Stepmother handed Girl one of her prizes, a Steuben glass cube engraved with American flags. “These suckers are worth a couple hundred dollars,” she told Girl quietly. “Even though this one is ugly. I like the birds best. They’ll be yours someday—you can sell ’em and make a few bucks.” Girl was proud of Stepmother, and liked how the other insurance agents came up to Girl to comment on what a good job Stepmother did. “She’s a firecracker!” one man said. “A pistol!” said another. Everyone treated Girl like a real grown-up, even though her white dress with the blue skirt and big off-center bow was a little more “prom” than “cocktail.”
For once, she was able to let go of the resentment that was as much a part of her as her hair color or her glasses. Bitterness was hard for her to release, but this time, without Brother or Mother or anyone else around, Girl softened toward Stepmother. It had to do with the way Stepmother treated her with respect, the way her eyes shone with pride when she introduced Girl to her coworkers. And it had something to do with watching Stepmother graciously receive her praise, seeing her as a success, instead of an instigator of turmoil.
When they got home, Girl decided to confide in Stepmother. She didn’t do this very often—Mother was her chosen confidant—but some things were too hard to tell her mother. Like when she went on the pill freshman year, it had been Stepmother she told first.
“Brother has been making me uncomfortable lately,” Girl told her.
“What happened, honey? You can talk to me. It’s okay,” Stepmother said. They were both changing out of their fancy clothes. Girl was hanging her dress up in her closet, Stepmother was in the doorway. Their bedrooms were across the hall from each other.
“Well, the other day, when we were at the coffee shop, he reached up under my shirt and grabbed my breast.”
“Why did he do that?” Stepmother was enraged, as Girl had counted on.
“He said he was trying to tickle me,” Girl answered. He had been furious when Girl yelled at him. You’re being too sensitive, he said, he hadn’t meant it at all, he said, and it was an accident. Girl was always too sensitive. Accidents happen. She didn’t know how to think about it yet.
“I always worried that he inherited some of your father’s perversion,” Stepmother said. She was always saying that Brother was just like their father, and she didn’t mean that he was headed for a career in medicine. She thought Father was mentally unbalanced, sinisterly perverted, and a pathological liar.
“But, Girl, I always wondered if you two were too close. It’s really your fault that he crosses the line, because you always let him see you in the shower.”
Girl sank to the carpet and covered her ears with her hands. It was not her fault. Their house only had one bathroom, and every morning everyone in the family was in and out of it. If Girl was in the shower, Brother was on the pot and Mother was blow drying her hair at the sink. It was the only way everyone got out of the house on time. Their parents took the children to nude beaches. Mother and Stepmother raised the children not to be modest—hell, they weren’t allowed to be modest. Everyone in the family walked around naked, it wasn’t like Girl was parading nude to entice Brother like some sibling cock tease. How was Girl supposed to create boundaries where none existed?
“Girl, I’m just saying that it wasn’t normal how you let him see you naked, or in a towel. What did you expect?”
Girl screamed to blot out her words. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault. She was balled up, her knees pulled close to her chest, her back against the closet door.
“Stop screaming! You’re hysterical!” Girl wouldn’t stop. Girl needed to drown out her stepmother’s voice. Stepmother slapped her across the face, once, twice, four times. Girl kept screaming.
“Listen, you are crazy,” Stepmother said in quiet, tightly controlled words. “I am going to call the ambulance and have them take you away in a straitjacket! They will lock you up!” Her face was red and her eyes cold and filled with fury.
Girl stopped screaming abruptly, terrified of the men with straitjackets. She was just a kid. No one would ever believe her that she wasn’t crazy, wasn’t hysterical, but was just trying to drown out the voice that said it was all her fault.
Stepmother left the room and Girl called her boyfriend. Mother still wasn’t home. “Come and get me,” Girl told Jacob. “I need to get out of here. She hit me.” Girl hung up before Stepmother could hear her. Girl always swore that if Stepmother hit her again, she would leave and never come back. It was a relief that it had finally happened. Girl wrote a note to her mother on a napkin: “Stepmother hit me. I am moving out. I will be staying with friends.” Girl always promised Mother that she wouldn’t run away without telling mother first where she was headed so Mother wouldn’t worry.
“You know, after you calm down, if you want to talk to me you can,” Stepmother said through Girl’s bedroom door. “You can even wake me up in the middle
