“Mom,” she spat out, “Dad has been abusing me.”

Ida returned her attention to the roses and started, vigorously so, to dig a hole.

Sarah stood there. Frozen. Confused. It was neither of the responses she’d imagined. The first was a hug and a promise to help. The second scenario was denial and a call for proof. But this response? It was as if the wind had carried off her words into nothingness.

“Did you hear me? Don’t you believe me?”

Ida continued digging.

“I heard you, honey. Yes, I believe you. I know it is true.”

Her mother’s last words jolted her.

I know it is true.

“How do you know?”

“Your father told me. Years ago. He told me he had a sickness and had been praying on it. And after a while, he said that God was allowing him to continue.”

“God let him continue to rape me?”

“I’m sorry that you don’t understand. In time, I know you will.”

“I could never, Mom. How could you let it happen?”

“I am my husband’s wife first,” she said.

* * *

We’re not there yet on her story. It will come. I look at the time and consider asking if she needs a bathroom break. I don’t. I’d rather have her pee on my backseat than hand her a single minute in a stall to rethink telling me her story.

“I’m sorry for all you’ve been through,” I say.

“Thank you,” she says.

I watch her in the mirror. She’s looking out the window again, watching the world go by. She’s thinking about what happened and the lie she’ll tell me.

What really happened.

I play the game.

“What happened, Sarah? What happened to your parents?”

“I don’t want to get Joshua into any more trouble.”

“Tell me,” I say. “I am a victim of abuse too. I know what it’s like. I want to help you.”

I think just then how Mindy and Sheriff will laugh at that one. I’m a lot of things, but victim will never be one of them.

“I don’t know if I should say anything.”

To me that means she can’t wait to lay blame.

“I know it is difficult,” I tell her. “The right thing to do isn’t always easy.”

Her eyes catch mine in the mirror and she gives a little nod.

“That night when Joshua came home, I told him what happened. How I’d told Mom and how she just stood there saying that she already knew. Had known for years. He just lost it. He was so mad. Scary mad. It was like some kind of switch had been turned on.”

I urge her to take a breath.

“What happened, Sarah?”

Slowly, deliberately, she paints a picture.

* * *

Joshua found her later that night. She was crumpled into a ball, crying in a corner next to the workbench.