Steps
The walk upstairs seemed to take forever. The effort to lift her foot from riser to riser was almost overwhelming. It was a moment that she had known was coming for yearsever since the day they lay Joan in her arms, a tiny defenseless baby. Someday she would have to tell her daughter about what had happened.
When Kevin was born it was such a relief. The labor had been long, but in the end, when the doctor had placed him on her stomach and Will told her it was a boy, she was so relieved.
Wouldn't have to tell him.
No, she would only have to raise him to be a loving man, someone who would never hurt women. She wouldn't have to tell.
But three years later, her reprieve was over.
When she's old enough. I'll tell her then.
What was old enough? Thirty?
Helen shook her head and took another step. Will was right. It was time to tell Joan the truth, to answer the questions and to reveal another part of her history.
She had almost told Joan once when the teenager had been complaining about school and asked why she quit art school. Joan's tone had been soshe had been trying to make Helen feel bad about quitting. She had almost snapped back at Joan, told her there was a good reason she'd quit, asked her poor thirteen year old daughter if she would have stayed at school after a man crawled in her bed and
Helen took another step closer to the top of the flight of stairs.
Yes, it was easier with the boys. She paused in the hallway and looked into Kevin's bedroom. They were playing video games. It was such a relief to see them in there together, doing something normal, enjoying themselves and each other.
Just last week it seemed like maybe things were getting back to normal. Kevin finding a job was a huge step toward them all moving past this funk they'd been in since his accident.
And then Joan had pulled the paintings out. Put them on the yard sale.
And suddenly everything was tipped on its side all over again. And the only way to make it right was to tell Joan. Except it wouldn't make things ever right again.
FIN