Page 53 of Dear Debbie

I rise from my own chair to clear the table. Not one person in my family thought to take their dishes to the sink. Cooper will occasionally load or unload the dishwasher, but the kids never do. Do they think there’s poison fumes trapped inside and if they open it to put a dish inside, the fumes will be released, killing us all? Based on their behavior, I have to assume that yes, they do think this.

I scrape the uneaten pasta off the plates and into the garbage disposal, wondering what’s going on with Lexi. She’s never in a good mood, but she seemed even more upset than usual tonight. Should I try to talk to her? Unfortunately, it never goes well when I initiate conversations with my daughter about her love life. Yesterday, she practically bit my head off when I mentioned Zane.

Also, I have enough problems of my own. I was fired from my job, although that wasn’t much of a loss. Cooper also just quit his longtime job, and even before that, he was acting incredibly strange. And that mysterious phone call that made him dash off to our bedroom has made me uneasy. Really, I should be sitting him down for a talk. (Although I also think it would be better to keep my mouth shut when it comes to my husband. At least until I’m ready to share my own secrets.)

Something about Lexi keeps tugging at me. There are times when the best thing to do is leave her alone, but my gut is telling me something more is going on right now.

I’m going to try to talk to her.

I load the dishes into the dishwasher, then walk through the kitchen to the stairwell. I climb the stairs to the second floor, and when I get to the door of Lexi’s room, my fist poised to knock on the door, I hesitate. The door to the master bedroom is at the other end of the hallway. Cooper is likely still on the phone, and if I press my ear against the door, I’ll be able to hear his end of the conversation.

Maybe I should do it. There’s something going on with Cooper that he is reluctant to talk to me about, and a little spy work is the only way to find out the truth. And it’s not like Lexi is going to spill her guts to me if I try to talk to her. She’ll likely be mad at me, because she’ll have decided I’m not allowed to talk to her when the moon is in waning gibbous or something along those lines.

I’ll try this weekend. I’ll offer to take her shopping, and I can gently probe about what happened with Zane. Not that we have a lot of money to drop on a shopping trip, but maybe we can go to that thrift store she likes. We can probably get her a whole wardrobe there for two dollars.

I drop my arm, ready to walk away. And I almost do, but at that moment, something stops me. Something makes me freeze in my tracks.

It’s the sound of sobs coming from Lexi’s room.

I turn around, and this time, I knock on Lexi’s door without hesitation. The crying immediately ceases, and she calls out. “What is it?”

“Lexi, honey?” I say. “Can I come in?”

There’s a long silence on the other side of the door. I suspect she’s debating whether she should tell me to get lost. But then she calls out in a voice laced with resignation, “Fine.”

Lexi is curled up in her bed, her knees tucked close to her chest, her lanky arms wrapped around them. Her face is streaked with tears, her eyes bloodshot. It looks like she’s been crying for a while and was just managing to keep it quiet until now.

If Zane hurt her, I’ll kill him.

Actually, I won’t have to. Cooper would do it first. He may not know every detail of our children’s lives the way I do, but if anyone posed a threat to them, he’d risk his life to save them just like I would.

I close the door behind me. I approach her cautiously, like she’s a scared animal that might scurry off at any moment. I finally settle down at the edge of her bed, my right butt cheek half hovering in the air.

“Sweetheart,” I say as gently as I can, “what happened?”

She shakes her head, and a tidal wave of fresh tears falls from her eyes. Her shoulders shake with sobs, and I scoot down the length of the bed to wrap my arms around her. I rock her the way I did when she was small, and after a moment, she is clinging to me.

“Mom,” she sobs. “Mom…”

“It’s okay,” I tell her in my most soothing voice. “I promise, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” she gasps. “He…he has pictures!”

What?

I pull away from her, inspecting her red and swollen face. “Pictures?” I say in a voice I hope belies the sick sensation in the pit of my stomach.

She covers her eyes with both hands and bobs her head.

“What pictures?” I ask in that same gentle tone, even though what I really want to do is grab her shoulders and shake her until she tells me what the hell is going on.

“Zane…he…he has…” She gulps, struggling to catch her breath. “He has pictures of me. Pictures where I’m…”

I’m trying really hard not to react with horror. “Where you’re what?”

“You know,” she mumbles.

“Like…” I cringe. “Sex pictures?”