Chapter 2: A Father's Question
Dad stood at the entrance to the patio.
He was still wearing his black polo shirt and dark trousers from the drive home. His car keys were in one hand, and his expression had gone completely still.
He looked at me first.
Then he looked at the fire.
Then he looked at Monique.
"Amara," he said quietly.
"What happened?""
I tried to stand, but my legs were shaking.
I pointed toward Monique.
"She took it and threw it in the fire!""
Monique immediately laughed.
"She's overreacting! It was just a dress!""
Dad didn't answer.
He walked toward me, carefully keeping away from the fire pit.
"Are you hurt?""
I shook my head.
"My dress.""
He glanced at the flames.
"I can see that.""
"I worked so hard for it, Dad.""
His jaw tightened.
"I know, sweetheart.""
Monique crossed her arms.
"David, don't make this into something it isn't.""
Dad slowly turned.
"Did you throw her dress into that fire?""
Monique raised her eyebrows.
"She was being dramatic. I was trying to teach her something.""
"Teach her what?""
"That she doesn't own this family.""
Patricia stepped forward.
"David, please. You're making a scene.""
He looked at her.
"Her graduation gown is burning in our backyard, Patricia. What kind of scene would you prefer?""
Patricia's lips pressed together.
"It was an argument between the girls.""
"No," I whispered.
Everyone turned toward me.
I was still kneeling beside the patio chairs.
"It wasn't an argument. I told her to stop. I asked her to give it back. She deliberately threw it into the fire.""
Monique threw her hands up.
"Oh, here we go. The victim speech.""
Dad moved between us.
"Enough.""
His voice wasn't loud.
That made it worse.
"Monique, step away from my daughter.""
Monique stared at him.
"Excuse me?""
"You heard me. Stay back.""
She took a step toward us.
Dad raised one hand, holding his position.
"Don't come any closer.""
"Let go of me!"" Monique shouted, although he hadn't touched her.
Patricia rushed forward.
"Stop! Leave her alone!""
Dad didn't move.
"I'm not touching anyone. I'm protecting my daughter.""
For a moment, nobody spoke.
The fire crackled behind us.
A small piece of jeweled fabric curled into ash.
I looked at my father.
He looked at me.
And I saw something in his eyes I hadn't seen before.
Not just anger.
Disappointment.
Deep, unmistakable disappointment.
"Amara," he said, "come inside with me.""
Patricia stepped into our path.
"She isn't going anywhere until we finish discussing this.""
Dad stared at her.
"Move.""
"David, I'm her mother.""
"And I'm her father.""
"You're treating Monique like a criminal!""
He looked at the burning gown.
"What would you call someone who deliberately destroys another person's property?""
Patricia opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Dad took my hand.
We walked through the back doors and into the house.
Behind us, Monique shouted something about how everyone always chose me.
I didn't turn around.
Inside, Dad sat me down at the kitchen island.
He took a clean towel, filled a glass with water, and placed it in front of me.
"Drink.""
I obeyed.
He pulled out the chair opposite mine.
"Tell me exactly what happened.""
So I did.
I told him about Thursday's conversation.
I told him about Patricia entering my room.
I told him about Monique pulling at my gown.
I told him about the words she used before throwing it into the fire.
Dad listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he leaned back.
"Has this been happening for a long time?""
I looked down.
"Yes.""
"How long?""
I hesitated.
"Since you married Patricia.""
He closed his eyes briefly.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
I gave a small, bitter laugh.
"I tried.""
He looked at me.
I continued.
"Remember my necklace? The one Mom gave me through you?""
His expression changed.
"Your mother's necklace?""
"Monique took it. Patricia told me I was being dramatic.""
Dad sat forward.
"What?""
"And when she damaged my laptop during my first year of college, Patricia said I should have put it somewhere safer.""
"Amara...""
"I didn't tell you about everything because every time I did, it became a problem between you and Patricia. I didn't want you to lose your marriage because of me.""
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Then he covered his face with one hand.
"Sweetheart, you were never supposed to protect my marriage by sacrificing your peace.""
My eyes filled again.
"I just wanted us to be a family.""
Dad reached across the counter and held my hand.
"I wanted that too.""
A noise came from the hallway.
Patricia entered the kitchen.
Her arms were folded tightly.
"Are you finished making her feel like a victim?""
Dad released my hand and stood.
"Not even close.""
She rolled her eyes.
"David, Monique made a mistake.""
"A mistake?""
"She got upset. She lost her temper.""
"She threw an expensive graduation gown into an open fire.""
"She didn't realize it would burn that quickly!""
I stared at her.
"She threw it into the fire, Patricia.""
Patricia turned toward me.
"Don't interrupt adults.""
Dad's expression hardened.
"Don't speak to my daughter that way.""
Patricia gave a short laugh.
"This is exactly the problem. You never correct her. You let her do whatever she wants, and now she thinks she's entitled to everything.""
I stood slowly.
"I paid for that gown myself.""
"Nobody asked you to spend that much.""
"I saved for months.""
"Well, perhaps you should have saved the money instead of showing off.""
Dad placed both hands on the kitchen island.
"Patricia, stop.""
She looked at him.
"What?""
"I want you to explain something to me.""
He spoke slowly.
"Why is my daughter's graduation such a threat to your daughter?""
Patricia blinked.
"That's ridiculous.""
"Then answer the question.""
"Monique has been struggling.""
"With what?""
"With her life!""
"And how does burning Amara's gown help her?""
Patricia looked away.
Dad waited.
Finally, she said, "You always make Amara feel important.""
I frowned.
"Because it's my graduation.""
Patricia ignored me.
"You buy her books. You help with her tuition. You celebrate every little achievement. Monique sees all of that.""
Dad stared at her.
"Amara earned scholarships. She paid for most of her expenses herself.""
"She still gets your attention!""
The words hung in the kitchen.
Dad looked almost stunned.
Then he asked a question that made Patricia's expression change.
"Is this really about the dress?""
Patricia said nothing.
He continued.
"Or is it about the fact that Amara has accomplished something your daughter hasn't?""
"How dare you?""
"Answer me.""
Patricia's voice rose.
"You have no idea what it's like being a mother to a girl who constantly feels second best!""
I looked at her.
For the first time, I realized she wasn't even trying to hide it.
She genuinely believed my success was an insult to Monique.
Dad slowly shook his head.
"Competition isn't love, Patricia.""
She picked up her phone from the counter.
"I'm not staying here while you humiliate me.""
"Where is Monique?""
"Outside.""
"Bring her inside.""
"No.""
"Patricia.""
She stared at him.
Then she walked away.
Dad turned to me.
"Go upstairs. Get comfortable. I'll take care of this.""
I nodded.
Before leaving, I looked through the kitchen window.
The fire pit was still glowing.
A few blackened pieces of blue fabric remained on the stones.
I felt sick.
Upstairs, I changed into an old pair of sweatpants and sat on the edge of my bed.
My graduation invitation was still on the dresser.
I picked it up.
The ceremony was scheduled for Monday morning.
Three days away.
I had spent four years imagining that moment.
Now I didn't even have a dress.
My phone vibrated.
A message from my best friend, Tasha.
Girl, I can't wait to see you Monday! Are we still doing pictures before the ceremony?
I stared at the screen.
Then I typed:
I don't think so.
She called immediately.
I answered, trying to sound normal.
"Hey.""
"What's wrong with your voice?""
"Nothing.""
"Amara.""
I closed my eyes.
"My stepsister burned my graduation gown.""
There was silence.
Then Tasha said, "I'm sorry. What?""
I explained everything.
By the time I finished, she was furious.
"Your father saw it?""
"Yes.""
"Good. Because somebody needs to stop protecting those people.""
I didn't answer.
Tasha lowered her voice.
"Listen to me. You are graduating. Do you understand?
That dress is not your degree. Those people don't get to take Monday away from you.""
I wiped my cheek.
"Thanks.""
"Actually, I'm coming over tomorrow.""
"You don't have to.""
"I'm not asking.""
We hung up.
A few minutes later, I heard Dad's voice downstairs.
It was low but firm.
"Patricia, this cannot continue.""
Her response was sharp.
"You're not going to throw us away because of one dress!""
"That's not what I said.""
"Then what are you saying?""
I moved closer to my bedroom door.
Dad continued.
"I've ignored too much because I wanted this marriage to work.""
My heart began beating faster.
Patricia answered, "You're making a terrible mistake.""
"Maybe the mistake was believing that everyone in this house was treating Amara with respect.""
There was a pause.
Then I heard Monique.
"Mom, tell him!""
Patricia's voice became softer.
"David, we can discuss this tomorrow.""
"No. We discuss it now.""
I returned to my bed.
For the first time in years, I didn't feel the need to rush downstairs and apologize for an argument I hadn't started.
I was exhausted.
I wanted to sleep.
But at 11:47 p.m., my phone lit up again.
This time, it wasn't Tasha.
It was a message from an unknown number.
Amara, you need to ask your father what he knows about the money your mother left you.
I read it twice.
Then a second message appeared.
And ask him why Patricia has been so desperate to keep you from graduating.
My fingers went cold.
I stared at the screen.
Whoever had sent those messages knew something.
Something about my mother.
Something about money.
And something that apparently connected to my graduation.
I looked toward the closed bedroom door.
Downstairs, my father's voice had gone silent.
I typed one question.
Who is this?
May you like
The reply arrived almost immediately.
Someone who knows why your stepsister burned that dress.
