She could hear him still standing outside her door, urging her to come out and talk to him, and she told him she'd be out in a few minutes. She dried herself off, and put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. And over that, she put on one of her baggy sweaters, in spite of the heat. And when she was all dressed again, she unlocked the door, and went back to unload the dishwasher in the kitchen. He was standing there, looking out at her mother's roses, and he turned when Grace came into the room, and smiled at her.

“Want to go outside and sit for a while? It's a nice night. You could do this later.”

“It's okay. I might as well get it done.” He shrugged and helped himself to a beer, and then he walked outside and sat down on the kitchen steps and watched the fireflies in the distance. She knew it was pretty outside, but she didn't want to look at it, didn't want to remember this night, or anything about it. Just like she didn't want to remember the day her mother died or the pitiful way she'd begged Grace to be good to her father. That was all she'd cared about … him … all that ever mattered to her was making him happy.

When the dishes were put away, Grace went back to her room again, and lay down on the bed, without turning on the light. She still couldn't get used to the silence. She kept waiting to hear her voice, for the past two days she kept listening for her, as though she'd been sleeping, but would wake up in pain at any moment. But there was no pain for Ellen Adams now, there never would be again. She was at peace at last. And all they had left was the silence.

Grace put her nightgown on at ten o'clock, and left her jeans in a pile on the floor, with her sweater and T-shirt. She locked her door, and went to bed. There was nothing else to do. She didn't want to read or watch TV, the chores were done, there was no one she had to take care of. She just wanted to go to sleep and forget everything that had happened … the funeral … the things people had said … the smell of the flowers … the words of their minister at the graveside. No one knew her mother anyway, no one knew any of them, just as they didn't know her, and didn't really care. All they wanted and knew were their own illusions.

“Grade …” She heard her father knock softly on the door. “Grade … honey, are you awake?” She heard him, but she didn't answer. What was there to say? How much they missed her? How much she had meant to them? Why bother? It wouldn't bring her back anyway. Nothing would. Grace just lay in bed in the dark, in her old pink nylon nightgown.

She heard him try the doorknob then, and she didn't stir. She had locked the door. She always did. At school the other girls made fun of her for being so modest. She locked the doors everywhere. Then she could be sure of being alone, and not being bothered. “Grade?” He was still standing there, determined not to let her grieve alone, his voice sounded gentle and warm, as she stared at the door, and refused to answer. “Come on, baby … let me in, and we'll talk … we're both hurting right now … come on, honey … let me help you.” She didn't stir, and this time he rattled the doorknob. “Honey, don't make me force the door, you know I can. Now come on, let me in.”

“I can't. I'm sick,” she lied. She looked beautiful and pale in the moonlight, her white face and arms like marble, but he couldn't see them.

“You're not sick.” He knew her better than that. As he talked to her, he was unbuttoning his shirt. He was tired too, but he didn't want her locked up alone in her room, with her grief. That's what he was there for. “Gracie!” His tone was growing firm, and she sat up in bed and stared at the door, almost as though she could see him beyond it, and this time she looked frightened.

“Don't come in, Dad.” There was a tremor in her voice, as she looked at the door. It was as though she knew he was all-powerful, and she feared him. “Dad, don't.” She could hear him forcing the door, as she put her feet on the floor, and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting to see if he could force it. But she heard him walk away then, and she sat shaking on the edge of the bed. She knew him too well. He never gave up on anything that easily, and she knew he wouldn't now.

A moment later, he was back, and she heard an implement of some kind jimmy the lock, and an instant later, he was standing in her room, bare-chested and barefoot, with only his trousers on, and a look of annoyance.

“You don't need to do that. It's just the two of us now. You know I'm not going to hurt you.”

“I know … I … I couldn't help it … I'm sorry, Dad …”

“That's better.” He walked to where she sat, and looked down at her sternly. “There's no point in your being miserable in here. Why don't you come on into my room and we'll talk for a while.” He looked fatherly, and disappointed by her constant reticence, and as she looked up at him, he could see that she was shaking.

“I can't … I … I have a headache.”

“Come on.” He leaned down and grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her from where she sat. “We'll talk in my room.”

“I don't want to … I … no!” she snapped at him, and pulled her arm out of his hand. “I can't!” she shouted at him, and this time he looked angry. He wasn't going to play these games with her anymore. Not now. And not tonight. There was no point, and no need. She knew what her mother had said to her. His eyes burned into hers as he looked down at her, and grabbed her harder.

“Yes, you can, and you're going to, dammit. I told you to come into my room.”

“Dad, please …” Her voice was a thin whine, as he dragged her from the bed, and she followed him unwillingly into his bedroom. “Please, Mom …” She could feel her chest tighten and hear the beginnings of a wheeze as she begged him.

“You heard what your mother said when she died,” he spat the words angrily at her. “You know what she told you …”

“I don't care.” It was the first time in her entire life that she had defied him. In the past, she had whimpered and cried, but she had never fought him as she did now, she had begged, but never argued. This was new for her, and he didn't like it. “Mom isn't here now,” she said, shaking from head to foot, as she stared at him, trying to dredge something from her very soul that had never been there before, the courage to fight her father.

“No, she isn't, is she?” He smiled. “That's the point, Grace. We don't have to hide anymore, you and I. We can do whatever we want. It's our life now … our time … and no one ever has to know it. …” He advanced toward her with eyes that glittered at her, as she took a step backwards, and he grabbed both her arms, and then an instant later, with a single gesture, he tore the pink nylon nightgown in half, right off her shoulders. “There … that's better … isn't it … we don't need this anymore … we don't need anything … all I need is you, little Grade … all I need is my baby who loves me so much, and whom I love. …” With a single hand, he dropped his trousers and stepped out of them, along with his shorts, and he stood naked and erect before her.

“Dad … please …” It was a long, sad gasp of grief and shame, as she hung her head, and looked away from him, at the sight of him that was all too familiar. “Dad, I can't …” Tears slid down her cheeks. He didn't understand. She had done it for her, because her mother had begged her. She had done it for years, since she was thirteen … since just after her mother got sick, and had the first operation. Before that, he had beaten her, and Grace had listened to it, night after night, in her bedroom, sobbing, and listening to them, and in the morning, her mother would try to explain the bruises, talking about how she had fallen, or walked right into the bathroom door, or slipped, but it was no secret. They all knew. No one would have believed John Adams capable of it, but he was, and a great deal more. He would have beaten Grace, too, except that Ellen never let him. Instead, she had offered herself up, time after time, for his beatings, and told Grace to lock the door to her room.

Twice, Ellen had miscarried because of the beatings, the last time at six months, and after that, there had been no more children. The beatings had been brutal and terrifying, but subtle enough that the bruises could always be hidden or explained, as long as Ellen was willing to do it, and she was. She had loved him ever since high school, he was the best-looking boy in town, and she knew she was lucky to have him. Her parents had been dirt-poor, and she hadn't even finished high school. She was a beautiful girl, but she knew that without John, she didn't have a chance in the world. That was what he told her, and she believed him. Her own father had beaten her too, and at first what John did, didn't seem so unusual or so awful. But it got worse over the years, and at times he threatened to leave her because she was so worthless. He made her do anything he wanted just so he wouldn't leave her. And as Grace grew up and grew more beautiful each day, it was easy to see what he wanted, what would be required of her, if she really wanted to keep him. And once Ellen got sick, and the radiation and chemotherapy changed her so dramatically, deep penetration was no longer possible. He told her bluntly then that if she expected to stay married to him something would have to be worked out to keep him happy. It was obvious that she couldn't keep him happy anymore, couldn't give him what he wanted. But Grace could. She was thirteen, and so very lovely.

Her mother had explained it to her, so she wouldn't be frightened. It was something she could do for them, like a gift, she could help her dad be happy, and help her mom, it would be as though she was even more a part of them, and her dad would love her more than he ever had before. At first, Grace didn't understand, and then she cried … what would her friends think if they ever knew? How could she do that with her father? But her mother kept telling her how she had to help them, how she owed it to them, how her mother would die if someone didn't help her, and maybe he would leave them, and then they'd be alone, with no one to take care of them. She painted a terrifying picture, and put the leaden mantle of responsibility on Grace's shoulders. The girl sagged at the weight of it, and the horror of what was expected of her. But they didn't wait to hear her answer. That night, they came into her room, and her mother helped him. She held her down, and crooned to her, and told her what a good girl she was, and how much they loved her. And afterwards, when they went back to their room, John held Ellen in his arms and thanked her.