I don’t recall any talks around the table or her ever asking me for anything of significance since she was about twelve. Where had the time gone? What has she been doing all this time? I’m ashamed to admit that if anyone asked me anything about her, I wouldn’t have the answers.
Not that I knew much more about Victoria, but I’d venture to say I know more about the latter. I haven’t been very good to her either these last few days. She must be having a hard time of it with her mother locked away. Although I’d adopted her, Becky has been her only real parent these last few years.
She’s the one who’d spent most of the time with the girls, taking care of them, or so I’d thought. Now with Victoria’s dismissal from school and her mom being arrested not once but twice, she must be terrified. From what I remember, she hadn’t had it very easy in life before they moved here. That’s the main reason why I’ve been more lenient with her in the past.
Gia didn’t want for anything, had both loving parents before losing her mother, and was a well-rounded kid from birth. Though things were strained now, she still had her mother’s family waiting in the wings while Victoria had no one but Becky and me. It’s no excuse, I know, and now that I look back, I may have gone about things the wrong way. Hopefully, I’ll get the chance to make it up to Gia when the dust clears around here.
As for Becky, I’m not sure what I’m going to do about her. Everyone, namely the Russos, seems to think that it’s easy to just walk away, just accept that she’s a horrible woman who did unconscionable things to my own daughter right under my nose, and they look down on me for not seeing things their way.
But how can they know the heartache I feel? The disgust that fills my guts with dread each time I look in the mirror. How can they know what the thought of accepting their words as truth does to me? How can I face myself or my dead wife in the afterlife if their accusations are true?
Wouldn’t that mean that I’m the worst kind of parent? That I’d let my kid down in the worst way? Subjecting her to hell in her own home? I can’t so easily accept things as they are. Though in the back of my mind, I know there are some truths to it, I can’t take that final step into complete acceptance.
My phone buzzed next to me on the bed where I lay looking up at the ceiling. I’d sat in front of Adrienne’s portrait all morning again until guilt made me run up here. I think I must be losing my mind because her eyes look accusatory when I look at her long enough.
I didn’t recognize the number, but the message had me sitting up in bed with a start. ‘Did you know that your wife killed your first life? Maybe you should have a talk with your housekeeper, the old one.’ I read and reread it countless times, trying to make sense of it. There was a loud humming sound in my ear, and I thought I would pass out from the raw emotions I felt.
This can’t be real. I tried calling the number and got nothing but dead air while I sat on the edge of my bed in a panic. My first thought was to go confront Becky, but there was no way for me to see her in jail. The Russos had taken care of that as well. The old man had made it very clear what would happen if I crossed them again, but this isn’t something I can put off.
Who would’ve sent me such a message? And why now? Is it because Becky’s not here to interfere? What do they mean she killed Adrienne? I know that’s not true; Adrienne had been very ill. It’s a sad reality but true. So, who could be stirring up a hornet’s nest with this obvious lie?
A little voice in my head whispered that I was burying my head in the sand again, brushing things aside when they didn’t fit into a certain mold. When had I become this person? Afraid to face life, afraid of letting myself feel anything beyond the superficial?
My heart thundered in my chest as I stood to pace the room feeling like I needed to crawl out of my skin. Why would someone make up such a lie? How could they know that I’ve been searching for Greta to question her? Granted, my mind hadn’t gone anywhere near this madness, but what are the odds?
“No, this is someone making trouble,” I remember how the other women had treated Becky in the beginning. Maybe this was someone trying to get back at her. It was my fault the way she’d been treated. Part of the guilt I carry and another one of the reasons why I’d given her free rein without much interference.