Chapter 26 - I Saw Elaine At The Grocery Store
The first time I saw Elaine after sentencing, she was comparing tomatoes.
No courtroom.
No lawyer.
No police.
Just produce.
I had imagined seeing her again in a hundred different ways. In none of them was I holding a bag of frozen waffles while she inspected a tomato for bruises. We saw each other at the same time.
Elaine froze.
I did too.
For a second, both of us seemed to consider pretending we had not. Then she put the tomato back.
"Rachel."
"Elaine."
She looked thinner.
Her hair was completely gray now instead of carefully colored at the ends. Probation had not made her physically old.
Guilt might have.
Or maybe I simply had not looked at her without armor before.
"How is Lily?" she asked.
I could have said none of your business.
It would have been fair.
Instead I said, "Growing."
Elaine smiled slightly.
"She does that."
Silence.
A store employee pushed a cart of onions between us and apologized.
The normality was almost offensive.
Elaine looked at my wrist.
I was still wearing the MORM bracelet, though several beads had faded.
"Did she make that?"
"Yes."
"It's beautiful."
"It says Morm."
Elaine's mouth twitched.
"Even better."
I wanted to hate the tiny joke.
I didn't.
That irritated me.
"I won't ask to see her," Elaine said.
"Good."
"I mean, I want to. But I won't ask you."
"It's not my decision alone anymore."
She nodded.
"I know."
We stood there beside tomatoes and onions and an elderly man squeezing avocados like nothing terrible had ever happened in the world. Then Elaine said, "I am sorry."
I looked at her.
"I know."
"I don't expect forgiveness."
"Good."
She flinched, but stayed.
"I used to think forgiveness was proof that an apology worked," she said. "My probation counselor told me that's narcissistic."
I blinked.
"Your probation counselor said that?"
"More professionally."
Against my will, I laughed.
Elaine laughed once too.
Then the laugh died.
"I still wake up thinking about Emma in that room," she said.
"You should."
Her eyes filled.
"Yes."
I could have comforted her.
I did not.
That was not cruelty.
Her guilt did not belong to me to soothe.
"I have to go," I said.
"Of course."
I walked away.
At the end of the aisle, I realized my hands were shaking. I left the store without the waffles.
Lily was furious.
"You forgot the one thing."
"I did."
"How?"
"I got distracted."
"By tomatoes?"
"Basically."
She stared at me like I was hopeless.
We ate eggs instead.
I told Maya about the encounter at my own therapy appointment. Yes, I had returned to therapy. For myself this time, not because a lawyer recommended it.
"Did you want to forgive her?" Maya asked.
"No."
"Did you want to punish her?"
I thought about it.
"Not anymore."
"What did you want?"
That took longer.
"Distance."
Maya nodded.
There was something deeply satisfying about learning that distance could be a complete answer. I did not have to turn Elaine into family again. I did not have to hate her every morning either. She could exist somewhere else with her guilt.
A month later, Lily asked about her.
"Is Grandma dead?"
I nearly choked on coffee.
"No. Why would you think that?"
"Because nobody says her name."
Fair.
"She's alive."
"Can I see Cooper?"
There it was.
Not Grandma.
The dog.
We talked with Maya and the guardian ad litem. Eventually, a plan was approved for Cooper to visit us at a neutral park with a third party handling the exchange.
Elaine did not attend.
A probation-approved neighbor brought the dog. Cooper was older, fatter, and just as enthusiastic as Lily remembered. He knocked her over in the grass. I panicked for half a second.
Lily laughed so hard she hiccuped. She buried her face in his neck.
"You smell bad."
Cooper did not care.
We kept him for three hours. When it was time to leave, Lily cried. She asked why Cooper could not live with us. I explained he belonged to Derek and was being cared for by Elaine.
"Daddy can't take care of him in jail."
"No."
"That's sad."
"Yeah."
She wiped her face.
"He should've not hurt me."
The simplicity of it crushed me.
"You're right."
If he had not hurt her, perhaps all of us would be somewhere else. Maybe Derek would be making pancakes. Maybe Elaine would still be giving me unsolicited advice. Maybe Serena and Max would still come to barbecues.
Maybe none of us would know Carver's name mattered. But wishing for the version where harm never happened did not change the one we had.
So I drove Lily home.
She sat in the back seat hugging a dog hair-covered sweatshirt. At a red light, she said, "Mommy?"
"Yeah?"
"When I'm big, can I decide if I see Daddy?"
"Yes."
"Even if you don't like it?"
The question hurt more than I expected.
I took a breath.
"When you're grown, your relationships are your choices. I can tell you what I think, but I don't get to own you."
She was quiet.
"Daddy thought he owned me."
I looked at her in the mirror.
"Sometimes he acted like that."
"I'm not stuff."
"No."
She pressed her forehead to the window.
"Good."
That night, after she fell asleep, I went into her room to pick up laundry. The yellow chair sat beside her desk. The sign was still taped to it.
MY CHAIR.
I GET UP WHEN I WANT. Underneath, Lily had added one more line in purple marker.
PEOPLE ARE NOT FURNITURE.
---
(To be continued)
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