Chapter 6 - My Father Had To Earn The Word
Miranda was charged with child endangerment and assault, but court dates and charges were adult words that didn’t fix the part of me that still listened for her voice. Grandpa let me stay with him while everything moved forward. He bought an extra carton of the vanilla yogurt I liked and never once asked me to be grateful. Some evenings Dad came by after work and sat on the porch with Grandpa, both of them quiet for a while before either spoke. At first I stayed inside. Then one night Grandpa called me out and left the two of us alone with a plate of peach slices between us. Dad looked older than he had a month before. “I know sorry is a cheap word right now,” he said. “So I’m not asking you to trust it. I’m asking you to watch what I do next.”
He meant it. He filed for divorce. He changed his schedule. He found a family therapist and a separate counselor for me before I asked for one. He took down every framed photo in the house that still included Miranda and left my room exactly as it had been, right down to the chipped lamp I’d had since fourth grade. But the thing that mattered most happened three weeks later when the prosecutor asked if I would have to testify. Dad said, in front of everyone, “Lily will not carry this alone. If she speaks, I speak. If she stops, we stop.” That was the first time since Mom died that I felt like my father had stepped all the way back into the room.
