Chương 13
Then another.
On the third evening she opened it at the kitchen counter.
Nathan was upstairs giving Sophie a bath.
The letter was short.
Rachel,
I have rewritten this six times because every version became an explanation.
You did not ask for an explanation.
At Nathan’s birthday dinner, I told you to leave your daughter with me and leave your own home. I had planned the confrontation in advance. I had discussed my concerns with other people and arranged circumstances so I would not be alone when I confronted you. I used information Nathan had shared with me privately to make you believe he had agreed with me when he had not.
I frightened you intentionally because I believed fear would make you accept what I thought was necessary.
That was wrong.
I also entered your home with a key Nathan did not knowingly give me. I made a copy during the renovation when his spare was temporarily in my possession. I did not tell either of you.
That was wrong.
I told relatives selective information about your health and behavior. Some of what I said was true. The way I assembled and used it was unfair.
That was wrong.
I have contacted the relatives I involved and told them these facts.
I do not expect this letter to restore my relationship with you or Nathan.
I am sorry.
Eleanor
Rachel read it twice.
Then a third time.
Nathan came downstairs carrying Sophie wrapped in a towel shaped like a duck.
“What’s that?”
Rachel handed him the letter.
He read.
Sophie grabbed the paper.
“Hey.”
Nathan rescued it.
He finished reading.
His face went through several emotions too quickly for Rachel to name.
“She admitted the key.”
“Yes.”
“I knew she copied it.”
“No, you suspected.”
He looked at her.
“You’re ruining my dramatic moment.”
“Sorry.”
He laughed.
Then his eyes filled.
Rachel looked away to give him privacy.
Nathan sat.
Sophie kicked one bare foot.
After a while he said, “What do we do?”
Rachel looked at the letter.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s becoming your favorite answer.”
“It’s useful.”
He nodded.
They did nothing that night.
Or the next week.
Eleanor did not ask whether they had received the letter.
Susan confirmed she had called.
So did Mark.
Eleanor’s versions were apparently brief and painful.
According to Mark, she told him, “I exaggerated Rachel’s condition and misrepresented Nathan’s agreement.”
Mark had said, “Wow.”
Eleanor had replied, “Your eloquence remains astonishing.”
Rachel laughed when he told her.
It sounded exactly like Eleanor.
That mattered strangely.
An apology did not require Eleanor to become someone else.
Three weeks later, Rachel told Nathan, “She can see Sophie.”
He looked up from his laptop.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
He waited.
Rachel continued.
“An hour. Here.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not leaving the room.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t have to keep saying okay.”
“I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing.”
“That’s fair.”
They scheduled Saturday at eleven.
Eleanor arrived at ten fifty-eight.
She brought nothing.
Rachel noticed immediately.
No toy.
No clothing.
No book.
No gift.
Just Eleanor.
She stood at the door wearing dark trousers and a soft gray sweater.
Nathan opened it.
For several seconds, mother and son looked at each other.
Then Eleanor said, “Hello.”
Nathan answered, “Hi.”
No hug.
Rachel sat in the living room with Sophie on her lap.
Sophie was eight months old now and had recently discovered that most objects could be improved by hitting them against other objects.
She banged a yellow plastic ring against Rachel’s knee.
Eleanor stopped when she saw her.
Her face changed.
Rachel’s stomach tightened.
“Hi,” Rachel said.
“Hello.”
Eleanor did not approach.
Rachel appreciated that more than she wanted to.
Nathan sat beside Rachel.
Eleanor took the chair opposite them.
For several minutes the conversation was terrible.
“How is she sleeping?”
“Better.”
“Is she eating solids?”
“A little.”
“What does she like?”
“Sweet potato.”
A pause.
“I hated sweet potato as a baby.”
Nathan looked at his mother.
“How would you know?”
“My mother told me.”
“Maybe she lied.”
Eleanor gave him a look.
Nathan smiled.
It was the first familiar thing in the room.
Sophie dropped the yellow ring.
Eleanor’s hand moved automatically.
Then stopped.
She looked at Rachel.
“May I?”
Rachel nodded.
Eleanor picked up the ring and handed it to Sophie.
The baby stared at her.
Eleanor smiled.
Sophie immediately dropped the ring again.
Nathan laughed.
“She does that.”
Eleanor picked it up a second time.
Sophie dropped it.
Again.
By the sixth time, Eleanor looked at Rachel.
“Is this the entire game?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
She retrieved the ring.
Rachel watched her.
There was no cinematic moment of forgiveness.
No music.
No perfect sentence.
Rachel remained aware of every movement Eleanor made.
When Sophie leaned forward, Eleanor did not reach for her.
When Rachel went to the kitchen for water, she carried Sophie with her.
Eleanor noticed.
Her face tightened for half a second.
Then she said nothing.
That mattered too.
At eleven forty-five, Sophie became tired.
Rachel rocked her.
Eleanor looked at the clock.
“I should go.”
Nathan glanced at Rachel.
Rachel nodded.
At the front door Eleanor put on her coat.
“Thank you.”
Rachel did not say, You’re welcome.
She said, “We’ll let you know about next time.”
Eleanor inhaled as if she wanted to ask when.
She did not.
“All right.”
Nathan walked her to the porch.
Rachel watched through the living-room window as they stood there.
Nathan said something.
Eleanor looked away.
Then she touched his cheek.
He let her.
She got into her car.
Nathan remained outside until she drove away.
When he came in, his eyes were red.
Rachel pretended not to notice until he sat beside her.
Then she rested her head against his shoulder.
He whispered, “That sucked.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad we did it.”
“Me too.”
Sophie slept between them.
Their life did not become clean after that.
Eleanor visited occasionally.
Some visits went well.
May you like
One did not.
When Sophie was ten months old, Eleanor commented that Rachel looked tired.
