absolutely necessary. He lets Vivian do all the talking for him. Gray says his real mother wasn’t strong like Vivian, that the life Drew led was hard on her, that she suffered. She spent some time in hospitals, I think, though Gray’s memories are a touch vague. What he does remember pains him—more than he says, I suspect.
He remembers bringing her glasses of water and small blue pills while she lay in bed, the shades drawn. He remembers listening to her cry at night after she thought he was asleep. There were long absences, when it was just Gray and his father. Your mother needs some rest, son. She’s not well.
I’ve seen pictures of his mother looking thin and unhappy, dwarfed beneath Drew’s possessive arm. In some of the old photographs, there’s a little girl, blond and cherubic like Victory, a sister who died before Gray was born. It was an accident Drew has never been able to discuss, Gray tells me. She drowned somehow…in a pool, in the bathtub or the ocean, Gray doesn’t know. It is an absolutely taboo subject, never once discussed between father and son as long as I’ve known them. The thought of this drowned child, the forgotten girl whose name I don’t even know, makes me shudder. I hate the water.
“I need some time with you,” Gray whispers in my ear. I look over at Drew, who still stares out the window as if he has nothing to do with this. But I know that this is coming from him; Vivian and Gray are his foot soldiers. There have been other conversations like this—about the beautiful house that I never wanted to live in, about the wonderful preschool I thought Victory was too young to attend, about the luxurious family vacations that I didn’t want to take.
I feel trapped, like I have no choice but to agree. There’s no space for me to say no, no way. I don’t want to be away from my child right now, not even for two nights. It will make me seem clinging and desperate in this context.
“It would mean a lot to us, Annie,” Vivian says.
That’s the other thing they do: make it seem like I’m doing them a favor, that if I refuse, then I’d be denying them something after everything they’ve done for me. I move away from Gray under the guise of getting some cream from the refrigerator.
“Sure, Vivian,” I say. “Of course.”
I know they treasure my daughter and that Victory loves every minute she spends with them. She’ll be thrilled, won’t even throw a second glance back at me and Gray. I take my coffee and go up to her room to pack a bag without another word. I can feel all their eyes on me as I leave the room.
After a minute Gray follows me up the stairs.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask when he has entered Victory’s room and closed the door. We are surrounded by smiling dolls and plush animals. The walls are painted blue with clouds, stars on the ceiling. The space is a happy clutter of all manner of toys, a tiny white table with four chairs, stacks of books and games. This is my favorite room in the house, the place I made for my daughter.
“Honestly?” he says, sitting down on Victory’s bed, atop the comforter that is a riot of orange, yellow, and pink flowers.
“I’m concerned. I want her gone for a couple of days while I figure out what’s going on. Don’t you agree?”
I give him a grudging nod and sit beside him.
“And I meant what I said.” He puts a hand on my leg and rubs gently. “We haven’t had a day to ourselves in months. I need some time with you.”
“We have live-in help,” I say. “We have all the time alone we want.”
I let him pull me into an embrace and I rest slack against his chest. I don’t like it when he aligns with Drew and Vivian against me. They all seem so strong, so certain. I am flotsam in their current.
“You do whatever he wants,” I say. I feel him tighten up. It’s an old argument, a sore spot for both of us. Bringing it up is an invitation to rumble.
“That’s not true,” he says stiffly. “And you know it.”
“It is true,” I say as he releases me.
“This is not about my father.” His tone holds a familiar controlled anger, the tone he always has when we fight about