Chương 5
“He wanted me to lose control.”
“Did you?”
Mara looked at Nina.
The lawyer did not blink.
“Yes,” Mara said.
Nina wrote something down. “That answer may save you later.”
At nine, Carla Ruiz opened the prosthetic clinic two hours early.
The clinic occupied the ground floor of a brick building between a dentist’s office and a store that sold used musical instruments. Noah had once called the place a robot-leg garage, and Carla had painted the words on a small wooden sign over her workbench.
Evan carried Noah inside. Mara arrived separately and waited until Noah nodded before approaching.
Carla wore magnifying glasses on top of her curly hair. She inspected the damaged joint while Noah sat on the fitting platform.
“This wasn’t normal rotational stress,” she said.
“Can you document that?” Nina asked.
Carla glanced at Mara. “I document everything.”
She turned the ankle in her gloved hands. The joint moved a few degrees and caught.
“This component is designed to tolerate a stumble. It is not designed to be pinned and torqued from behind.”
Evan folded his arms.
“Could someone argue it happened when he fell?”
“They could argue the moon did it. The deformation pattern runs the wrong direction.”
Noah looked at the prosthesis. “Can you fix it?”
“I can replace the ankle assembly. The adapter may need machining.”
“Today?”
“Not today.”
His face closed.
Carla rolled closer on a stool. “I have a loaner foot, but the alignment will feel different. You’ll need to use the crutches.”
“I know.”
“That wasn’t a lecture.”
“It sounded like one.”
“Fair.”
She removed the socket liner and checked the skin below Noah’s knee. A red band had formed near the lower edge.
“Any pain here?”
“A little.”
“Scale of one to ten?”
“Three.”
Mara said, “It was four at the hospital.”
Noah did not look at her. “It’s my leg.”
Carla’s hands stopped.
Mara felt Evan’s attention move toward her.
“You’re right,” she said. “Sorry.”
Carla finished the examination and photographed the black transfer mark. She sealed the damaged ankle assembly in a clear bag, signed across the closure, and wrote the date and time.
“Chain of custody,” she said when Noah asked why.
“Like television?”
“Less exciting. More forms.”
He finally smiled.
A receptionist knocked and told Mara three reporters were outside.
“How did they find us?” Evan asked.
Mara looked at the clinic’s glass front door. Shadows moved behind the blinds.
“Someone followed one of us.”
Evan’s expression turned toward her, then stopped before becoming blame.
Carla lowered the blinds completely.
“You can use the rear exit through the instrument store,” she said.
The store owner let them pass between racks of guitars and dented brass instruments. Noah paused beside a red electric bass.
“You’d look good with that,” Carla told him.
“I’d look loud.”
“Sometimes loud is useful.”
Mara thought of the ballroom and wished the sentence did not feel directed at her.
They left through an alley that smelled of cold metal and coffee grounds. Evan helped Noah into the SUV. Mara stood by the open door.
“I’d like him home tonight.”
“He has school things at my place,” Evan said.
“He can miss school.”
“That’s not the point.”
Noah pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his hair. “I’m sitting right here.”
Evan shut his mouth.
Mara crouched so she was level with the seat.
“Where do you want to stay?”
Noah watched a flake of snow melt on the door frame.
“Dad’s. Until I get the loaner.”
The answer hurt in a stupid, specific place behind her ribs.
“Okay.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m many things.”
“That means yes.”
“It means I’m working on not making my feelings your assignment.”
Evan looked surprised. Nina had used almost the same phrase during the divorce. Mara disliked herself for borrowing it.
Noah rubbed at the edge of the bandage on his palm.
“Did you find the waiter?”
“Not yet.”
“He’ll tell.”
“You heard him?”
“He looked at me before you kicked Grant. He knew.”
Mara wanted to promise.
Instead she said, “I hope he does.”
The foundation office called before noon.
Lydia Chen sounded exhausted. She was sixty-two, a retired hospital administrator who could make panic sound like a scheduling problem.
“The board is convening an emergency meeting tomorrow,” she said. “You are not to attend.”
“I’m the program director.”
“You are on leave.”
“Grant assaulted one of the children our foundation serves.”
“Grant denies that.”
“My son’s prosthesis has his shoe polish embedded in it.”
A pause.
“Send that to the investigator.”
“What investigator?”
“We retained outside counsel.”
“Grant’s firm?”
“No.”
“Who selected them?”
“The executive committee.”
“Grant chairs the executive committee.”
“He recused himself.”
“After selecting them?”
Lydia exhaled. “Mara, I am trying to prevent this organization from collapsing.”
“It deserves to collapse if it protects him.”
“Four hundred and twelve families received equipment grants last year.”
“I know the number. I found half of them.”
“And if our donors walk away?”
“Then ask why they were donating.”
“That is an excellent sentence for a panel discussion and a terrible answer to a payroll deadline.”
Mara gripped the phone tighter.
Lydia’s voice softened.
“I saw Noah fall.”
“Did you see the shoe?”
“No.”
“Did you hear what Grant said?”
“I heard the second comment.”
“And you’re still talking about payroll.”
“I’m talking about the occupational therapists, case managers, and repair coordinators who had nothing to do with last night.”
There it was: the weight Lydia always knew how to place in someone else’s arms.
“What do you want from me?” Mara asked.
“Silence. For forty-eight hours.”
“So Grant gets two days to tell his version.”
“He has been instructed not to speak.”
“He doesn’t need to. The video is doing it for him.”
“Mara.”
“Did you watch the whole clip?”
“Yes.”
“What did you think?”
May you like
Lydia was quiet long enough for Mara to hear office phones ringing behind her.
“I thought you looked like a mother who had reached the end of something,” she said.
