The Story Hour Read Online Free PDF Page B

effort her husband made to play the role of the dutiful son-in-law, how he drew Wallace into every conversation, how he frequently refilled the older man’s glass with the single malt he was drinking, how he was polite even to Sybil, who had only gotten louder and sillier with age. At the end of the evening, he insisted on driving the elderly couple’s car to the hotel to drop them off, even though Wallace swore he hadn’t had too much to drink. Maggie followed in her car.
    Sudhir got into the passenger seat after they’d said their goodbyes and was quiet for the first few minutes of their ride home. Then he asked, as if picking up a conversation, “Do you really hate him so much? He seems harmless enough.”
    â€œI don’t hate him.” She took her eyes off the road for a minute. “What makes you say that?”
    â€œThe fact that you flinch every time he touches you. Like when he tried to hug you goodbye. I mean, God, Maggie. He’s old. He’s probably worried he might never seen you again.”
    She was quiet, knowing he was waiting for a response but unsure of what to say. The blankness, the still whiteness, that always fell on her when she thought about those years with her father, covered her now.
    â€œMags?” Sudhir’s voice was gentle, tentative. “Where did you go?”
    In response, she turned left into the nearly empty parking lot of a shopping plaza and pulled into a space where there was no one around. “I’m going to tell you something, okay? Something I should’ve told you long ago. But I couldn’t.”
    Sudhir shifted in the leather seat. “Oh God. Don’t tell me he—” he started.
    She nodded. “Yes. I mean, not exactly. That is, nothing happened. Not really. He just . . . It began after my mom got sick. He rented a hospital bed for her and put her in this little room we had off the kitchen. And then at night he’d come and get me. To lie in bed with him.”
    Sudhir made a choking sound, and she put her hand on his arm and stroked it absently. “It’s okay. I told you. He didn’t, like, do anything. He just, like, rubbed himself on me. He called it cuddling. He said we were comforting each other since Mommy was sick.” The old, familiar coldness began in her stomach and moved into her limbs as she spoke.
    â€œBloody bastard. I’ll go to that hotel and kill him,” Sudhir swore, and she shook her head impatiently.
    â€œHey. Stop it. Like you said, he’s an old man now. And God knows what he was going through, too, with Mom being ill and all.”
    â€œHow long did it go on?”
    â€œI don’t know. I honestly don’t remember. Those years when she was sick—it’s all a blur, y’know?”
    â€œSo it stopped when your mom died?”
    â€œUh-huh. Before that. Odell was in college then, and he came home for a week. I must’ve said something that made him suspicious. I just remember him asking me all kinds of questions. Made me feel queasy, the look on his face. God. I still remember the look on Odell’s face.” Maggie gave a nervous laugh, the icy feeling now in her throat.
    Sudhir undid his seat belt, leaned over, and pulled Maggie toward him. “Oh, honey. How could you have carried this with you all these years? Without telling me?”
    She spoke with her head buried in his shoulder. “I wanted to. But I don’t know—for years I told myself it was essentially meaningless. I mean, when I think of what horrors some of my clients have suffered, this is nothing. Know what I mean?”
    She heard an uncharacteristic harshness in Sudhir’s voice. “Nothing? Is that why you’re shaking like a leaf?”
    She half-heard him, remembering what had followed: Odell had confronted their father, threatened to expose him. “Listen,” Odell had hissed. “You so much as look at Mags wrong ever again,