Things We Didn't Say - By Kristina Riggle Page 0,97

diagnosed, but—”

“Just tell me what happened.”

He writes notes, listening, nodding. He tells me he would like to interview the older kids, separate from me, separate from each other. I’m relieved he doesn’t ask to talk to Jewel.

But I’m sick that Angel and Dylan have to go through this, even so. At fourteen and sixteen they can act so adult, but they’re not. Not even close.

The officer talks to the kids upstairs while another officer babysits Mallory in the patrol car. I read books to Jewel—she’s perfectly capable of reading to herself, but this is comforting, normal, and childlike—and keep her from looking out the window.

He comes down the stairs, asks me to wait, while he goes outside to confer with his partner, a woman I notice now, with red hair pulled into a low ponytail. Dylan and Angel have the wide-eyed look of kids watching a scary movie who are afraid to look but can’t tear their eyes away.

“Daddy, are they going to arrest you?” Angel asks me, looking out the front window at the police. “Because I told them it’s not your fault.”

Dylan nodded soberly. “I snuck partway down the steps while you were fighting. I saw her hit herself.”

I relax my shoulders. Wish he hadn’t seen that, but it can only help me.

The officer returns.

“I’m not going to arrest anyone today. I’m going to take her out of here, separate you two, basically. We’ll write up a report and include your statements and hers. She may pursue charges, though. Just so you know. As it’s alleged domestic violence, the report will have to be reviewed as a statutory requirement. Also, if you wish to press charges for malicious destruction of property, you can follow up with a detective on Monday.” The officer gives me a card.

I savor the relief that I won’t be hauled away from my children, at least not today.

When they leave at last, my joints feel wobbly, and my eyes won’t stop watering looking at the wreckage she left, and not just in my living room, but in the white faces of my children.

“Kids. Pack an overnight bag. We’re going to stay with Grandma and Grandpa.”

Usually this would be greeted with glee by Jewel, a shrug from Dylan, and rolled eyes from Angel, who gets grilled by my dad on her college plans every time he sees her.

Now, they move numbly, quietly.

I call my parents’ home. My father answers.

“Dad,” I say, my voice breaking like I’m in puberty. “I need to come over.”

Chapter 44

Angel

Dylan lines up a ball at the pool table in the downstairs rec room. He says to me, “Do you think that was true? About Jewel?”

I look up the stairway. Jewel is upstairs helping Grandma make cookies still, so it’s safe to talk. “I don’t know. She says weird stuff when she’s like that.”

“I’m an idiot,” Dylan says, missing the shot. The three-ball bounces out of the corner. He says it without emotion, like he’s just reporting the news. I also notice he hasn’t stuttered at all since we walked into Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

“You’re not an idiot,” I tell him. “At least, not all the time.”

“I should’ve known better.”

I chalk up the pool cue. Dylan rolls his eyes. I always use too much chalk. I don’t really like pool, even, but it’s something to do. I blow the dust off and try to line up a shot.

I miss the cue ball entirely when Dylan says, “Why did you read her diary?”

I stand the cue on the floor and lean on it. “I didn’t know it was a diary at first. It was just some random notebook. But then when she wrote that I was acting like a bitch . . .”

“You probably were.”

“Hey!”

“Be real. You’re hard to live with.”

“Oh, and you’re all perfect, running away and starting all this.”

He turns away from me, leaning on the pool table with his back to me. In the dim light from the lamp above the table, I can’t see his face. “I already said I was an idiot.”

“It wasn’t just that, anyway. She was writing about this other guy, and how she wanted a drink so bad. Dad didn’t know that stuff, and he was supposed to marry her. What was I supposed to do?”

“Not tell Mom.”

“Shut up.”

“Well? Doesn’t that seem like a bad idea now?”

“She was seeming okay. And she kept asking me about Casey, and what she was acting like around the house. She seemed concerned for us. And look, Casey loves