Chapter 11
Livia blamed herself.
I discovered that three nights later.
She was sitting on my bed holding a small piece of porcelain one of the staff had found beneath a cabinet.
Blue flowers painted across one edge.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“If I didn’t break vase, Mommy secret stays.”
My chest tightened.
“What secret?”
“Aunt Camilla bad.”
I sat beside her.
That was too large a sentence for a four-year-old.
“Aunt Camilla made some very bad choices.”
Livia studied the porcelain.
“I broke everything.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
I took the fragment gently.
“You broke a vase.”
Her eyes filled.
“Expensive.”
“I don’t care.”
“Aunt Camilla care.”
“I know.”
I turned the shard over.
“Sometimes adults care about objects because objects make them feel important.”
She frowned.
“People more important?”
“Yes.”
“Me?”
I almost laughed.
“Especially you.”
That seemed to surprise her.
Which made me angry all over again.
Not at her.
At every adult who had let Camilla teach her otherwise.
Then Livia asked:
“Mom put envelope?”
“No.”
“Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
She had never met him.
“Why?”
“He wanted me to know something.”
“Vase knew?”
I smiled.
“No.”
She considered this.
Then said:
“Good.”
Apparently she did not want sentient furniture.
Fair.
She placed the porcelain in my hand.
“Can fix?”
“Maybe.”
“Same?”
“No.”
That answer worried her.
I continued.
“Different doesn’t mean worse.”
She thought.
Then climbed into my lap.
“What happen Aunt Camilla?”
“That depends partly on you.”
She frowned.
“You don’t have to see her.”
“Ever?”
“If you don’t want.”
Livia became quiet.
Children love people who hurt them.
That is one of the cruelest things adults exploit.
“I like when she makes pancakes.”
I swallowed.
“I know.”
“She slapped me.”
“I know.”
Both truths.
She leaned against me.
“Not pancakes tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
May you like
That was enough.
Healing did not need a lifetime decision from a four-year-old before breakfast.
