Women Who Stay, 29

Chapter 1 ... Chapter 28

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In some ways, Annabelle's childhood was straight out of a fairytale. Her father happily bought her anything she asked for -- every book, every piece of clothing, every possible accouterment for any half-baked hobby. She rambled over lush green grounds. Her home was filled with treasure, by some definition of the word.

There was even a villain. Janie, who wielded a brush like a whip, battling her curls every morning before school. Janie, who belittled her talents, her academic achievements, her existence. Janie, who cast Annabelle from the kingdom when she refused to find a prince.

"Why did your sexuality offend her?" I asked. Annabelle shrugged. "I mean, she was married to a gay man. One would think --"

"Ah, but she was married to gay man who played by her rules," Annabelle said. "Who hid himself to her liking. I could never be quiet about who I was. I figured it out in middle school, and I never looked back."

"What did your Dad say?"

"Not much. 'You're still young,' or something like that."

"Doesn't sound very supportive."

"At least it was better than Mom's response. She'd never been a big churchgoer or anything, but she started dragging me there on Sundays and calling me a sinner. She only stopped when the pastor wouldn't reprimand me for her, saying that God loved all his children, and she should, too."

"Do you think she loved you?"

She looked at me incredulously. "Does any of that sound like love to you?"

"No," I admitted. "But she spoke of you fondly. It really seemed like she did, to me, at least." Annabelle drank her coffee with a thoughtful expression.

"She appreciated people for what they gave her. Like, she appreciated that Dad made money for her to spend, and gave her a home, and kids. When he stopped fulfilling that role, they started fighting, and if there was any love between them, it dried up.

But my job, being her daughter, was done once I was born with the right number of fingers and toes. If she ever loved me, it was then. And if she spoke of me fondly, then it was only because she felt to do otherwise would reflect poorly upon her as a mother. Because she didn't love me. Does that make sense?"

"I think so." We lapsed into silence. "But I still don't get why she fought so hard to keep you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he'd filed for full custody." It was a discovery I made in the boxes, one that Janie hadn't mentioned to me. I realized there, in the diner, that she hadn't told their children, either.

"What?" Her mouth had fallen open. "When?"

"A couple of days before Janie invited the police to search Hollow Hill Farm."

"Oh, that cunt," she seethed. She pressed her fingers to her eyes. "That miserable old hag. Oh, my God."

"What were those last few years like, between when she filed and he died?"

But she was lost to me. "Is that why he -- why she -- Oh, my God," she repeated. When she took her hands away from her eyes, her face was wet with tears. "Why couldn't she just let him keep me?"

"Annabelle," I said gently. "You'd really rather have lived with a killer?"

"He never hurt us," she protested. "It was a different part of him that did those things. I know it was. Like, I was there."

"Ok, then walk me through it. Tell me what you saw."

She heaved a sigh and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.

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Read on to Chapter 30