That night, Tyler lay on the couch, and clicked off the TV. He glanced at his phone, and saw a black screen. He hadn't heard from Rachel, and wondered if he really should accept that things were over between them....

He got up from the couch and grabbed his empty popcorn bowl. He went to the kitchen and set it in the sink, and stepped into the bathroom. So what would he do, still go to church to see her, or cut off contact altogether? As he squeezed toothpaste onto his brush, he thought there had to be another option, there had to be another way....

He rinsed his mouth and dried his face, and climbed the stairs to the attic. He took out his hearing aid and stuck it in the charger. He felt like he'd been abandoned, he'd had his heart ripped out of his chest... only it wasn't his girlfriend who had done it, it was her parents. Which was the weirdest, most absurd thing....

He pulled back his blankets and got into bed, while barely disturbing Marigold. The room was dark, and outside the window, the moon shone in the sky. The elm tree rustled in the wind, and an owl hooted from a branch. It was just weird, so weird, to have to break up with someone so soon, when things were going so good. It was so unfair....

He lay on his back, and closed his eyes. He thought about Rachel's voice, and her laugh, and her smile. How soft her fingers had felt in his hand. Well, like Cinderella said, they couldn't stop him from dreaming.... He woke up again, and turned onto one side. Just as he was falling back asleep, he heard a faint noise.

He listened, and opened his eyes. He sat up, and found his balance. Walking through the dark, he stood at the top of the stairs. Someone was on the porch, rapping on the door. But who would come over at this time of night.... He hurried down to the living room.

He looked through the window, and only saw the dark. Unlocking the door, he yanked it open... and Rachel stood before him.

She wore a sweatshirt and jeans, and her hair was an uncombed mess. Her eyes were red and teary. "What's wrong?" he asked. "What's the matter?" 

Her head shook back and forth... and then she collapsed onto him, falling into his chest. Her hands grabbed at his shirt, and her breathing was desperate, like huge gasps of air. "It's all right," he said, and wrapped his arms around her. "It's all right."

She sobbed. "I don't care. I don't care what they think."

"Okay." He felt her body cry. "Okay. It's okay."

He stepped backward, and they were both inside the house. He reached to close the door. "It's okay," he said. "What happened? It's okay."

They stepped apart, and she rubbed her eyes. "Can I... can I use the bathroom?"

"Yeah," he said, and took her hand. He led her through the house and across the kitchen, into the small space at the basement stairs. She stepped into the bathroom and turned on the light, and Tyler reached to close his grandma's door. Rachel sat on the edge of the tub, pulling Kleenex out of the box. Tyler glanced at his t-shirt, and saw the dark spots of her tears.

"What happened?" he asked. "Did something happen?"

She nodded. "Well, apparently I was standing too close to you today at the lake. I'm not allowed to stand that close."

"Well, it's okay now," he said. "It's okay."

"Is your grandmama...."

"She's asleep. She won't wake up."

She dropped her Kleenex into the trash, and stood up from the tub. Tyler took her hand, and she leaned into his chest. "It's okay." She had stopped crying, and her breath got back to normal. "It's okay," he said. "Let's go upstairs."

They held hands, and he led her back to the stairway. His room was dark, but some light shone through the windows. "The cat's around here somewhere," he said, and Rachel sat on his bed. She leaned forward, and held her face in her hands.

They didn't speak for a moment, and then Tyler sat beside her. On her right side, so he could hear everything. He noticed Marigold, under the window, and leaned onto one hand.

"There are things..." Rachel said. "Things I've never told anyone. Really bad things that happened."

Tyler spoke quietly. "Well, you can tell me. Tell me what happened." Marigold's ears perked up, and she rose from her spot. She took a few steps, and purred into Rachel's side.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know if I really can."

"Sure you can," he told her. "Just tell me what you're thinking about."

"Well," she said. "My parents... really aren't the great people everybody thinks they are."

He put his arm around her waist, and breathed into her hair.

"I mean, in some ways they are," she said. She wiped her eyes, and spoke quietly. "Sometimes things were all right...."

"But what about the other times?"

"Well," she said, "I don't want to use the word 'abuse,' but...."

"But what?" he asked.

"I don't know. I've never told anyone."

"Well, tell me. You can tell me."

She tucked one hand under Marigold's tummy, and lifted her into her lap. Then she went on: "Well... well when Christian and I were younger," she said, "they had this thing, and they called it 'the rod of correction.' And they would hit us with it. Just for every little thing we did wrong."

"Oh my god," he said, and pulled her closer. 

"They'd make us stand against the wall, and they'd hit us up and down our legs. And it would leave these purple marks all over."

She started to cry again, and he held her to his side. He set his chin on top of her head.

"When my mama did it, she would grab my arm and squeeze it, and that hurt enough just by itself. But that was before the really bad part would start."

Tyler couldn't say anything, and was starting to feel sick to his stomach. 

"And they did it so much that when a day would go by without it, I'd lie in bed that night and be thankful that I didn't get hit that day. I'd pray, and I'd thank God."

"What would they do it for?" he asked. "I mean why, like what would you do?"

"Well, just anything," she said. "One time – it was Saturday, and I didn't make my bed before I went outside to play. So I had to go back in and my mama... she beat me for it."

"Oh my god," he said. "Of course it's abuse."

"And they called it 'the rod' and they kept it in the hall, and I had to walk past it and see it all the time.

"And it made me feel so bad," she went on. "Every time they would do it, I'd just feel so bad about myself."

She started crying again, and cuddled Marigold with both arms. "But they stopped it, because...." She took a few deep breaths. "They stopped it, because my daddy went to a conference, for Christian ministers. And they discussed those Bible verses. There are those verses that say 'Whoever spares the rod hates their children,' and there's another one that says 'if you beat him with the rod he shall not die.'

"But those verses actually mean that you shouldn't hit your kids. It's really like a metaphor about sheep. It's about how shepherds used those rod things to gently corral their sheep when their sheep went astray. And it means that you should be gentle with your children and not hit them. 'Cause if a shepherd ever hits a sheep, the sheep just totally freaks out, and in Bible times everyone would have known that. They would have known not to hit sheep, and so the Bible says to treat your children as gently as a sheep. And the word 'beat' didn't actually mean 'hit.' In Hebrew or whatever it was written in, it meant to be a constant presence in your child's life. Like the sun 'beats' down on the earth. It means to just always be there to keep them safe." 

Tyler thought. "When did they stop?" he asked. "When did they stop hitting you?"

"I don't know.... Before we adopted Micah and Josiah."

"So they haven't hit them?"

"No." She shook her head.

"Did they apologize?" he asked. "Did they tell you they regretted it?"

"No, not really. I mean, they just sort of said they weren't going to do it anymore."

"Well, that must have been a relief, at least."

"Yeah. And I guess they threw that rod thing away. I think I was about ten."

"God, that's really awful," he said. Marigold stepped out of her lap, and jumped to the floor. Tyler and Rachel sat quietly together.

After a few minutes, he pulled back the sheets. "Do you feel like lying down?" Rachel nodded, stood up and kicked off her shoes. She got into bed and Tyler lay next to her, fitting his arm around her waist. She was closest to the window, and light shone down from the moon.

A few strands of yellow hair fell over her face, and he combed through them with his fingers. "Did your parents ever hug you, though?" he asked. "And tell you they loved you? Things like that?"

She nodded. "My daddy did. My mama did sometimes. Not as much." Tears ran from her eyes, and Tyler stroked her cheek to wipe them away.

"And I'd do the same thing to my dolls," she said. "I'd go outside and get a stick and hit my dolls with it. And I feel so ashamed about that."

"No," he said, "you don't have anything to be ashamed of. Nothing's your fault."

"And other parents would talk about how well-behaved we were. At church and school and stuff. We were always so 'well-behaved.' 'Cause we knew if we weren't we'd get beat when we got home."

"That's awful," Tyler said, and kissed the back of her head. "But it's okay. It's okay now."

"I just don't care what they think anymore," she said. "I don't care."

He circled his arm around her body, and they hugged each other. The back of her head fit into the space beneath his chin, and they breathed together while they fell asleep.