Fox River. Emilie Richards

watched him walk away. Finally she drew a deep breath and realized it was the first she had taken since his answer.

      8

      “Mommy, when I shut my eyes, I can still see light. Can you see light?”

      “I don’t think so. Turn me toward the lamp.”

      From the noise she made, Callie thought that was funny. She stood on the bed and put her small hands on Julia’s shoulders; then she guided her. “Can you see it?”

      “When you close your eyes, you’re still getting light through your eyelids. Whatever is wrong with my eyes, the light doesn’t penetrate.”

      “Daddy says something’s wrong with your head. But not because you hit it.”

      Julia was glad Bard had reassured Callie of that much, at least. “It’s hard to understand.”

      “If you just try real hard, maybe you can see.”

      Julia heard Bard in her daughter’s words. She positioned herself to sit on the bed. “Remember when you were learning to read, and no matter how hard you tried, you still couldn’t make any sense out of all those letters? Remember how you had to have a special teacher who knew what your problem was and how to help you with it?”

      “I’m not even nine yet, Mommy,” Callie said with exaggerated patience. “I remember.”

      Julia put her arms around her daughter, or rather, she put her arms around empty space until Callie snuggled against her. “Well, it’s the same way for me. No matter how hard I struggle to see, I can’t. I’m going to need a special teacher to help me see again, somebody who knows what my problem is.”

      “A seeing teacher?”

      Julia wished it were that easy. “A psychologist. A counselor.”

      “I’m learning to read. Maybe you’ll learn to see, too.”

      “You’re doing very well with your reading. And because it’s harder for you, it’ll mean more.”

      “I had to read out loud in class yesterday.”

      Julia had an agreement with Callie’s teacher that this would never happen. “Why?”

      “We had a substitute. Mrs. Quinn was at a meeting. I just told her it was hard for me, so she let me stop. But the other kids laughed.”

      “What did you do?”

      “I didn’t have time to do much. Leroy Spader got up to read and fell over somebody’s foot. Then they laughed at him, instead.” Callie paused. “But I didn’t laugh. I helped him get back up.”

      “That was nice.” Julia remembered Leroy. Usually when the class laughed at Callie, cocky little Leroy was the leader.

      “Then I pushed him.”

      “You didn’t!”

      “Just back into his seat. That’s all. So he wouldn’t fall again.”

      Julia hugged her daughter harder. “No more pushing, Callie. I know Leroy provokes you, but that’s not going to help anything.”

      “Why, because I’m supposed to be a lady?”

      Bard’s words again. “Not at all. Because it’s the right thing to do. Girl or boy.”

      “Pickles!”

      “Pickles?”

      “That’s what Tiffany says when she’s mad.”

      “You’d better get under the covers now, sweetums.”

      “Can’t. You have to stand up first. You’re on my blanket.”

      Julia got to her feet. “I’m going to tuck you in. Just let me know if I succeed.”

      “I like your room. I’m glad I’m sleeping here.”

      Julia had always liked this room, too, and it hadn’t surprised her that Callie chose it. The bedroom was large and airy, with windows on two sides and climbing trees just out of reach. At Callie’s age, she had asked Maisy to paint it a sunny yellow, and it had remained that way until she was a teenager. Then Julia couldn’t darken the walls enough to suit herself. In an uncharacteristic moment of parental defiance, Maisy had refused to let her paint them black, so she and her mother had compromised on navy blue.

      Now the room was a soft lavender, or had been last time she’d been able to see it. “What color are the walls in here, Callie?”

      “Purple.”

      “Light purple?”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “I painted it this color my first year in college.”

      Christian had helped, and so had Fidelity. Julia felt a fresh stab of pain. Callie would never know her biological father had painted the ceiling just above her head. Or that her mother’s best friend had painted the trim, carelessly slopping more on the walls than the window frames until they’d made her sit and supervise.

      Callie wouldn’t know that she had been conceived inside these very walls, just days before Christian was convicted of Fidelity’s murder and sentenced to a life away from the daughter he didn’t know he had.

      “Purple makes me sleepy,” Callie said. She sounded like a child drifting to the land of Nod.

      “I can’t read to you, but I could tell you a story.”

      “I don’t think I can…stay awake.”

      Julia sat on the side of the bed again and felt for Callie’s face. Then she landed a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “I’ll tell you a longer one tomorrow to make up for it.”

      “You two ready for lights out?”

      Julia hadn’t heard her mother’s approach. “This is one tired little girl.”

      Maisy’s footsteps ringed the bed. “Good night, princess. We’ll see you in the morning.”

      “Night…Leave the door open.”

      “We will.” Julia felt Maisy take her hand.

      In the hallway, Maisy put her arm around her daughter. “You’re ready for bed, too, aren’t you?”

      “I am tired.”

      At the bottom of the stairs, after a long, slow descent, Maisy spoke again. “How did things go with Bard?”

      Julia realized her mother needed to know at least part of what had occurred. “Bard’s taking this personally. And I guess I antagonized him.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “Are you?”

      “I don’t want your life to be any harder than it already is.”

      “He pulled out all the stops.” And inside she was still trembling from the dissonant roar.

      “Julia, whatever you decide, you know it’ll be all right with me, don’t you? I’m not trying to make you do anything.”

      Julia thought about that. Maisy had always been a permissive parent. Sometimes Julia thought the absence of rules had been a sneaky but useful form of control. With few parental limits, Julia had been forced to choose her own so carefully that when she’d erred, it had usually been on the side of caution.

      “You’re not forcing me to do anything I don’t want to do, but you want me here, Maisy. You’ve made it clear.”

      “I won’t lie. I love it.”

      “Am I imagining it, or have you been clearing out the hallway?”

      “I’ve just been making paths. Lord knows, we’ve needed them for years.”

      Julia