Page 83 of Play Nice

“Hi,” the husband said, catching Cici in the hall while she was on her way to the bathroom. That upstairs hallway is dark without the lights on, and Cici emerged from the darkness wearing a blue dress with ribbons, one she picked out at Goodwill. She was blissfully unaware of the resemblance it bore to the ensemble of The Shining’s Grady sisters, something I’m sure was not lost on either the social workers or the judge.

She narrowed her eyes at the strange man in front of her. “Who are you?”

“I’m here to help,” he said.

“No, you’re not,” she said. “Why do you smell bad?”

She was born with a sensitive nose and blunt mouth.

“Like rotten eggs,” she said.

He turned to the camera, to the AV kid. “Sulfur.”

“You should leave,” she said, approaching the bathroom door.

“Why’s that, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she said coldly. “Did you hear me? You should leave now.”

“I’m sorry. Why should I leave now?”

“Because it doesn’t like you. Because if you stay here, it’ll come out and get you. When you see it, you’ll wish you didn’t. Then you’ll be sorry.”

She gave a devious little half smile, one I recognized—she’d given me the same look a thousand times. But to anyone else, it could be interpreted as villainous. A sign that she was corrupted by the evil in the house. Or, according to my ex, by me.

She went into the bathroom and slammed the door in the camera’s face.

LEAVE AND COME BACK NEVER BUT STILL I LOOK INSIDE THEIR HEADS AND DRINK THE GOOD THOUGHTS OUT

“Go away,” she said through the door. “Bye!”

The footage intersects as the wife runs up the stairs and out the front door. Then both cameras cut to static.

They left with what they came for, and I was left with nothing. Less than nothing. They used me.

After they drove off back to Maine, I brought my daughters to the mall as promised and allowed them each to pick out a reward for their cooperation. Elle chose a book from Barnes & Noble, Dee chose nothing, and Cici chose an expensive pair of earrings from Macy’s. Once I’d made good on my bribe, I took them to the food court, where we split two plates of chicken teriyaki, and I told them the truth.

“That’s why we’re going to church?” Dee asked.

“It’s a precaution,” I said.

“I don’t think the house is haunted,” Elle said, crossing her arms over her chest.

I knew she would tell her father eventually. She was loyal to him. She resented me because I was there, because I was the one raising them. If I’d begged, maybe I could have bought myself some time. Delayed the inevitable.

Or I could have gone on lying, but I was exhausted, and I’d already kept so much from them.

How do you prepare your daughters for the world? How do you protect them?

Do you tell them every ugly truth so that they understand? So that they know what to expect?

Or do you fill their heads with dreams and hope for the best? Hope that they want more for themselves and don’t settle for the way the world is, that they demand it to be better, and maybe because of that it will be?

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Cici said, bending her plastic fork.

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “It’s happy with us, but it didn’t like those people.”