Chapter 6 - The Thunderstorm’s Voice
That night, before we could enact our plan for the regatta, nature delivered its own test.
Around 2:00 a.m., a massive autumn gale rolled off the Puget Sound, slamming into Lake Washington with gale-force winds and jagged, violent sheets of lightning. A crack of thunder rattled the estate’s windows so fiercely it sounded like an explosion in the courtyard.
I was out of bed instantly, throwing on a cardigan as I sprinted down the hallway toward the girls' bedroom.
When I burst through the double doors, the room was bathed in the strobe-like flash of lightning. Julian was already there, kneeling on the carpet by the custom built-in triple bunk bed.
Mia and Lily were clinging to his neck, trembling violently, but they weren't making a sound. Their silent terror was heartbreaking; Beatrice had trained them so thoroughly that even during a terrifying storm, their vocal cords remained locked in self-defense.
But Chloe—the middle triplet, the sensitive artist who usually communicated only through her crayons—was sitting upright in her bed, her hands clamped tightly over her ears. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with a horrific memory that the thunder had clearly dislodged.
“Chloe, sweetie, it’s just the wind,” Julian said, trying to reach out for her with one free arm.
Chloe shrank back against the headboard, shaking her head frantically. She dropped her hands from her ears and began signing with chaotic, lightning-fast gestures that were almost impossible to track in the dark.
Loud. The door is banging. Beatrice is screaming. No light. Can't breathe. Can't breathe!
She was hyperventilating, her chest heaving in rapid, shallow gasps that threatened to pitch her into a full panic attack.
I pushed past Julian, climbed directly onto the mattress, and pulled Chloe into my lap. I didn't try to hold her hands still; instead, I wrapped my arms around her ribs, applying deep, even pressure—a grounding technique I had practiced with her during our afternoon sessions.
“Look at me, Chloe,” I said, my voice strong, carrying over another boom of thunder. I held up my right hand, tapping my chest rhythmically. “Breathe with Elena. In. Out. You are in your room. The closet is gone. Daddy tore it down. Beatrice is gone.”
Another massive clap of thunder shook the house.
Chloe buried her face into my neck. I felt her small body shudder violently against mine. And then, against the collar of my sleep shirt, I felt the vibration of her vocal cords.
It started as a low, ragged whimper, the sound of a rust-locked hinge finally being forced open. Then, it broke into a sob. A loud, vocal, echoing cry that filled the bedroom.
“Mama!” Chloe wailed, her voice cracking with twelve months of suppressed grief and terror. “Elena, it’s too dark! Don't let her lock us up!”
Julian gasped. He dropped his head against the edge of the mattress, his shoulders shaking as he heard his middle daughter’s voice for the first time in a year. Mia and Lily immediately scrambled across the blankets, throwing their arms around Chloe and me, joining in the vocal crying until the room was filled with the messy, beautiful, healing sound of three little girls finally allowed to be afraid out loud.
We sat there in a tangled heap of blankets and tears for over an hour. When the storm finally passed and the girls drifted back to sleep, exhausted from their emotional release, Julian followed me out into the quiet hallway.
May you like
Before I could say goodnight, he reached out, pulled me against him, and buried his face in the crook of my shoulder. He held me so tightly I could feel the rapid rhythm of his breathing.
“You gave me my daughter back,” he whispered into my hair, his voice rough with tears. “I don't care what Victoria does. I don't care what the media says. I am never letting you leave this family, Elena.”
