Chương 4
A man behind Ruth stopped eating.
Daniel wished he had whispered.
Cynthia said, “No one has made a custody determination.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I cannot promise what another agency or a court might do if this escalates.”
The word court seemed to alter the air around him.
Daniel pressed the stop-request strip.
The electronic bell sounded.
“I need to call somebody.”
“I need to know where you’re going.”
“You just told me nobody’s made a custody determination.”
“That is correct.”
“Then you don’t need to know where I’m going.”
“Daniel, please.”
He ended the call.
For several seconds, he stood with the phone still against his ear.
Ruth said, “That was a mistake.”
Daniel lowered the phone.
“I don’t remember asking.”
“No, you mostly don’t.”
He gave her a hard look.
She returned it without hostility.
The bus stopped beside a strip mall containing a tax-preparation office, a nail salon, and a convenience store.
Daniel moved toward the door.
Ruth picked up her grocery bag.
“Why are you getting off?”
“I need another bus.”
“This isn’t a transfer stop.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Ruth stepped into the aisle.
“Because you still have three bottles of my formula.”
Despite everything, Daniel looked at the grocery bag.
“You could take them.”
“And leave you standing outside with one bottle and a newborn?”
“That sounds like my problem.”
“It became slightly my problem when I reached across the aisle.”
The driver called, “Folks, doors are closing.”
Daniel stepped off.
Ruth followed.
The September afternoon felt too bright after the bus.
Traffic moved steadily along the four-lane road, and somewhere nearby a landscaping crew was running a leaf blower despite there being almost no leaves yet.
Daniel walked toward the convenience store.
Ruth stayed beside him.
“You really don’t have to do this.”
“I know.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He stopped.
“Why?”
Ruth adjusted the canvas bag on her shoulder.
“Because you look like you’re about thirty seconds from making a decision you’ll spend ten years explaining.”
Daniel stared at her.
“That’s a pretty dramatic thing to say to somebody you met on a bus.”
“I spent twenty-eight years watching scared people confuse movement with action.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Okay.”
He hated the ease of her answer.
Inside the convenience store, fluorescent lights hummed over aisles of chips, motor oil, lottery tickets, and household products priced for people who had forgotten to buy them somewhere cheaper.
Daniel carried Owen toward the back.
“Where are you going?” Ruth asked.
“Bathroom.”
“You need to change him?”
“I need to breathe without you watching me.”
“All right.”
That answer irritated him too.
The restroom did not have a changing table.
Daniel locked the door and sat on the closed toilet with Owen across his thighs.
The baby slept through the indignity.
Daniel opened his phone.
Mara had called again.
He called her back.
She answered before the first ring finished.
“Where are you?”
“Why does everybody keep asking me that?”
“Because the hospital called me looking for you.”
“Why did they call you?”
“You listed me as the emergency contact.”
“I listed you for Owen.”
“Apparently Owen is the emergency.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“Did they tell you what Laura said?”
Mara went quiet.
“Mara.”
“They said she’s upset.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I’m driving.”
“Then pull over.”
“I’m not pulling over.”
“Did they tell you what she said?”
“I don’t know what they’re allowed to tell me.”
His sister had always become careful when frightened.
As children, Daniel had lied quickly and badly, while Mara constructed the kind of sentences that could survive cross-examination.
“Mara.”
“She told them you weren’t supposed to take him.”
The restroom seemed suddenly smaller.
“She told me the opposite.”
“When?”
“Before.”
“Before what?”
Daniel looked at the metal trash can beside his shoe.
“You know before what.”
“No, actually, I don’t, because nobody will tell me what happened between you two Monday night.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“Nothing happened.”
“Then why did Laura call me?”
His head came up.
“What?”
Silence.
“Mara, when did she call you?”
Another pause.
“Monday.”
“What time?”
“I don’t know.”
“You always know.”
“Daniel.”
“What time?”
“Eleven forty-something.”
Laura had gone into emergency surgery at 12:26 a.m.
Daniel stared at the restroom door.
“What did she say?”
“Come back to the hospital.”
“What did she say to you?”
“I’m not doing this on the phone.”
“Mara.”
Owen moved across his thighs, face tightening briefly before settling again.
Mara’s voice changed.
“She asked if you’d been sleeping.”
Daniel said nothing.
“She asked me whether you were still taking the pills.”
The words were so unexpected that he almost did not understand them.
“What pills?”
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m not taking anything.”
“She said you were.”
“She was hemorrhaging.”
“She called me before the hemorrhage.”
Daniel stood, nearly dropping the phone.
Owen startled awake and began crying.
“Jesus.”
“Daniel?”
“I’ve got him.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine.”
Owen was not fine.
He was screaming again, offended and frightened by the sudden movement.
Daniel tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and tried to settle him.
“What exactly did Laura say?”
“That you’d started taking them again.”
“She was wrong.”
“She sounded scared.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
Daniel stopped moving.
The word entered him without drama.
That made it worse.
He heard Mara’s turn signal clicking over the phone.
Then she said, “I’m sorry.”
Daniel stared at himself in the spotted mirror above the sink.
He had not shaved since Sunday.
There was dried formula on the shoulder of his coat.
His eyes looked bruised from lack of sleep.
He looked like someone a frightened woman might describe badly and still be believed.
“I never touched her.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“I never hurt her.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Mara did not answer.
Someone knocked on the restroom door.
“Occupied,” Daniel snapped.
The person knocked again.
“Some of us gotta piss, man.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Mara said, “Where are you?”
May you like
“I have to go.”
“Daniel, wait.”
