Chapter 8
The first time Rosie asked about Grandma’s letter, we were making pancakes.
She had been counting the blueberries I dropped into the batter. Suddenly she said, “Did Grandma say sorry?”
“She wrote you a letter.”
“Did it say that?”
“Yes.”
“Can you read it?”
I turned off the stove. We sat at the kitchen table, and I took the envelope from the drawer.
Mom had written in her own handwriting. I read every sentence slowly. She said she should have protected Rosie when Bethany frightened her. She said she should have told me the truth as soon as I came home. She said Rosie had done nothing wrong.
Rosie listened with her rabbit in her lap.
“Grandma opened the door,” she said.
“She did.”
“Then Grandpa took me.”
“Yes.”
“Grandma should have kept holding my hand.”
“I think so too.”
Rosie folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope.
“I don’t want to see her yet.”
“You don’t have to.”
I turned the stove on again. Rosie came to stand beside me and told me I had forgotten the blueberries. I let her add the rest.
A few weeks later, the court process concerning Bethany ended. She acknowledged hurting Rosie and faced penalties and restrictions. She could not come near my daughter. My father also faced consequences for throwing the glass. Hearing the outcome brought relief, though I still went home and checked that Rosie had eaten her lunch and found her favorite blanket.
Daniel asked whether I felt better.
“I feel like the people responsible were finally named,” I said. “I want Rosie to have an ordinary afternoon.”
We took her to the park. She climbed a little higher than she had the last time we went. I stood below and watched her choose the next rung herself.
Lena spent more time with us that spring. She lived with Aaron, who drove her over when she wanted to see Rosie. They made paper crowns, painted flowerpots, and laughed about Daniel’s fox voice.
One afternoon, Lena asked whether she could take Rosie to the backyard without me.
Rosie looked at me first.
“You can go together,” I said. “I’ll be right here in the kitchen.”
They planted sunflower seeds in a row beside the fence. When Lena came back in, she had dirt on her cheek and a smile I hadn’t seen since before that dinner.
“Rosie says they’ll grow taller than me,” she said.
“She may be right.”
My mother kept her distance until Rosie asked to call her. I spoke with Mom first. She understood that Rosie could end the call whenever she wanted and that nobody would ask for a visit.
Rosie held the phone against her ear for less than two minutes.
“Hi, Grandma,” she said.
I heard Mom’s voice tremble through the speaker. Rosie told her about the sunflower seeds. Then she said goodbye and handed the phone back.
“How was that?” I asked.
“Okay.”
That was enough.
Over the next month, Rosie asked to speak with Mom twice more. Eventually she wanted to meet her at the park, with me there. Mom brought no presents and made no demands. She sat on a bench while Rosie played, then listened when Rosie came over to talk about the swings.
Before we left, Mom crouched a few feet away.
“I’m sorry I didn’t keep you safe that night,” she said.
Rosie held my hand. “I was scared.”
“I know. I should have helped you sooner.”
Rosie nodded. She did not offer a hug. Mom did not ask for one.
On our way home, Rosie told me she was glad Grandma had said it to her face. Then she asked if we could have noodles for dinner.
I smiled. “We can.”
May you like
At the house, the first sunflower had broken through the soil. Rosie ran to get Lena’s drawing of how tall the flowers might grow. She taped it beside the back door.
For the first time in months, she left the door open while she played outside. I sat on the step and watched her carry water to the little green shoots.
