Chapter 7: The Questions Karen Couldn't Answer
By the time my father returned home, the house no longer felt like a place where he could control everything simply by raising his voice.
He had left the hospital with my unanswered questions following him like shadows.
He had wanted me to forgive him.
He had wanted me to look at him and recognize the father I remembered from childhood.
Instead, I had asked him why he never bothered to hear my side before deciding I was guilty.
He hadn't answered because there was no answer that could make what he had done acceptable.
Now he had to face the person who had started it all.
Karen was waiting in the living room when he walked through the front door.
She had changed clothes again. Her hair was brushed, and a blanket lay across her knees. The television was still on, but the volume had been turned down so low that it sounded like distant conversation.
She looked up immediately.
“Dad! How is she?””
He set his keys on the counter.
“She woke up.””
Karen exhaled dramatically, pressing a hand against her chest.
“Oh, thank God. I was so worried.””
Dad didn't respond.
She stood and approached him.
“Did she tell you anything? Is she blaming me?””
He studied her face.
“Why would she blame you?””
Karen hesitated.
“Well, because I was the one who told you what I found.””
“What exactly did you find?””
Her expression tightened.
“Dad, we already talked about this.””
“No. We didn't.””
He walked toward the sofa and sat down.
“Sit.””
Karen remained standing.
“Why are you acting like this?””
“Because I have questions.””
“About what?””
“Everything you told me tonight.””
She folded her arms.
“I told you the truth.””
“Then it should be easy to explain.””
He pointed toward the chair across from him.
“Sit down, Karen.””
She finally obeyed, but she did so with an exaggerated sigh that would once have made him soften.
This time, he didn't.
“Start at the beginning,” he said.
“Tell me exactly where you found the pills.””
Karen stared at him.
“In her room.””
“Where in her room?””
“I told you, Dad. Among her things.””
“Which things?””
Her eyes narrowed.
“Why does that matter?””
“Because the police found pills in her backpack, and I need to understand how you knew she had them.””
Karen looked away.
“I saw them.””
“When?””
“Earlier.””
“What time?””
“I don't remember.””
“Before or after dinner?””
She shifted on the sofa.
“I don't know. Why are you making this such a big deal?””
“Because your sister was found unconscious beside a road four miles from our house.””
Karen's mouth closed.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then she leaned forward.
“Dad, you're forgetting something. She could have been hiding them from you. Just because I can't remember the exact time doesn't mean I'm lying.””
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“I didn't say you were lying.””
“You're treating me like I am!””
“I'm asking questions.””
“You never ask her this many questions.””
The words escaped so quickly that even Karen seemed surprised by them.
Dad stared at her.
“What does that mean?””
“Nothing.””
“No. Explain it.””
She stood abruptly.
“I don't have to sit here and defend myself when I was only trying to help!””
Dad rose too.
“Then help me understand.””
Karen's face flushed.
“I saw the pills. I told you. You believed me. What else do you want?””
“I want to know where they came from.””
“How would I know?””
“You said you found them.””
“I did!””
“Then why can't you tell me where?””
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Then she looked toward the staircase.
Dad noticed.
“Karen.””
“What?””
“Look at me.””
She slowly turned back.
“Did you put those pills in your sister's backpack?””
For one long second, she didn't move.
Then she laughed.
It was a short, disbelieving sound.
“Are you serious?””
“Answer me.””
“No! Of course I didn't!””
Dad watched her carefully.
“Then you won't mind telling the police everything you know.””
Her expression changed.
“What?””
“Officer Daniels wants to speak with you.””
“When?””
“I don't know. Soon, probably.””
“Why?””
“Because they're investigating what happened.””
Karen's breathing quickened.
“You can't let them treat me like a criminal.””
“Then tell the truth.””
“I have!””
“Then you have nothing to worry about.””
He repeated her own argument back to her, and for the first time, she had no immediate response.
She picked up her phone from the coffee table.
“I need to call someone.””
“Who?””
“A friend.””
“Why?””
“Because I want to talk to someone who isn't accusing me of something!””
She stormed upstairs before he could answer.
Dad remained in the living room.
For years, he had interpreted Karen's emotional reactions as proof that she was telling the truth. When she cried, he comforted her. When she became angry, he assumed someone had hurt her. When she insisted she was trying to help, he rarely questioned her motives.
I had learned the opposite lesson.
If I cried, I was being dramatic.
If I became angry, I was disrespectful.
If I defended myself, I was making excuses.
The rules had never been the same for both of us.
Now, for the first time, Dad was beginning to see the difference.
His phone rang shortly after midnight.
Officer Daniels.
Dad answered immediately.
“Have you found out anything?””
“We're still reviewing the evidence and speaking with the people involved.””
“Did you talk to my older daughter?””
“We've made arrangements to speak with her.””
Dad looked toward the ceiling.
“Do you think she did it?””
“I can't make that determination based on suspicion, Mr. Walls.””
“Then what do you know?””
“We know that your younger daughter denies knowing anything about the pills. We also know the allegation was made before you put her outside.””
Dad closed his eyes.
“I shouldn't have done that.””
“No, sir,” Officer Daniels replied.
“You shouldn't have.””
The bluntness of the answer surprised him.
He had expected a lecture, perhaps, or a formal explanation of the potential consequences.
Instead, the officer had simply confirmed what Dad already knew.
He had made a terrible decision.
And no amount of regret could undo it.
“Can I ask you something?”” Dad said.
“Of course.””
“If the pills were planted, would you be able to tell?””
“That depends on what evidence is available. We're examining the circumstances, not just the item itself.””
Dad nodded, although the officer couldn't see him.
“Is there anything I should do?””
“Don't pressure either of your daughters to change their accounts. Preserve anything that may be relevant, and let us conduct our interviews.””
“Understood.””
When the call ended, Dad sat alone for several minutes.
Then he went upstairs.
Karen's bedroom door was closed.
He knocked.
“Go away!””
“It's me.””
“I said go away!””
Dad stood outside the door.
“Karen, open it.””
A few seconds passed.
Then the door opened just enough for her to peer through.
“What?””
He looked past her into the room.
Her desk drawers were open. Several papers lay scattered across the floor, and the contents of a small storage box had been emptied onto the bed.
“What are you doing?””
“Cleaning.””
“At midnight?””
“It's my room.””
He didn't argue.
His attention had shifted to the open drawer beside her desk.
Inside lay a folded piece of paper.
Karen moved quickly to block his view.
“What?””
“Nothing.””
“What's in the drawer?””
“School stuff.””
He studied her.
“Let me see.””
“No.””
The answer came too quickly.
Dad's expression hardened.
“Karen.””
She stepped back.
He reached toward the drawer, but she pushed it shut.
“Stop!””
The shout echoed down the hallway.
They stared at each other.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Karen began to cry.
“You don't trust me anymore,” she whispered.
Dad felt the old instinct rise inside him.
He wanted to reassure her.
He wanted to tell her that she was still his daughter and that everything would be all right.
But then he remembered me in the hospital bed, asking whether he had ever bothered to find out what happened before deciding I was guilty.
He lowered his hand.
“I don't know what to believe anymore.””
Karen's tears stopped almost instantly.
Her face became blank.
And Dad understood something he had never understood before.
He had spent years confusing her ability to make him feel guilty with proof that she had been wronged.
This time, he refused to let the feeling decide what was true.
“Get some sleep,” he said.
He turned away.
Behind him, Karen closed the door.
The lock clicked.
Dad stood in the hallway, listening to the silence.
He knew he couldn't force the truth out of her.
But he also knew the police were coming.
And whatever was inside that drawer, whatever she had been trying to hide, might explain why she had been so determined to make me look guilty.
For the first time, he was afraid of what his older daughter might have done.
Not because he wanted to believe the worst about her.
Because he was finally willing to consider the possibility that she had been lying all along.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of rain tapping against the hospital window.
It was lighter now, a steady patter instead of the violent assault that had swallowed the road the previous evening.
My body felt heavy.
My cheek hurt where I had struck the gravel, and I was exhausted in a way that sleep didn't seem to fix.
A nurse came in to check on me.
She asked how I was feeling, helped me sit more comfortably, and reminded me that the medical team would continue monitoring my recovery.
Then she told me my father had called.
I stared at her.
“What did he say?””
“He asked how you were doing.””
I looked down at the blanket.
“Did he ask to speak to me?””
“Yes.””
I waited.
“He said he would respect it if you weren't ready.””
Something twisted painfully in my chest.
I had spent the previous night wishing he would come for me.
Now that he was trying to give me space, I didn't know whether to feel relieved or abandoned all over again.
I asked for my phone.
The nurse handed it to me.
There were several missed notifications, most of them ordinary reminders that had accumulated while I was away.
Nothing from Karen.
Nothing that explained why she had accused me.
Nothing that could make the events of the previous night less real.
I opened my messages and stared at Dad's name.
I could have called him.
I could have asked him to come back.
Instead, I set the phone facedown.
May you like
I wasn't ready.
And this time, nobody would be allowed to decide that my silence meant something it didn't.
