Chapter 9
One year after the staircase, Lily asked to go back.
Not to Bennett Hall.
To the building that replaced it.
The museum had opened with private tours.
I said no immediately.
She crossed her arms.
“Dr. Wells said I can choose.”
I silently cursed every therapist who empowered children correctly.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“You don’t have to think. You have to listen.”
“That sounds suspiciously like something Dr. Wells said.”
“It was.”
I sighed.
“Why do you want to go?”
She looked down at her sneakers.
“Because I keep dreaming about it. In the dream, I’m always falling. I want to see it when I’m awake and not falling.”
That was a better reason than I was prepared for.
So we planned.
Dr. Wells came.
Marcus came.
Rachel offered to come with legal documents, but Lily said that felt “too lawyer-ish.”
We went on a Tuesday, before public hours.
The new owners had preserved the ballroom.
Of course they had.
The marble staircase gleamed.
Beautiful.
Cold.
Lily stood at the bottom for a long time.
I stood beside her, trying not to break the railing with my hands.
Finally, she said, “It looks smaller.”
“It does?”
“In my dream, it’s huge.”
She took one step closer.
Then another.
At the first stair, she stopped.
Dr. Wells said softly, “What do you feel?”
Lily frowned.
“Mad.”
“At who?”
“Vanessa.”
A pause.
“Uncle Michael.”
Another pause.
“You.”
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.”
She looked at me quickly.
“I don’t mean—”
“No. You can be mad at me.”
Her lip trembled.
“You didn’t see.”
“I didn’t.”
“You were supposed to.”
“I was.”
She began crying.
“I waited for you to notice.”
That sentence struck deeper than anything the board had done.
I knelt in front of her.
“I am so sorry.”
She cried harder.
Not the scared crying.
The angry kind.
Healthy.
Hot.
Alive.
“I know,” she said. “But I’m still mad.”
“Good.”
She blinked through tears.
“Good?”
“You deserved to be angry.”
She wiped her face.
“Can I still love you?”
“Yes.”
“Can I be mad and love you?”
“Yes.”
She thought about that.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
She touched the banister.
Then placed one foot on the first step.
My whole body went rigid.
She looked back.
“Don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“Like you’re dying.”
I adjusted my expression.
Marcus coughed behind us.
Possibly a laugh.
Lily climbed three steps.
Then came back down.
Not because she had to.
Because she chose to.
At the bottom, she smiled.
“I’m done.”
We left.
Outside, she breathed in deeply.
“Can we get pancakes?”
It was nine in the morning.
“Absolutely.”
At breakfast, she ate three pancakes, two pieces of bacon, and half my eggs.
I watched her with quiet gratitude.
She caught me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Dad.”
“I just love you.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I know.”
Then she pushed my toast toward me.
May you like
“You need to eat too.”
So I did.
