“In that case, Gillian, you’ll have a lot to navigate. You’ll have a lot of pain to get through. But the pain won’t be about this Hannah person. The pain would be there either way. Although if I may, darling, that’s a rather gloomy cart you’re putting before the horse.”

I swallow. My mother’s never been the person to come to for a wallow. But she’s quite good at being right.

“Can I still sleep in this room tonight?” I say.

“Well, of course,” Mom says. “If that’s what you want.”

She stands then, and goes to the corner of the room, opens the minibar, and pulls out two small whiskeys. She cracks them open neatly, one after the other, and brings over two plastic glasses.

“I’ve always liked the name Hannah,” she says.

*

We should be talking about this, Gillian, Oliver texts back when I tell him I’m sleeping in Mom’s room again tonight.

I think of all the times I’ve tried to get us to talk about hard things, when he always found a way to kick that ball down the road. How he never seemed to think we needed to talk when I felt we needed to talk. And now he’s the one on uncertain footing, and he finds he doesn’t like it. Well, let him not like it.

When a knock comes on Mom’s door, she and I look at each other. I assume it’s Oliver, and I open the door stiffly, ready to give him a piece of my mind. But it’s not Oliver.

“Abigail? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

She looks a little shaky.

“Abigail!” Mom echoes, and stands up from the bed.

“Can I come in?”

All that anger she was emitting towards Mom earlier, something else seems to have overpowered it. And looking at her, it seems to me like the something else is fear.

“Abigail…” I say again, sharper now, “what’s going on?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

My sister’s shoulders, her jaw, all stiffen, and for a moment I think she’s not going to answer. Then she shakes her head, and I can almost feel the composure drain away from her.

“He told me…he said if I divorce him he’ll sue for sole custody. And that the judge would be bound to grant it.” She takes a huge breath. “Based on my unfit parenting.” She looks at me. “How I’m ‘unstable.’ The anxiety that was getting in the way of my parental duties…And then ‘abandoning our family.’” She stops. “When he puts it all together, Gillian….” She shakes her head. “Dennis is always so impressive. He could turn a judge against me, I’m sure he could.”

I glance at Mom.

“Abigail,” Mom says, “sit down.”

Abigail sits on one of the beds, her face pale.