Vista met with her parents. Crystal had talked to Vista enough to know the details. Give even a hint of being on one parent’s side and a bystander could earn the lasting enmity and suspicion of the other. Her dad had gotten cancer, her mom had slept with his brother instead of supporting him. Her two dogs had both disappeared around the time he found out about the cheating, and that had been the start.

Ask him, even today, and he would be ready with an argument about how she couldn’t take care of him or her daughter so how could she take care of animals, he’d given them away to caring owners, she was a psychopath whore, and so on. Ask her, and she would describe how he’d neglected their relationship and they’d been on the outs for a long time before she cheated, he refused to give any proof he’d given her dogs away and not killed them… It was the same for every set of incidents thereafter. Neither had wanted to move from the family home because that made getting an eventual share of the house in the divorce harder, and neither had wanted to initiate the divorce because they’d believed in their own righteousness enough that a ‘fair’ divide of assets wouldn’t be enough—they had to break down the other. So they’d stayed together and lived in the same house for a year before even initiating the separation, while having fights loud enough that police had been called. All with a ten-year-old girl caught in the midst of it.

Later, a frustrated judge had found what he thought was a compromise: that the house would remain unsold, with Vista remaining in one place while the parents alternated a paired custody of house and Vista, each parent maintaining a separate residence they would be in when not taking care of Vista and the house. Bad fucking idea, when competing renovations, rearrangement of furniture and things, and other passive hostility came into play. The divorce hadn’t happened until a few years into it.

Crystal knew the line Vista was giving to her parents, as she put a hand out, refusing the hug. Not while I’m in costume. Because it was easier to go without.

Just behind Vista, Victoria emerged, Aunt Carol leaning on her shoulder. No Uncle Mark.

Crystal’s hands crushed the cup behind her as her heart sank in that horrible way that made her think of how things at deep enough ocean depths could collapse under the pressures. The expressions on the pair’s faces did absolutely nothing that would buoy, that enabled her to breathe again.

Choked, worried, she let them approach her instead of approaching. She forced a small smile to her face. Nothing she’d regret, if there was bad news.