Chapter 9
I returned with Isolde only after asking whether she wanted to come.
She did.
Not for Warren.
For Preston.
We did not announce her.
No family spectacle.
Preston waited in my private dining room.
When Isolde entered, he stood.
Then sat again.
Then stood.
Thirty-nine years old.
Suddenly twenty-three.
“Mom.”
Her face broke.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
He looked almost angry at the tenderness.
“Don’t.”
She stopped.
Good.
His boundary.
He asked:
“Did you leave me?”
“Yes.”
Truth first.
“Did you ask me to come?”
“Yes.”
“Did you write?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Six.”
He turned away.
“Six?”
She nodded.
“The first letter. Then five birthday cards.”
He laughed once.
Broken.
“I thought you never tried.”
“I know.”
“You could have come back.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
There.
Hardest question.
Isolde did not hide behind Warren.
“Because I was afraid.”
Preston looked at her.
“Of him?”
“Yes.”
“More than losing me?”
She cried.
“I thought I had already lost you.”
Not perfect.
Not satisfying.
True.
Preston walked to the window.
For a long time, nobody spoke.
Then he asked:
“Did Dad hit you?”
“No.”
His shoulders dropped strangely.
Relief.
Then Isolde continued.
“He taught me to fear what happened around me if I refused him.”
Preston closed his eyes.
The exact method he had begun using with me.
He turned.
“You think I’m him.”
Isolde answered:
“I think you learned from him.”
Difference.
Important.
Then she looked toward me.
“And I think today you found out whether you intend to keep learning.”
Preston sat down.
May you like
No defense.
For once.
