Chương 12
“That means yes.”
“Get in the car.”
She opened her mouth.
“Please.”
She got in.
Theo climbed into the back and immediately asked whether he could have cereal when we got home.
I told him no because it was nearly nine.
He asked whether cereal had a bedtime.
I said apparently it did now.
Dad stayed beside my door.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“Don’t call your mother tonight.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“She’s upset.”
“I am developing a complicated relationship with that sentence.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“She knows I went through the papers.”
I stopped.
“How?”
“She caught me.”
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I was looking for an insurance statement.”
“Did she believe you?”
“No.”
The answer came quietly.
“What happened?”
“We argued.”
“About me?”
“About everything.”
Dad looked toward his own car.
“She said I was choosing you over her.”
I laughed once.
“That sounds familiar.”
“I told her there shouldn’t be sides.”
“And she said?”
“That there are always sides.”
That sounded like Mom too.
I leaned against the car.
“Where is she now?”
“Home.”
“Where are you staying?”
Dad hesitated.
“Rob’s.”
Of all the answers he could have given, that one made the least sense.
“You took documents showing Rob received my money and then went to stay with Rob?”
“He’s my son.”
“And I’m your daughter.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He flinched.
“I didn’t have anywhere else.”
“You have Denise.”
“She and your mother aren’t speaking.”
I blinked.
“Since when?”
“Since this morning.”
“About the box?”
“About the SUV.”
That made me straighten.
“What happened?”
“Denise accused her.”
“Of delivering it?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Your mother denied it.”
“Did you believe her?”
Dad looked at the pavement.
“I don’t know.”
There it was again.
This time I let it pass.
“Did Rob say anything?”
“He said it didn’t matter who delivered it.”
My jaw tightened.
“That sounds like somebody who already knows.”
Dad nodded.
Very slightly.
“Did he admit breaking the things?”
“He said they were his to destroy.”
“They weren’t.”
“Some were.”
“Marlo’s bird wasn’t his.”
“I know.”
“Grandma Ruth’s recipe cards weren’t his.”
“I know.”
“The photographs weren’t his.”
“I know.”
He looked miserable.
I was tired of his misery.
Not because it was fake.
Because he kept treating feeling bad as if it were a form of action.
“Tomorrow I’m going to the credit union.”
“Okay.”
“If they tell me there was unauthorized activity, I’m reporting it.”
Dad’s face tightened.
“I figured.”
“You need to understand that.”
“I do.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You need to understand that you do not get to bring me a folder and then ask me to protect the person whose name is in it.”
“I’m not asking that.”
“You already did.”
He swallowed.
“Then I won’t ask again.”
That was the closest thing to a boundary I had ever heard from my father.
I got in the car.
He stood there as I pulled away.
In the rearview mirror, he looked small beneath the library parking lot light.
Marlo waited until we were two blocks away.
“Do you believe Grandpa?”
“About what?”
“Anything.”
I gripped the wheel.
“Some of it.”
“That’s weird.”
“People can tell the truth after lying.”
“So we forgive them?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What do we do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Theo spoke from the back.
“I forgive him.”
Marlo turned around.
“For what?”
“For not bringing my truck.”
I looked at the road.
Sometimes six was a kinder age than thirteen.
Sometimes it was crueler.
At home, I put Theo to bed and found him trying to sleep with Kevin tucked under his chin.
The paper rabbit was already bent.
“Kevin’s going to get crushed.”
“He likes it.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“What else does Kevin say?”
Theo lowered his voice.
“He says Grandma is mean.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Did Marlo tell Kevin that?”
“No.”
“Theo.”
He looked guilty.
“She said it in the car.”
“That sounds more likely.”
He rubbed one of Kevin’s paper ears between his fingers.
“Is she?”
“Who?”
“Grandma.”
I hated the question.
Not because the answer was complicated.
Because it should not have belonged to him.
“Grandma did something mean.”
“Is that different?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
I thought about it.
“People can do bad things without every part of them being bad.”
He frowned.
“So she’s medium?”
I laughed despite myself.
“Maybe.”
“Like salsa?”
“Go to sleep.”
“I don’t like medium salsa.”
“I know.”
I kissed his forehead.
As I stood, he caught my wrist.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“If Grandma says sorry, can I go back?”
My throat tightened.
“We’ll see.”
“That means no.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with your sister.”
He smiled.
I turned out the light.
Marlo was waiting in my bedroom doorway.
“What?”
“You told him Grandma is medium.”
“I did my best.”
“She smashed my bird.”
“Rob smashed your bird.”
“She helped.”
“We don’t know exactly what she did.”
Marlo folded her arms.
“There you go again.”
“I am not defending her.”
“You kind of are.”
“I am trying not to tell a six-year-old his grandmother is evil.”
“I didn’t say evil.”
“You said mean.”
“She is.”
I sat on the edge of my bed.
My body felt heavier than it had that morning.
“Marlo, I need you to stop making me choose the hardest version of every answer.”
Her face changed.
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I just want you to stop making excuses.”
“I am not making excuses.”
“You always say that right before you explain why somebody did something awful.”
I looked at her.
She looked exactly like me at thirteen.
Not physically.
In the way she held anger like a shield because softer things felt dangerous.
“I’m tired,” I said.
“So am I.”
“Then go to bed.”
“Fine.”
She turned.
“Marlo.”
She stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
She did not turn around.
“For what?”
“For snapping.”
“Okay.”
“And I’m not giving anyone money.”
May you like
She looked back at me.
“I know.”
