I am a bit surprised.

Dad actually kept his promise. The following day after he told me what he was going to do,he catered to Mom and me. Getting what we needed before he went back to work, becoming a coach for future wrestlers at Paraclete.

"How about I get you lovely angels some ice cream?" Dad asks one day, kissing my Mom's cheek again. We were watching old family videos. It was when I was a baby and coming into my new home after the hospital. People from our neighborhood come and say I'm the most beautiful baby they laid eyes on. Mom looks exhausted, her eyes tinged with red as she cradles me against her chest.

"That would be nice," Mom answers him, her voice a tad raspy. But nevertheless, it is beautiful and soft, like a windchime. "Autumn, what do you think?"

I am too entranced of my first homecoming to listen, but when she says my name more sternly, I look over at her. "Ice cream sounds good."

Dad grins like the Dad I see in the video. All smiles and asking to fulfill our wish. "What flavor?"

"Chocolate." We say together.

"On it." He gets off the bed to go out. "I love you girls."

"Love you, too." Mom says, kissing his forehead. Dad waves at us before disappearing out the door to get us ice cream.

I put my attention back towards the video of when I am still a baby. The party is over, and Dad is recording me making noise towards the camera, eyes darting in every direction. I am small, vulnerable to anything, while Mom coos to me a song she made up.

The screen on the TV suddenly turns black, and I look back at Mom in shock. "Mom, why did you—"

"That is a memory of when I used to love your father, Autumn." Mom says, her voice unnaturally cold. Her arms are around her small form. I curl myself into her,pulling her arm away from herself, and around me. I shiver at the feel of her skin. No matter what, she is always cold. Long sleeve,jacket, even the blanket draped around her, makes her icy cold. "It was a time when I couldn't see the evil within him. Your father plucked out all the life in me, and he is doing the same to you."

I want to tell her someone  else has been doing that to me for years, and she knows him, but he rmemories may be fuddled because her and Carlson had only brief conversation. Instead I merely nod, trying to get close, noticing the tones of our skin matching. "Let me tell you a story, dear."

There is a huge difference between us in appearance, but people say I look like her. She has along waterfall of dark curly hair that falls to her back. She is gaunt, but still having some traces of muscle. It had gone away after she had started throwing up and tried not to eat. I can almost seethe the spiral of cigarette burns surrounding her chest. She looks defeated, angry, and sad.

"Your father and I met right around the time I went to college in Maine, getting my teaching degree. He was a wrestler, and was tossing a football back and forthwith a friend, and the ball rolled over to me. Oh, he was so charming, Autumn. He asked me of my name, what my major was, like I have given him my whole life. We didn't date until a few times of staying by the trees, where—cliche as it is—we carved our names into the tree. Best friends, and then, having a heart around it."

The story brightens me, almost making me remember how I met Carlson. I fell right under his spell. Maybe I should tell her about us—complicated or not of our meeting. But then Mom's arm leaves me, only to curl against her knees. Her eyes close, and she shivers coldly.

"We had only been dating around two months,and he had begun to control certain aspects of my life. Made sure I was in class, asked me who I was with. He often degraded me, telling me my outfits made me look slutty. He even got angry when I was hanging out with my friends. He kept sending notes in class whether or not I was doing my homework or not, because he wanted to hang out.He often showed me around his friends, showing how beautiful I was,but giving occasional tight squeezes around my waist every now and again." She sighs, gathers herself, before putting her head back atthe headboard. "I kept up with it, because I felt he was going formy best interest at heart.

"Then the day came when I was going to introduce him to my parents over Winter break. He had some sort of falling out with his parents, and he doesn't keep much contact with them anymore. I wanted him to present himself nicely,but—I'm not sure if you remember your grandparents—he gave the worst impression that I was forbidden to date him. Now, that only aggravated him even more.

"He was never one to be told whathe can't and cannot do. He would do it, no matter what. He told methat they never wanted to me to be happy, that they only wanted me tofulfill their dream of me succeeding. Nothing else. At first, Ididn't believe him, but when I saw that my parents were only speakingto me about their studies. I believed him. But then we hadarguments, your father and I. All we did was become verbal for a yearor so. I remember so vividly the first time he struck me. Wewere at a frat party, beer was available and we were outside,dancing. I was talking to a colleague of mine, discussing things fora project we had to do. And your father, Malcolm, oh, he came in atthe worst time. He was drunk, some of spilled on the front of hisshirt."

I could almost see the imagesin my mind. A vibrant, young Mom, talking to a nice friend, and Dad,with the rage in his devilish eyes. Holding a beer, laughing with asweaty face. The party in full dance, people chatting or dancingeverywhere. It sounds so innocent, so normal of the youth.

"Herudely interrupted us, asking me to dance while making snarkycomments to my friend. Telling him that psychology was such a stupidsubject to learn. It hurt me, too. I politely tried making him leave.To go sit down. But he wouldn't break. He pushed me, and my friendtried to grab him back, and Malcolm starting swearing at me, andthat's when it happened: his fist balled up tightly, my hands frozenwhere they were. My friend pushed out of the way, and your father'shand—"she choked, coughing a little—"came right at myeye."

"That altercation led to Malcolm being suspended atthe campus, because violence was heavily frowned upon. After what hadhappened, he began to apologize, took me out on dates to make it upto me. I let my soft heart forgive him, time and time again. Foryears. For every obscenity, for every shouting moment, for everypunch or slap."

My heart deepens into the darkest,bottomless part of my body, wondering how Mom was able to go throughsuch pain and destruction of her entire soul. She even went throughso much trouble, even when she had me.

"I lost so much,baby." She sounds sad, a sob threatening to come out. "Myfriends, my family, my job as a teacher—only to make your daddyhappy. The pain was even worse when I was married and we moved here.Although he was nice on occasions, he often accused me of cheating,doing things behind his back. That was tension, and then it wentimmediately to the dark side of him. Often coming home, drunk andrambling. Or becoming physically violent." She presses a hand toher mouth, tears slipping out of her eyes, sliding down her broken,lovely face.

"Did . . . did you ever try running away?" Iask, my voice damaged by the pain she shines off.

"Three times. Once, Ibarely made it to San Francisco before he caught me and drove me backhome. I left a trail by mistake. Second time, I did it while he wassleep. For three days, I thought I was free. But no, hetracked my recent pays from my credit card. And the third . .."

"The third time, Autumn. It was either you fight ordie." Mom pulls up her sleeve to reveal a long slash, going fromthe tip of her shoulder to her wrist. "A miracle I managed to stayalive. Split my arm open. But he was going after something moreimportant to me. More than him. You."

Me? My mouth dries up, and Itry to swallow the gulps of oxygen. I don't remember such a thing.All of my memories are when I was a young child, but never do Iremember Mom protecting me. "How old was I?"

"Barely two." Shechews on her lower lip. "You were asleep, deep sleep actually,cuddling your stuffed bunny. I told him that I was leaving and takingyou with me. It was after I found out he cheated with some randomwoman at work. He didn't want to lose it all. His family, his wife,his daughter. We were slowly making an illusion that we were aperfect family. That shouldn't go away, he said. He had a knife, andthis delusional, scary look in his eyes. 'If I can't have you all, noone will,' he murmured, ready to stab you in my arms. I turned, andlet the knife go all the way down, not even caring that there wasblood on you, on your father.

"It was keeping you safe. Ialmost died, for the . . . third time I believe? I almost hope theday he does try it again, I am in a coma."

Before I couldsay something else, the door was knocked on downstairs. "I'll goget that," My voice was shaky, and I walk down the stairs, in babyfawn legs, clinging to the rail. The Death Hallway was swept up ofbroken glass and bottles. The story Mom had told me burns its wayinto my mind, my damage heart, because nothing I can do can changethe past.

Not even the future.

I look through the peephole,heart pounding. "Who is it?"

"Mrs. Maria, mija. Been awhile since I've heard you last." she says.

I quicklyunlock the door, opening it to see a bright and smiling Mrs. Maria,holding a foil-covered circular pan in her hands. "I missedyou."

"I have too. And I decided to make you a pie. Appleand peach, of course, your favorite." She holds the tin out. I takeit. "Is your mother here, finally? I never got the chance to seeher."

Blood stops flowing. "I thought you did."

"No,I tried calling, knocking. Got nothing in response. May I come in?"she asks, brown eyes warm like the pie in my hands. I nod, and sheenters the room, closing the door softly. "Mrs. Wilkes, it's me,Maria. Summer." she calls out. Nothing.

I set the pie tindown on the counter, letting Mrs. Maria sit down on the couch. Beforeshe envelops me in a hug. "I'll go get her." I slowly ascendupstairs, peek in the door of her room. "Mom?"

"Hmm?"Her voice is still a little wracked with sobs.

"Mrs. Maria is here. Want to see her?"

She looks so haggard, getting up.Her body shakes. "Give me a few minutes."

"O-okay," I say, going downstairs, my tongue already salivating from wanting to have some ofthe pie. Mrs. Maria is still on the couch, playing with one of her bracelets. "What is it?"

"Everything in this house feels calmer." she notes, her gaze going to me. "I'm not sure why, but it does. So, how has your first month of school been?"

I tell her that things have been okay, mentioning the fact that I found a lost puppy in the grass. Her name is Clover. I try to explain about my book project without feeling uncomfortable that I have to do it with Spencer. She seems to brighten about that and asks if I have been making new friends. I say I guess.

"Mrs. Maria?"

We both look to see Mom dressed in a nice, casual dress decorated with flowers at the foot of the stairs. Her hair tied back in a casual ponytail, a bright smile on her face. A fake one to conceal her pain. "My, have the times flown by. Cómo estas?"

"Maso menos, señora. Y tu?" Mrs. Maria rises from the couch,smiling warmly.

"Fantastico." She lies perfectly with that smile. It is if she knew that for time and time again. She walks on over to the kitchen, looking at the foiled tin. "What's this?"

"Pie. Apple and peach, your daughter's favorite."Mrs. Maria explains, going to sit down on the couch again. "You can have some."

Mom smiles, looks over at me. "May I,dear?"

The smile she has is more deceiving than my own that I have to Mrs. Maria. "Yes."

"Mind if I ask why you haven't returned any of my calls?" Mrs. Maria says, filling the silence.

Mom's hand halts with the knife, and for a second, I think she is going to hurt herself, when she stops. Turns. Smiles that smile again. "I've been busy."

People on TV tell their kids to not lie, saying that is wrong. That you could get in trouble. But from day one, since I could speak full sentences, Mom told me to lie.

You won't get hurt, she tells me. No one will hurt you if you lie. You won't hurt anyone when you lie.

Yet my heart twists when I've been doing it to Mrs.Maria.