perfect day.
—Lily
Dear Ellen,
Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.
He’s moving to Boston.
I don’t really feel like talking about it.
—Lily
Dear Ellen,
This is going to be a big one for my mother to hide.
My father is usually pretty cognizant of hitting her where it won’t leave a
visible bruise. The last thing he probably wants is for people in the town to
know what he does to her. I’ve seen him kick her a few times, choke her, hit her
on the back and the stomach, pull her hair. The few times he’s hit her on the
face, it’s always just been a slap, so the marks wouldn’t stay for long.
But never have I seen him do what he did last night.
It was really late when they got home. It was a weekend, so he and my mom
went to some community function. My father has a real estate company and
he’s also the town mayor, so they have to do things in the public a lot like go to
charity dinners. Which is ironic, since my father hates charities. But I guess he
has to save face.
Atlas was already in my room when they got home. I could hear them
fighting as soon as they walked through the front door. A lot of the conversation
was muffled, but for the most part, it sounded like my father was accusing her
of flirting with some man.
Now I know my mother, Ellen. She would never do something like that. If
anything, a guy probably looked at her and it made my father jealous. My
mother is really beautiful.
I heard him call her a whore and then I heard the first blow. I started to
climb out of my bed but Atlas pulled me back and told me not to go in there,
that I might get hurt. I told him it actually helps sometimes. That when I go in
there, my father backs off.
Atlas tried to talk me out of it, but finally I got up and went out into the
living room.
Ellen.
I just . . .