Page 19 of Unforgivable
“Laurashowed you,” Bronwyn admonishes gently.
Charlie nods once, frowning. “Laura,” she repeats. Like this is a lesson, nothing more, sending a little dart into my heart.
“Good girl,” Bronwyn says.
And honestly, she’s lucky I can’t reach her on the other side of the table because I am nanoseconds away from grabbing her plate and smashing it on her head.
I smile. “Mama’s perfectly fine, sweetie.”
“—showed me how when you don’t like someone anymore, you write their name on a piece of paper and you fold it twice and put them in the freezer,” Charlie says.
“Really?” Bronwyn looks at me, so does Jack, who had been so quiet all evening you wouldn’t know he was in the room.
I shrug. “It’s something my mother used to do when I was a kid.”
“Did she?” she asks with a raised eyebrow, and I wish I hadn’t brought up my mother. Bronwyn turns to Charlie. “Tell me about the freezer. What does it do?”
“It’s like you’ve sent them to Mars,” Charlie says. “And then you cut them off so they can never come back. They’re stuck in space. Forever.”
I chuckle. “Well, I don’t think I put it quite that way!”Did I?
Bronwyn makes a tutting sound. “That’s not very nice. Please don’t do that again, Charlotte.”
Charlie flicks her eyes in my direction, and I give a quick nod. Tell her whatever the hell she wants to hear so we can get through this dinner in one piece.
“I won’t do that again.”
“Good girl,” Bronwyn says, tapping her lightly on the head.
TEN
The dogs bark and the caravan rolls on. That’s what the last few days feel like, and I’m probably the one doing the barking. I can’t stop thinking about Bronwyn, obviously. She is in every single thought, every single moment. She’s been taking Charlie to school and picking her up, and taking her out after school for shopping and ice cream or whatever.
“She’s regressing.” I’m talking to Katie. One long stream of frustration that I pour down her ear, all of it about Bronwyn. Or Jack.
And Jack is so stressed, of course, I tell her. He says he just wants everyone to get on. “And you think I don’t?” I said to him. And you know what she bought for Charlie yesterday? An iPad, for goodness’ sake. Charlie’s not even allowed a phone. We’re trying to bring her up without screens, and now all she wants to do is watch YouTube. And of course, I can’t say anything. I’d be the bad person if I pointed out we’ve successfully brought her up without screens for two years and were hoping to get a few more years like that. God, you should see the sunglasses on her. Pink, of course, because according to Princess Bronwyn, there are no other colors in the spectrum, and heart-shaped, with dark purple lenses, can you imagine? She’s turning her into some kind of Lolita. She’s barely eight years old, for Christ’s sake.
“She wet her bed last night.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yes.”
I was asleep and I heard something, so soft it was barely there. I remember opening my eyes and listening to the silence, then I heard it again and I knew. I went to her bedroom. She was biting her lip, holding back sobs as she tried to wrench her sheets off her bed. I didn’t say anything. I helped her get the sheets off. I made it look like it was no big deal, not even worth mentioning. Sometimes, you have to know when to speak and when to keep your mouth shut. I took her to the bathroom and helped her clean herself, then I wrapped her in a towel while I got some clean pajamas, put clean sheets on the bed. I spooned her while she fell asleep.
“Don’t tell Mommy.”
“I won’t.”
I didn’t tell Jack either. He was fast asleep when I got back to bed. I didn’t tell him because I knew she wouldn’t want me to, so I told him in my head instead.
What does it say that I’m the only one who hears her when she needs one of us?I didn’t tell him that after that first night with Bronwyn, I put the mattress protector back on Charlie’s bed.Just in case.That’s what you do when you love someone. You anticipate what could go wrong, what might hurt them and you provide safety nets. And you do that all day.
“Oh and the other thing, she smokes. I mean, normally I wouldn’t care but she smokes in the backyard and leaves her cigarette butts on the ground for me to pick up. Sometimes I swear I think she smokes in her room. I can smell it in the house.”
“How is your protégée?” Katie asks now. She calls Summer my protégée, probably because I’ve gushed about how great she is, but so young, only twenty-five, and a talented artist too! But I suspect the only reason Katie is asking about Summer is because she’s tired of listening to me rant about Bronwyn, and I don’t blame her. She has her own problems. So my tirades are met with occasionaluh huhand I don’t even care. I’m still talking. I just need to get it out.
“She’s great. Bruno loves her. I love her. The visitors love her. Plus she’s a good photographer. Speeds up the documentation process and gives us all the material we need for the exhibition website.”