Chương 7
Michael’s mouth went dry.
“He said Vanessa grabbed his arm before.”
Claire went very still.
“When?”
Noah folded inward in the chair.
“I don’t know.”
Claire crouched in front of him.
“You told Dad you showed me.”
“I didn’t say I showed you.”
“You said I saw it.”
Noah’s voice became almost inaudible.
“I told Vanessa you saw it.”
Claire stared at him.
“Why?”
“So she’d stop.”
Noah’s chin trembled.
“She said if I told you for real, Dad would lose us.”
Claire sat down so abruptly that the plastic chair squealed beneath her.
Noah looked from her to Michael as if he had expected one of them to deny the possibility.
Neither did.
“Why would she say that?” Claire asked.
Noah rubbed his palms against his jeans.
“She said if people thought Dad couldn’t keep us safe, somebody would decide we should live somewhere else.”
Claire closed her eyes for a moment.
Michael felt the words settle into him with a particular kind of cruelty.
Vanessa had not only hurt the children.
She had used his own failures as leverage.
“Did she say who would take you?” Claire asked.
“No.”
“Did she say I would?”
“She said maybe you wouldn’t want us full-time.”
Claire looked as if she had been slapped.
“Noah.”
“I knew it was probably a lie.”
“Probably?”
He shrugged and stared at the floor.
“You complain about being tired.”
Claire’s mouth opened.
Then she gave a small, broken laugh that held no humor.
“I complain about everything.”
“I know.”
“I complain about traffic.”
“I know.”
“I complained yesterday because the grocery store moved the cereal.”
Noah’s mouth twitched despite himself.
Claire leaned closer.
“That does not mean I don’t want you.”
He nodded.
She touched his knee.
“You and Ella could show up at my apartment at three in the morning with six raccoons and a marching band, and I would still want you.”
Noah looked at her.
“Six?”
“Five might be easier.”
Michael almost smiled.
Then Claire looked at him, and the warmth vanished.
“What did Vanessa tell you about custody?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Anything.”
Michael thought back.
Vanessa saying Claire was overwhelmed.
Vanessa pointing out when the children arrived late from Claire’s house.
Vanessa mentioning forgotten lunch money, an unsigned school form, a missed dentist reminder.
Small complaints.
Ordinary complaints.
At the time they had sounded like observations.
“She said you were disorganized.”
Claire stared at him.
“You agreed.”
“Sometimes.”
“You told your wife details about my parenting?”
“She was helping with the kids.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Michael rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yes.”
Claire looked away.
A nurse walked past carrying a stack of folded gowns.
The hospital intercom called a physician to another floor.
Noah pulled one knee up against his chest.
Michael hated that the argument had begun in front of him.
He hated more that there was no clean place to put it.
“I’m not doing this here,” Claire said.
“Okay.”
“No, don’t say okay like you’re being reasonable.”
Michael looked at her.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to understand that she had information because you gave it to her.”
He did.
He could feel himself wanting to explain anyway.
That impulse shamed him.
“I gave her information,” he said.
Claire folded her arms.
“Yes.”
“I treated your bad days like evidence.”
Her expression shifted.
Just slightly.
Michael continued before fear could turn him defensive.
“I treated Noah’s complaints like attitude.”
Noah looked down again.
“I let Vanessa convince me that every problem had a simple explanation if the explanation made my life easier.”
Claire’s eyes hardened.
“That sounds very self-aware.”
“It’s late.”
“What?”
“I’m saying being self-aware now is late.”
“I know.”
She looked at him sharply.
He stopped.
A nurse appeared at the treatment-room door.
“Parents of Ella Carter?”
All three of them stood.
The nurse raised a hand.
“One at a time for now.”
Claire looked at Michael.
“You go.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“She asked for you.”
The words hurt in a different way.
Michael nodded and followed the nurse.
Ella lay beneath two warmed blankets in a narrow hospital bed.
Someone had changed her out of the wet dress and into a pale blue gown patterned with tiny stars.
The dress itself sat inside a clear plastic belongings bag on a chair.
Michael looked away from it.
Ella’s hair had begun drying in uneven waves around her face.
A cartoon played quietly on the wall-mounted television.
She was not watching it.
Her eyes went straight to him.
“Dad.”
He went to the bed.
“How are you feeling?”
“Warm.”
“That’s good.”
“My wrist hurts.”
He looked at the bandage.
“They took pictures.”
“Did they?”
“A lady took them.”
“Okay.”
“She said it was for the doctor.”
Michael nodded.
He was not sure that was the entire reason.
He did not want to correct Ella.
She reached for his hand.
“Is Vanessa here?”
“No.”
“Where is she?”
“With the police.”
Ella stared at the blanket.
“Is she mad?”
Michael sat beside the bed.
“She doesn’t get to be around you right now.”
“But is she mad?”
“I don’t know.”
Ella looked up.
He corrected himself.
“She might be.”
Her face tightened.
“That’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“She said people get mad when you make them look bad.”
Michael swallowed.
“Did she say you made her look bad?”
Ella nodded.
“When?”
“A lot.”
He wanted details.
Dates.
Exact sentences.
Names.
He wanted enough information to build a wall around his daughter.
Then he saw how tired she looked.
“What do you want right now?”
She considered the question.
“Chocolate milk.”
He laughed before he could stop himself.
Ella blinked.
“Sorry.”
“Why are you laughing?”
“Because I was expecting something harder.”
“I want chocolate milk.”
“That sounds possible.”
“And Mom.”
“She’s outside.”
“And Noah.”
“He’s outside too.”
Ella shifted deeper into the pillow.
“And you.”
Michael looked at her.
“I’m here.”
“All at once.”
May you like
“I’ll ask.”
She nodded, apparently satisfied.
