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“I’m a good person,” Beth said past her tight throat.
“A good person? I raised you to go to church and be modest and save yourself for marriage. And you can look at me like I’m a monster, Beth, but I’ve loved you for years knowing that you don’t go to church and you certainly failed at modesty. But I thought you’d at least learned from your mistakes.”
“I did learn,” she said, pushing to her feet to face him. “I learned that people are cruel. And that boys can do whatever they want because no one expects them to behave any better than animals. And that my body is made for sex, but I’m supposed to pretend to hate it so a nice man will love me. And you know what else I learned, Dad?”
“Beth,” her mother whispered, but Beth ignored her.
“I learned that even my own father will call me names and spit on my heart and leave me broken if I’m not the little girl he wants me to be. I learned that unconditional love comes with lots of conditions. And I learned I couldn’t trust anyone with my heart, not even the man who was supposed to always, always protect it. That’s why I’ve never gotten married, Dad, if you want to know the truth. That’s why I’ve never even been in love. Because instead of taking care of me when I was hurt, you made me wish I was dead.”
“Beth,” her mom said again, and then Beth felt her mother’s arms close around her. She started to pull away, but her mom held tight. Beth stayed stiff for a moment, but the hand slowly rubbing her back only made it harder to hold back her tears. Finally, Beth gave in and put her forehead on her mom’s shoulder…and she cried.
She cried for that girl who felt as if she’d lost everything. The girl who’d moved from being Daddy’s princess to town pariah.
The crying jag passed quickly. She’d gotten most of those tears out long before. Beth wiped her hands over her cheeks, which sent her mother scurrying out to get Kleenex. Beth was left alone with her father, but she didn’t look at him.
“I just wanted to tell you the truth,” she said, her voice still catching on her rough throat. “Because I don’t want to lie anymore. That’s all. You don’t have to be happy about it, but at least you know who I am.”
“Querida,” he said. When he didn’t say anything more, Beth looked at him. His head was bowed, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. He looked as if he’d shrunk half a foot in a few seconds.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered. And she was sorry. If she could’ve chosen, she would’ve been the daughter he wanted. He was a good man, and she loved him so much. “Querida, I’m so sorry.”
She shook her head, but tears fell from her eyes as if they’d never stopped.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t…I didn’t know what to do. I was so angry. And hurt. And I felt helpless. I didn’t know how to make it better for you, and that made me furious.”
“You made it worse,” she whispered.
“I couldn’t believe you’d done that. My little girl. I thought you were still drawing pictures of horses and dreaming of your first kiss. I didn’t…I’m sorry. I felt like my heart had been cut out.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to kill everyone who’d looked at those pictures. I wanted to beat that boy to a pulp. But in the end, I couldn’t do anything except take it out on you.”
She nodded, and when he took her into his arms, Beth wanted to crawl into his lap and cry for hours. But that little girl was gone, so she only let herself hang on to him for a few heartbeats before she pulled away.
He hugged her one last time. “I love you so much, querida. I can’t pretend I’m happy about what you’ve been doing. I can’t even pretend to accept it.”
“I know.”
“But you’re my heart, Beth. You always have been.”
Her mom stood in the doorway with the box of tissues, but instead of offering them to Beth, she pulled out a bunch and pressed them to her own wet face. “Sit down,” she whispered. “Have some coffee.”
“There’s something else.” Beth sighed. “This will take a while to explain.”
“What is it?” her mom asked, rushing to take the hot water from the microwave.
Beth grabbed a Kleenex for herself and blew her nose.
Her mom brought the instant coffee over and both her parents sat on the other side of the table, waiting. So she told them. The whole story of the Kendalls and the brewery and Monica calling.
“When Roland Kendall called you, he was trying to figure out a way to control me. He found out you didn’t know about the store, and he threatened to tell you.”
“He threatened you?” her father asked.
“Yes. And I did what he asked. I took back the story I’d told the police, because I didn’t want Roland Kendall to tell you the truth about me.”
“Oh, querida.”
