Chapter 4 - THE THINGS TAYLOR ALREADY KNEW
Taylor arrived the next afternoon carrying Lily’s school clothes, reading folder, and stuffed rabbit.
She placed everything on Grant’s kitchen counter with the careful precision she used when trying not to lose control.
Lily sat nearby drawing with purple and yellow crayons.
The pediatrician called during lunch. Grant put the phone on speaker so Taylor could hear.
The doctor asked whether Lily had shown signs of anxiety before the freezer incident.
Taylor answered immediately.
“She doesn’t like closets, bathrooms without windows, or adults standing behind her.”
Grant turned toward her.
The doctor continued. “Any repetitive behaviors?”
“She counts ceiling tiles when she’s upset.”
“What about sleep?”
“She asks for the door to stay cracked.”
Grant ended the call after scheduling a follow-up appointment.
“How long have you known?”
Taylor folded one of Lily’s shirts. “Known what?”
“That she was afraid of closed spaces.”
“She’s always been cautious.”
“You described symptoms like you’d made a list.”
“Because I pay attention.”
“And I don’t?”
Taylor finally looked at him. “You want me to answer that today?”
Lily’s crayon stopped moving.
Grant lowered his voice. “Did she tell you Evelyn punished her?”
“Not clearly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means children don’t always explain things in adult language. Sometimes they ask you not to close a door. Sometimes they stop wanting to visit somebody. Sometimes they wet the bed after coming home.”
“And you still left her there.”
Taylor’s face tightened.
Grant saw guilt, but also anger directed somewhere he did not yet understand.
“I told my mother she was never to be alone with Lily,” Taylor said.
“You also called her to babysit.”
“I was called into the hospital. Three children came in after a school-bus crash. I couldn’t leave the department.”
“You could have called me.”
“You had blocked my number.”
Grant remembered doing it after an argument about the remaining boxes in the garage. He had unblocked Taylor later but never told her.
“I would’ve answered.”
“You didn’t answer for most of our marriage.”
Lily lifted her drawing.
Three rectangular shapes filled the page. Each had a narrow yellow opening.
“What are those?” Taylor asked.
“Doors.”
“Where do they go?”
Lily pointed to the first. “Daddy’s.”
Then the second. “Mommy’s.”
May you like
Her finger hovered above the third rectangle, which she had covered in dark gray.
She folded the paper before either parent could ask.
