He looked at her, and maybe for the first time in his life really saw her as someone separate from the story he was telling about himself. Not an accessory. Not a child who would simply adapt around his needs. A witness.
His mouth moved like he meant to say something. Nothing came.
Lily pressed closer into me and did not look up.
Then Hensley touched his sleeve, and they walked away.
In the parking lot the sky hung low and silver, swollen with clouds but not quite ready to rain. The air smelled like cold concrete and damp leaves. My hands shook as I unlocked the car.
Lily climbed into the backseat, then stopped and looked at me over the door.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you mad I made the video?”
I shut the door and turned fully toward her.
Mad. The fact that she even had to ask broke me afresh.
“No, baby,” I said. “Never. I’m sad you felt like you had to. But I am not mad. Not even a little.”
She nodded, thinking hard the way she always did before deciding whether to trust the emotional weather. Then she said, “Okay.”