Chapter 8 Vance #2
“Love you, baby,” Nicole sang out.
Margot said nothing, just grabbed her suitcase and headed for the door as if it were the gallows.
My mother took charge, bless her. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me help you with your suitcase. Is this everything?”
Margot nodded.
“Perfect. Let’s get you to the car,” Mama said.
I followed them out, carrying the folder Nicole had given me, my heart hammering so hard I worried the whole neighborhood could hear it.
Nicole stood in the doorway, waving, speaking with exclamations like it was one of her stupid social-media posts. “Drive safe. Call me when you get there.”
The words rang false, bouncing off the marble walls like stage lines from a play that had gone on too long.
I helped my mother settle Margot in the back seat, buckling her in even though she was probably old enough to do it herself. She sat rigid, staring straight ahead, clutching her stuffed bear like a lifeline.
“All good?” I asked, resisting the urge to touch her cheek.
She nodded once. “I can buckle myself. I’m not a baby.”
“Of course you can. Old habits.”
She glanced up at me quickly, curiosity reflected in her blue eyes for just a split second. But then she went blank.
I closed the door and got in the driver’s seat. Mama climbed into the passenger side. As we pulled away, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Nicole had already gone inside. The door was closed. No last wave. No watching until we disappeared down the street. Just gone.
Margot stared out the window, her face expressionless.
“Do you need anything?” I asked, trying to catch her eye in the mirror. “We’ll stop for lunch in a bit. But let me know if you need a bathroom break.”
“I’m fine,” she said flatly.
“Okay. Well, let me know if that changes.”
Silence.
Mama tried next. “Are you excited to see Willet Cove? It’s a wonderful place to grow up.”
“I guess,” Margot said.
“Your dad tells me you love art,” Mama said. “I do too. I used to paint when I was younger. Not very well, but it made me happy.” Her voice was warm, conversational—steady and kind, the way you’d talk to a wounded animal. “Do you paint a lot?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do you like to paint?”
“Flowers.”
“That’s lovely. Maybe you can show me sometime. I’d love to see your work.”
Margot shrugged.
We drove in silence for a while. I kept glancing in the mirror, watching Margot stare out the window. She hadn’t looked at me once. Not really. Not in the eyes.
“My other grandmother’s dead,” Margot said suddenly, breaking the silence. “She used to take care of me, but then she got sick and died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. When was this?” Mama asked.
“When we lived in the other house. When Mom had bad people over at night.”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel. Bad people. God help me. What kind of nights had my little girl lived through while I slept oceans away?
“Before you moved in with Derek?” Mama asked.
“Yeah.” Margot sighed, turning back to the window. “Derek has money. He’s old. Mom knows that. I heard her say it to a friend over the phone. But she doesn’t care, because he’s rich.”
“You heard her say that to a friend?” Mama asked.
“I hear a lot of things,” Margot said.
“You must miss your grandmother a lot,” Mama said.
“Not really,” Margot said in that same flat tone. “She didn’t want me around either.”
Either.
“How do you know that?” Mama asked.
In the rearview mirror, I saw Margot’s gaze lift to meet my mother’s. Her voice was quiet but ancient. “It’s pretty obvious. I’m not stupid. Even though Derek says I am.”
“He says that?” I asked, gripping the steering wheel tighter, fighting the urge to turn the car around and punch Derek in that smug face of his.
“He wouldn’t let Mom give me my medicine. The one that helps me focus.”
“You have ADD?” Mama’s voice had sharpened.
“Yeah. I took a test.”
“Did the medicine help you?” Mama asked.
“It stopped the buzzing.”
“Why didn’t Derek want you to take it?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Margot said. “But Mom does whatever he says. This month, anyway.”
“We’ll get you back on your medicine,” I said. “Buzzing’s no good.”
A slight change in her expression. Maybe a flicker of hope?
We continued on in silence for another few miles.
“Your dad’s been so excited for you to come,” Mama said. “He’s remodeling the house that’s been in our family for a hundred years. And there’s a room for you—a very special room decorated by a designer who’s on television. Isn’t that neat?”
“I guess.”
Mama went on, undeterred. “The house won’t be ready for a few months, so you’ll be staying in an apartment above a bookstore. Your father’s best friend owns it, and he told me you can choose any book you want. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“I’m not a good reader,” Margot said.
“Do you prefer math?” Mama asked. “Did you know I used to be a teacher?”
“I didn’t know you existed at all,” Margot said. “Until just now.”
The words gutted me. I’d imagined this moment a thousand ways, but never this—my daughter sitting behind me in silence, not knowing I’d spent years fighting to be right here.
I tightened my grip on the wheel. This was going to be hard. But she was finally here. And thank God for my mother.
By the time we reached Willet Cove, my shoulders ached from tension, a dull, grinding ache that had started somewhere around the city limits and refused to let go. I pulled into the lot behind the bookstore and shut off the engine. “We’re here.”
Margot looked at the old brick storefront with the narrow stairs leading up to the apartment and her face fell. Just slightly. But I saw it.
“It’s small,” I said quickly. “But it’s temporary. Just until our house is finished being renovated. I’m looking for a different rental though. Someplace with two bedrooms.”
“Where will I sleep?” Margot asked.
“In the bedroom,” I said, getting out of the car and opening her door. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
She climbed out slowly, moving like someone walking toward something inevitable. I reached in to grab her suitcase, but the moment I set it down she took the handle, fast and possessive, as if daring me to try and carry it for her.
Mom shot me a look, shaking her head slightly. I knew the look. Give her space.
I led them upstairs, unlocking the apartment door. The space felt even smaller with three people inside, and kind of stuffy. I opened a window to let some fresh air in.
“This is the living room,” I said. “And the kitchen. Your room’s in there.”
I opened the door to show her the simple space—just a bed, one chair, a small dresser, and a single window overlooking the alley.
Margot stepped inside, eyes sweeping the room like she was trying to memorize her new cage. Her expression didn’t change. “It’s nice. Thank you.” Same polite tone, like she was commenting on a stranger’s house.
“Like I said, we won’t be here long. But your new room at the house is going to be super special. Our designer wants to get to know you so she can decorate it to your taste.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want to unpack? Get settled? I could help.”
“I’ll do it myself, thank you.”
“Of course. Take all the time you need,” I said.
She went in and closed the door. Not slammed, just closed it firmly. But the message was clear. Leave me alone.
I stood in the hallway, staring at that closed door. Every instinct screamed to knock, to fix it, to make her smile—but I couldn’t even remember what her laugh sounded like anymore.
Mama came up behind me, steering me gently toward the kitchen. “Let her be. She needs some space.”
“She won’t even look at me,” I said.
“She’s scared,” Mama said softly. “She was just handed off to someone she doesn’t remember. Give her time.”
“How much time?” As if she would know the answer to that divine question.
“As much as she needs.” Mama squeezed my shoulder. “I’m going to run to the bakery and get us some sandwiches. We all need food.”
I wanted to scream—no, don’t leave me alone with her. But I didn’t. Instead, I nodded grimly and sank onto the couch to wait. The cushions sighed under my weight, the apartment too quiet. I never knew silence could be so loud.
A minute later, a text came in from Lila.
Lila
You okay? How did it go?
Vance
Worse than I even imagined. She won’t talk to me. She’s in the bedroom now with the door shut.
Lila
Mia and I have a little gift for her. Could we drop by and say hello after I’m done with work?
Vance
That’s sweet, but I don’t know. Meeting more people she doesn’t know might make it worse.
Lila
Your call, of course. But let me know if you need anything. At all.
I sat for a few minutes. Then, from the bedroom—barely audible—a soft, muffled sound. A sniff. She was crying. My heart twisted so sharply it felt physical. I cursed under my breath. What was I supposed to do now? Other than start crying myself?
I stared at the phone in my hand, thumb hovering over Lila’s name. I needed someone who knew what to say, someone who could bridge the gap between a terrified child and a father she didn’t remember. Lila and Mia. Somehow, intuitively, I knew they could make headway with her.
I typed before I could second-guess myself.
Vance
On second thought, would you come by?
Lila
We’ll be there by 6:30. I’ll bring dinner.
Relief hit me so fast it almost embarrassed me. I’d never needed anyone the way I needed her right then.
At six-thirty on the dot, there was a knock at the door.
My mother had left hours ago. She was hosting her book club but promised to come again in the morning.
Which meant I’d spent the last few hours in a state of low-grade panic.
Margot hadn’t come out of her room. Not once.
I’d knocked twice—once to ask if she was hungry and a second time to see if she wanted to watch television.
Both times she’d said she was fine through the door.
I opened the door to find Lila and Mia, arms full of takeout bags and a wrapped package.
“Hi,” Lila said softly, her eyes searching my face. “How are you holding up?”