Always Watching

didn’t protect me. ”
    My blood whooshed in my ears, everything slowing down, her words coming at me from a distance. My psyche was already bracing itself, sensing I was about to hear something that was going to hurt.
    “Protect you from what?”
    “Someone screwed around with me, Mom. God, are you really that blind?”
    I sat back hard on my heels. My mind trying to wrap around what she had just said. Did she mean someone molested her? I met her eyes, her belligerent glare daring me to deny it, and saw the shame and hurt underneath her angry words. It was true. I tried to speak, to say something, but my pulse was beating hard and fast, my thoughts crashing together. Finally, I grabbed at one, my breath coming out in a rush as I said, “When? When did this happen?”
    “Little late to pretend to care now. I’m too far gone in case you haven’t noticed.” She dropped her head back, her laugh bordering on hysteria.
    My heart thrummed in my chest. Who’d hurt my baby? I was almost in tears, near to panicking, but I grasped at some control. “How did … Was it one of your teachers?” Her expression was blank, resigned. She’d already decided I was going to fail her. I thought back to all the times she’d stayed late at school, the weekend camps with friends and their fathers. Then I got it.
    “Did a counselor hurt you at the treatment center?”
    She shook her head but then stared down at her packsack, zipping and unzipping one of the pockets. As a child, whenever she was hiding something, she’d always played with her zippers. I was right. Everything fit.
    She said, “Doesn’t matter now.”
    “It does matter—of course it matters.”
    She looked at me. “Get out, Mom. Just go home.”
    “I’m not leaving you now—”
    “You okay, Lisa?” A large man, with tattoos up and down his arms and long, dark hair in frenzied curls, stood at the door. His eyes had a wild look that signaled he was also high on something.
    “My mom’s just going.”
    I turned to look at Lisa and wondered who’d replaced my daughter, because I didn’t know the angry woman staring back at me with hatred.
    She said, “I don’t want to see you again. Get the fuck out of here.”
    I heard the hurt in my voice as I said, “Lisa—”
    The man stepped toward me. “She doesn’t want you here, bitch. You better get out of here fast, or I’ll help you out.”
    I stood up. “Don’t threaten me. I’m talking to my daughter.” He took another step toward me. I looked back at Lisa, wondering if she’d call him off. But her head was lolling back, her shoulders twitching. She was already gone.
    *   *   *
    When I got home, I sat on the couch with my coat still on, staring at my unlit fireplace. I was cold, but I couldn’t find the energy to get up and flip the switch. I’d let Lisa down in the worst possible way. I remembered her words: You didn’t notice—you didn’t protect me . She was right. How could I let this happen? How did I miss the signs? I was a doctor, her mother. I was sure that it was a counselor at the treatment center who’d abused her. She’d been young, maybe too young to be in a center. Had I been in such a rush to get her in a program that I didn’t stop to consider whether it was the right one for Lisa? I was a fraud, all these years trying to help women, and I hadn’t seen the truth of my own daughter.
    It sickened me when I remembered one young counselor at the treatment center, how familiar he’d seemed with Lisa. He’d told me to be strong when she called crying that time—not to enable her—and then she’d run away. She’d been trying to escape, and I’d stopped her. Why had she never said anything? Did she think I wouldn’t believe her? It hadn’t been that long after her father died. Maybe she didn’t want to upset me.
    I wanted to go to the treatment center and rip the place apart trying to find who’d hurt my child. The idea of some man’s hands on her, of her feeling alone and scared, tore me to shreds. But without Lisa exposing her abuser, I couldn’t do much. I wondered about calling the police, but they couldn’t do anything either. I didn’t even have a name. Finally, I took a hot bath and made myself go to bed.
    *   *   *
    I was still awake hours later, listening to the wind as it roared in off the ocean, when I heard a crash in the backyard. I sat up, heart pounding, straining my ears to focus on the sound. I pulled on my housecoat, grabbed the