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Willa blinks. There are tears in her eyes. “I-I don’t know.”
I walk to the door, touch the knob, and then pull back. Pace around. Yank the door open and peer into the hall. It’s empty.
Is it really possible that Greg was involved with mydaughter? But then I think of Lolita’s e-mails—in the beginning, they were fun and flirtatious, like she was enjoying herself. So Sienna played along, then. Sienna fell for him.Fell for my husband.Just like I did.
But then I think of how the e-mails shifted, Greg’s words becoming more aggressive and suggestive. All those dirty scenarios he presented. All that sex talk. I can feel the bile rising in my stomach. I stagger to the bathroom and throw up in the sink.
When I’m finished, I wipe my mouth and eyes. My father’s room is quiet. Willa is sitting on a chair staring, dumbfounded, at theblank whiteboard. Aurora is sobbing in a corner. I turn to her, realizing what she’s admitted to. It was nearly buried under Sienna’s horrible truth.
“Honey,” I squeak out. But I can’t go closer. It’s almost like I’m afraid to touch her. “Aurora. What happened that night?”
She shakes her head. “I... can’t.”
“You have to tell me. You have to tell me before things get worse.”
She glances up at me, terrified. “Worsehow?”
How can she not know what might happen? The police will circle back to us. They’ll question everyone whose prints aren’t on record. They might even focus on Aurora first, being that she was at a neighbor’s house the night it happened. Hell, I’d thought she washomethat night.
And she was, I guess. For a little while, anyway. And I guess she hid the knife in the garage, hoping—praying—it would never be found.
My thoughts, unbidden, turn to how it might have gone down. Aurora must have let herself into the house with her key, which explains the lack of a forced entry. And then... what? She found Greg in the kitchen? Stabbed him in a blind rage, furious for what he’d done to Sienna? But I can’t quite buy that. Aurora is moody, but she’s not stupid.
I turn to her. “What happened that night?”
Aurora wipes her eyes. It seems to pain her to speak. “We... argued.”
“About what?”
“The e-mails.” She sighs. “I knew they were to Sienna. I felt...” Fresh tears spill onto her cheeks. “It’sgross,Mom.”
I’m nodding. There is a boulder on my throat, making it almost impossible to swallow.
“And then what?” I ask gently.
Her face breaks, and something inside me does, too. I guess itisn’t so hard to figure out what happened next, now that we have all the pieces. “I told him I thought he was disgusting,” she whispers. “I said I would make him pay. I never wanted him to touch her again. And then...” She takes a breath. “Helostit. He came at me. Started denying stuff, started calling me all these names... I didn’t know what to do.”
“You were afraid. You had to defend yourself.”
Aurora looks pleadingly at me, her eyes wide, her mouth small, her body curled so tightly in the chair. She’s soyoung,I realize. Younger than I was when I met Martin. Younger than Willa was when she was raped. Still so innocent.
“I don’t want to go to jail,” Aurora whispers between sobs. “Please, Mom. I can’t.”
I feel my life disassembling, piece by piece, until there is nothing left. Where can we go from here? What can I eventellher? This is the worst possible outcome. No lessons are learned here. No justice is done. It was a hideous thing that we don’t even entirely understand yet—and a child’s impulsive decision. My baby is going to be gone forever. It’s one thing if it’s me in jail, but it’s another thing entirely if it’s one of my daughters. There’s no way I can let that happen.
“I’ll go for you,” I say in a near whisper. “I’ll say I did it. The police already think so, anyway. It’s what everyone wants to believe.”
Willa frowns. “It’s not your prints on the knife. There must be another way.”
Irritation rises inside me. Who cares about holes in the story? I just need to save my daughter. “No. This is the only way.”
“I’lltake the blame.”
My father is propped up a little in his bed and staring straight at us. A jolt goes through me—he’s been so out of it the last few hours that I keep assuming he hasn’t heard much of what we’ve said. But now, he stares at us with resigned intelligence. Even a little color has returned to his face.
“I’ll take the blame,” he says again. “I’ll say I did it.”
I blink hard. “You?”
