Chapter 9 - THE HOUSE ON MAPLE DRIVE
We sold the house.
Not because Violet demanded it.
Because none of us wanted the hallway.
A young couple bought it.
Two toddlers.
They loved the kitchen.
I did not tell them every memory.
Houses deserve new stories.
We moved ten miles away.
Smaller place.
Better porch.
No private security contractor.
I installed the alarm myself.
Violet watched.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“You realize normal dads hire people.”
“I am normal.”
She laughed for almost a minute.
College changed her.
Confidence.
Friends.
Distance.
Good distance.
She called less.
Also good.
Then one evening, she called at 1:12 a.m.
My heart stopped.
“Dad?”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
I sat down.
“You cannot start calls like that.”
“Sorry.”
“What?”
She hesitated.
“Evan wrote me.”
Silence.
He had completed juvenile sanctions and continued therapy.
No contact condition had eventually expired.
He asked through an attorney first.
Violet allowed one letter.
She read part to me.
I knew Caleb was dangerous. I still brought him into your home because I was afraid of my father and afraid of what would happen to me. Fear explains that. It does not excuse it.
Violet asked:
“Should I answer?”
“What do you want?”
“I don't know.”
“Then don't yet.”
She laughed.
“Look at you.”
“What?”
“Not telling me what to do.”
“College made you rude.”
She never answered.
Not that year.
Maybe never.
May you like
That was hers.
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