cuts her off.
“No, Sylvie,” Mom interrupts. “She’s coming with me, this minute. I’m grateful to you for the kindness you’ve shown my daughter. I’m sorry that you’ve been repaid with lies and deception.”
I stare at Mom’s face, furious and pinched. It feels like my life is draining away from my body. Then, someone puts a hand on my shoulder. The unexpected touch startles me, and suddenly, I’m flooded with emotions. It’s as if I’m a cornered, wounded animal. They’re all backing me into a cage, ready to take me back to captivity. I whirl and throw the hand off of me, screaming, “No!”
“Sorry,” Zander murmurs. He backs up, holding his hand in the air, as if to show he means no harm. I hadn’t noticed his return. I stare, breathing hard. Sylvie sees my face. She stands.
“No, Madame. She will not go with you,” Sylvie says in a trembling voice.
“What?” Mom squeals. “Who do you think you are?”
“Can’t you see what is happening? It already happened once, long ago, to a helpless child. I understood when I saw how frightened Rosie was of Thomas, and when I saw the painting of Rosie as a child. You think you have found someone you can trust, but you see how afraid your daughter was when Zander came into the room. Look at how she moves away from him! Don’t you see it?”
“What are you saying?” Zander asks, his voice horrified. His face is drained of color. “I’d never, ever do anything to hurt Rosemary.” He turns pleading eyes to Mom. “Darla?”
She doesn’t answer right away. As the understanding of what Sylvie said dawns on her face, she hesitates, looking from Zander to me, with confusion covering her twisted features. Zander sees the doubt that clouds her mind. I read it in his face. It’s breaking his heart. I hadn’t planned to actually get him in trouble. He wasn’t supposed to be here when I lied about him. But he is, and this is my only chance to get away from her. Slowly, shakily, I look at Sylvie and nod my head.
Mom gasps, puts her hand over her mouth, and stares at Zander, who shakes his head over and over in denial. He has tears in his eyes. Mom’s eyes are wounded, betrayed, and furious.
My insides are coated with ice. What have I done?
If I keep quiet, I can stay here. Sylvie said so. I can be free.
A low rumbling sound fills the otherwise silent room. Fat Cat has entered the shop, and is rubbing his considerable bulk against my ankles. I plop down and scoop him into my lap, hugging him to me. I love him. I love Sylvie, and émile, and my freedom. But I hate the lying. And I never wanted to hurt anyone. Not Zander. Not like this. No one deserves that.
Taking a deep breath, I speak, looking up at my mother. “Zander never did anything to me,” my voice cracks.
Mom puts her hands over her face. Zander’s body slumps as all the tension leaves him, and he closes his eyes.
“Why didn’t you say that right away?” Mom asks in a hoarse voice, still keeping her hands over her eyes. “Rosemary, how could you?”
I can’t speak. Not a single sound. The confusion of colors in Sylvie’s bright shop whirls around in front of my eyes. It almost hurts to look. Mom breathes, in, out, in, out, faster and faster, and I know her impatience is growing. So is her anger.
She uncovers her eyes and marches to stand in front of me, towering over me and Fat Cat. He leaps from my lap and streaks from the room.
“Rosemary!” she hisses. It’s a command, the way she speaks my name. The sounds are soft, but somehow sharp, like blades that were made to cut. Something in her dark eyes reminds me of the hardness I saw earlier in Thomas’s face, when he shouted and threatened me, raising his fist. I feel something boiling inside the way it did earlier, when I stood up to Mrs. T. My frozen insides start to thaw. I gulp air, leap to my feet and shove my mother. She falls onto the floor and looks up at me with her eyes wide.
“You lock me in my room every night! Every single night!” I scream.
Zander gasps. “Darla?” he says.
“You never leave me alone, Mom!” I scream. “I can’t get away! You’re everywhere! You choose my clothes and you do my hair like I’m a baby! You always work at my schools! YOU NEVER LEAVE ME ALONE!”
The words I scream explode in the air around me, so that the entire room is filled with my rage.
“Rosemary?” Mom gasps. The sharpness is gone from her voice.