Chapter 3 - THE PICTURES
“She told me to stand still.”
Elena sat beside me on the bed while I carefully removed the plastic.
I didn’t tear it.
I folded it.
I don’t know why.
Maybe because some part of my brain had already shifted from mother to witness.
“What did Grandma photograph?”
Elena pointed toward her stomach.
“She made me pull my sweater up.”
My jaw tightened.
“Did she take off your clothes?”
“No.”
Relief came so fast it hurt.
“She said the bag made me look like how I was going to look if you kept feeding me junk.”
I closed my eyes.
For one second.
Only one.
Because if I let myself feel everything at once, I was going to go downstairs screaming.
And screaming was exactly what Margaret would use against me.
“What happened after the pictures?”
Elena twisted the cuff of her sweater.
“She made me say something.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“She turned the phone around.”
“A video?”
Elena nodded.
“She told me to say you let me eat whatever I want.”
I stared at her.
“Did you?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“I know.”
“She said if I didn’t, Daddy might get mad at you.”
There it was.
Not concern.
Not dieting.
Leverage.
“What else?”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“She asked if you yell.”
“Did you answer?”
“I said sometimes.”
Of course I yelled sometimes.
Brush your teeth.
Shoes on.
Stop drawing on the wall.
Normal parenting.
But Margaret wasn’t asking normal questions.
“She asked if you forget breakfast.”
I felt cold.
“I never forget your breakfast.”
“I told her that.”
“What did she say?”
“She said maybe I forget things because I’m little.”
The room became very still.
Margaret hadn’t improvised.
She had questions ready.
Specific questions.
Leading questions.
Questions designed to create answers.
Then Elena whispered:
“She had papers.”
“What papers?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where?”
“On the desk.”
“What did they look like?”
She thought.
“One had my school picture.”
My breath stopped.
“Your school picture?”
“And your name.”
“Could you read anything else?”
Elena shook her head.
Then remembered.
“There was a blue folder.”
That detail mattered.
Because I had seen a blue folder in Margaret’s dining room earlier that afternoon.
She closed it when I walked in.
I assumed it contained Christmas receipts.
Now I remembered something else.
A business card beside it.
I hadn’t paid attention to the name.
But I remembered the scales of justice embossed on the corner.
A lawyer.
I reached for my phone.
Then stopped.
No.
First, I needed Daniel.
He was downstairs laughing with his brother.
His mother had just wrapped our daughter in garbage plastic, weighed her, photographed her, recorded her, and apparently prepared paperwork involving my name.
And my husband had absolutely no idea.
At least, that was what I believed.
Until Elena grabbed my hand again.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Daddy knows Grandma takes pictures.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She told him last week.”
The floor seemed to disappear beneath me.
May you like
Then Elena added:
“He said, ‘Just don’t let Claire find out until after Christmas.’”
