Honey Moon (35 page)

Even after Eric had discovered she was having an affair with Aaron Blake, one of Hollywood's more exciting young actors, he hadn't insisted on a divorce. But Lilly hated the frustrations of trying to be a wife and mother, she hated the relentless intimacy of the marriage bed, and she hadn't seen any point in postponing the inevitable. Eric had never loved her—she knew he wouldn't have married her if she hadn't been pregnant—but he had treated her well, and having been the child of a hostile divorce, she wanted to retain at least the semblance of an amicable relationship with him.

Lilly studied Nadia Evans as the camera lingered on her and tried to take some satisfaction from the fact that she was just as beautiful as the actress. She was even slimmer now than she had been before her pregnancy, and she loved the deeper hollows in her cheeks. Recently she had been wearing her silver-blond hair in a ballerina's knot low on her neck to further emphasize her facial bones.

The Best Actor nominees were read off, and Lilly's resentment settled in deeper. She was a child of Hollywood, and every part of her yearned to be at his side now, sharing this moment,

"Mommy, do you think Daddy will win?"

"We'll see."

Rachel, for once motionless, stood in the center of the black and white marble floor and gazed at the television.

"And the Oscar goes to . . ."

Lilly snatched the remote control and punched up the volume.

"Eric Dillon for
Small Cruelties!
"

Rachel giggled and clapped her hands. "Mommy, he winned! Daddy winned!"

Lilly sagged back into the couch. This was what she got for divorcing him. She should have been the one sitting with him when he won, not Nadia Evans. If only they were still married, this would have been her night of triumph, too.

But it was too late for regrets. She remembered his icy fury when he had discovered she was having an affair and wondered what he would have done if he had known that Aaron Blake wasn't the only lover she had taken while they were married. Her stomach coiled in self-disgust. Every time she took a lover, she thought he would be the one who could fill up the empty spaces in her life.

But it never happened. The only man who had given her lasting happiness was her father.

Nadia kissed Eric. He got up from his seat and took a hop step down the aisle, stopping as people rose to thump him on the back. When he got to the stage and received the Oscar, he turned to the audience and grinned, holding the gold statue high over his head.

The audience finally quieted, and he began to speak. "This shouldn't mean so much, but it does . . ."

She couldn't watch any more, and she snatched the remote control and punched the power button.

"I want to see Daddy!" Rachel protested.

"You'll see him tomorrow. It's bedtime."

"But I want to watch. Why did you turn off the TV?"

"I've got a headache."

A clap of thunder boomed outside the window, bringing noise but no rain.

Rachel's finger plopped into her mouth, a clear sign that she was upset.

"Tuck me in, Mommy."

As Lilly gazed down at Rachel, her heart filled with love for this child who so seldom asked for any affection from her. They walked down the hallway together, temporarily at peace. She paused for a moment outside the door of Becca's room and gazed inside at the still little bundle lying under the covers.

What if that damaged child were punishment for her own sins? She tried to redirect the agonizing path her thoughts always took when she looked at Becca and found herself wondering what her life would be like if she hadn't let Eric talk her out of the abortion. But as she turned away from the room, she knew that no matter how ineffectual and resentful these children made her feel, she didn't regret having given birth to them.

They passed the group of enlarged photographs she had taken before she'd married Eric and abandoned her cameras. She had always meant to do portraits of the girls, but somehow she'd never gotten around to it. They entered Rachel's bedroom, which was decorated in pink and lavender hearts, although the feminine ambience was spoiled somewhat by Rachel's Hulk Hogan posters.

Rachel climbed on the bed, her small round bottom sticking up in the air for a moment before she slipped beneath the covers. Lilly was arranging them over her when another clap of thunder rattled the windows.

"Mommy!"

"It's all right. It's just thunder."

"Mommy, would you sleep with me?"

"I'm not ready to go to bed yet."

Rachel looked mulish. "Daddy lets me sleep with him. Daddy sleeps with me and cuddles me all night long."

Lilly froze. A painful, high-pitched noise began to whine in her head, gradually growing more shrill. She could barely summon the breath to speak. "What—

What did you say?"

"Daddy ... He sleeps with me if I'm scared. Mommy, what's wrong?"

The noise in Lilly's head became a great whirlpool sucking her into its center.

The whirlpool spun her faster, and the noise shrieked in her brain until she felt as if she were coming apart. She collapsed on the side of the bed and tried to keep from fainting.

Rachel's voice called to her from far away. "Mommy? Mommy?"

The room began to settle around her, and she tried to tell herself there was nothing in Rachel's innocently spoken words to have inspired such a deep, unreasonable fear, but she felt as if she had been threatened at the most fundamental level of her existence.

Her fingers clasped the edge of the cover as she slowly pushed out the words.

"Does Daddy sleep with you very often?"

Another clap of thunder rattled the windows. Rachel gazed out with trepidation.

"Mommy, I want you to sleep with me."

Lilly tried to keep her voice from trembling, but the coldness in her limbs made that impossible. "Tell me about Daddy."

Rachel's eyes didn't move from the window. "Thunder's scary. Daddy says I don't have to be scared. His hair tickles."

Lilly's heart began to race so fast that she could barely breathe. "What—what do you mean his hair tickles?"

"It tickles my nose, Mommy."

"The hair on his—on his head?"

"No, silly. His tummy." She pressed her hand to the center of her chest. "Here."

Lilly's knuckles had turned white from gripping the edge of the cover."Doesn't Daddy—Well, of course he does." She tried to force a laugh through her stiff lips, but it emerged as a sob. "Of course Daddy has his—his pajamas on when you get in bed with him, doesn't he?"

Rachel once again looked toward the window. "I'm scared of boomers, Mommy."

"Listen to me, Rachel!" Her voice rose to a shriek. "Does Daddy wear his pajamas when you get in bed with him?"

Rachel's forehead puckered. "Daddy doesn't wear jammies, Mommy."

Oh, God. Dear God.
She wanted to run from the room, run from the awful black whirlpool sucking her toward the unspeakable. Her teeth began to chatter.

"Does Daddy— Has he ever . . . touched you, Rachel?"

Rachel's thumb crept into her mouth and she nodded.

Blood no longer flowed through her veins, but knife-sharp slivers of ice. She gripped her daughter's shoulders. "Where does he touch you?"

"Becca's asleep."

She wanted to disappear, to jump from her own skin and from the monstrous whirlpool that seemed about to carry her away, but she couldn't abandon her daughter. "Think very carefully, Rachel. Has Daddy ever touched you—"
No!

Don't say it. You're not allowed to tell.
"Has Daddy—" Her voice broke on a sob.

Rachel's eyes were wide with alarm. "Mommy, what's wrong?"

The words spilled out in a rush. "Has he ever . . . touched you . . . between your

. . . legs?"

Rachel nodded again and rolled over, facing the window. "Go away, Mommy."

Lilly began to sob. "Oh, baby." She pulled her small daughter into her arms, covers and all. "Oh, my sweet poor baby."

"Mommy, stop! You're scaring me!""

Lilly had to ask the final question, the unspeakable one.
Don't let it be true.

Please don't let it be true.

She drew back enough to see her daughter's face, no longer rebellious but pale with apprehension. Lilly's tears dropped onto the satin binding of the cover.

"Did Daddy—Oh, Rachel, sweetheart. .. . Did Daddy ever show you—show you his penis?"

Wide-eyed and frightened, Rachel nodded. "Mommy, I'm scared."

"Of course you are. Oh, my poor, poor baby. I won't let him hurt you. I won't ever let him hurt you again."

Lilly rocked her and crooned, and as she clasped her daughter's small body to her breast, she made a

vow to protect her. She might have failed Rachel in some ways, but she wouldn't fail her in this.

"Mommy, you're scaring me. Mommy, why are you calling me Lilly?"

"What, sweetheart?"

"You said Lilly. That's your name. That's not my name. You said 'poor Lilly.' "

"Oh, I don't think so."

"You did, Mommy. 'Poor Lilly.' "

"Go to sleep, sweetheart. Shh. . . . Mommy's here."

"I want my daddy."

"It's all right, sweetheart. I won't ever let him hurt you again."

* * *

Eric didn't return home until seven that morning. There had been interviews, photographers, three different parties ending with a buffet breakfast. Nadia had finally given out at four, but it was the biggest night of his life, and he hadn't been ready for it to end.

He stepped out of the limo onto the cobbled entryway that led to his house. His collar was open, his bow tie undone, and the jacket of his tuxedo was draped over his arm. In his hand the gold statue of Oscar glimmered in the early morning sun. He had the feeling that everything in his life had come together.

He had his work and his daughters, and for the first time since he was fifteen, he didn't hate himself.

The limo pulled away, and he saw Lilly standing by her car waiting for him.

His euphoria faded. Why couldn't she have let him have one day to enjoy his success? But as she came toward him, his annoyance was replaced with alarm.

Lilly was always meticulous about her appearance, but her clothes were wrinkled and her hair had come undone from its careful ballerina's knot.

He hurried over to her, noticing that she had eaten off her lipstick and old mascara had smudged under her eyes. "What's wrong? Is something wrong with the girls?"

Her face tightened, looking pinched and ugly. "Something's wrong, all right, you perverted bastard."

"Lilly . . ."

As he reached out to take her arm, she jerked away, snarling at him like a cornered animal. "Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me!"

"Maybe you'd better come inside," he said, forcing his voice to sound calm.

Without giving her a chance to refuse, he went to the front door and unlocked it. She followed him into the house, moving through the foyer and off to the living room on the left. Her breathing was heavy and agitated.

The room was sparsely furnished, with white walls, pale wood, and some comfortable sofas upholstered in light, nubby fabric. He laid his coat and the Oscar on a chair that sat near a rough-hewn cupboard displaying baskets, Mexican tinware, and figures of saints. The early morning sun streamed through the windows, casting rectangles of light on the floor. He walked into one of them.

"Let's get this over with so I can go to bed. What is it this time? Do you need more money?"

She spun toward him, her face pale with distress, her lips quivering. Guilt replaced his annoyance, the guilt he always felt when he was with her because she wasn't a bad person, yet he hadn't been able to love her the way she needed.

He softened. "Lilly, what's wrong?"

Her voice broke. "Rachel told me. Last night."

"Told you what?" His forehead puckered in alarm. "Is something wrong with Rachel?"

"You should know that better than anyone. Did you do it to Becca, too?" Her eyes filled with tears. She sagged down onto the couch, her hands crumpling into fists in her lap. "My God, I can't bear to think that you might have touched Becca, too. How could you, Eric? How could you be so sick?"

Genuine fear had begun to grip him. "What's happened? Jesus, tell me!"

"Your dirty little secret is out," she said bitterly. "Rachel told me all about it.

Did you threaten her, Eric? Did you threaten to do something terrible to her if she told?"

"Told what? For God's sake, what are you talking about?"

"What you've been doing to her. She told me—She told me that you've been sexually molesting her."

"What?"

"She told me everything."

A deathlike stillness came over him. His voice was a soft rasp. "You'd better explain what you're talking about. Start at the beginning. I want to hear everything."

Lilly's eyes narrowed with hatred. Her speech was rushed and shrill. "Last night I was tucking Rachel into bed. There was some thunder, and she asked me to get in bed with her. When I said no, she told me that you let her sleep with you."

"Sure I let her sleep with me when she's scared. What's wrong with that?"

"She said you don't wear pajamas."

"I never have. You know that. When the girls are around, I sleep in a pair of briefs."

"That's sick, Eric. Letting her in bed with you."

His alarm was changing into anger. "There's nothing sick about it. What the hell's wrong with you?"

"So much righteous indignation," she scoffed. "Well, don't bother, because she told me all of it, you bastard." Lilly's face twisted until it was ugly with hatred.

"She said she's seen your cock."

"She probably has. Christ, Lilly. Sometimes they walk in on me when I'm getting dressed. I don't go out of my way to flaunt myself in front of them, but I've never made a big deal out of it."

"You bastard. You think you've got an answer for everything. Well, that's not all she said. She told me you touch her between her legs."

"You're a liar! She wouldn't say that. I've never touched her—" But he had. Of course he had. Carmen usually bathed the girls, but sometimes he did.