Chương 4
I took the bottle back to the sewing room and fed Noah in the rocking chair.
The house stayed quiet except for an old furnace clicking on and the muted television Grandpa turned on in the living room.
I could have slept.
Instead, I opened my phone and saw twenty-three notifications.
Six from Mom.
Eight from Lauren.
Three from Dad.
The rest were missed calls.
My hands went cold again.
Mom’s messages started reasonably.
Where are you?
Is Noah okay?
Please let me know you’re safe.
Then the tone shifted.
Your grandfather is upset and you need to be careful what you tell him.
We have always helped you.
I hope you are not making accusations you cannot take back.
Lauren’s were worse.
Seriously?
You made Grandpa think I stole your car?
You know I pay for gas.
You literally never go anywhere.
Mom is crying.
Dad’s blood pressure is through the roof.
Hope this was worth it.
The last message came two minutes earlier.
You’re destroying this family because you’re mad about a car.
I stared at it until the words became shapes.
Noah finished half the bottle and fell asleep.
I burped him against my shoulder.
My phone buzzed again.
Lauren.
Come home before this gets worse.
I typed a reply.
I deleted it.
Typed another.
Deleted that too.
Grandpa appeared in the doorway.
“You all right?”
“Fine.”
“You have your mother’s face when you lie.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means your eyebrows give up before the rest of you.”
I looked at the phone.
“They want me home.”
“No surprise.”
“Mom says you’re upset because I explained things wrong.”
“Did you?”
“I don’t know.”
His expression tightened.
“There are facts, Madison.”
“Families don’t work like facts.”
“No, but bank accounts do.”
I hated him for being right.
Only for a moment, but enough to make me ashamed.
“I don’t want everybody treating them like criminals because I got emotional.”
“Did you get emotional?”
“Yes.”
“Did emotion put Lauren behind the wheel of your car?”
“No.”
“Did emotion take your debit card?”
“No.”
“Did emotion change your banking password?”
I looked down.
“No.”
He nodded.
“That’s enough for tonight.”
“It doesn’t feel like enough.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
He walked toward the kitchen.
I followed.
“What did Eric say?”
“That tomorrow morning you can go to the bank with identification and ask for full access to your account.”
“I don’t have identification.”
He stopped.
“None?”
“My license is in Mom’s wallet.”
His face went still.
“She said I lose it.”
“Do you?”
“Sometimes.”
“Madison.”
“I know.”
He exhaled through his nose.
“Do you have any photo ID here?”
“No.”
“Passport?”
“At their house.”
“Hospital discharge paperwork?”
“Probably there too.”
“Insurance card?”
“Mom has it.”
The quiet between us changed.
Until then, every missing thing had sounded individually explainable.
Together, they sounded like a door with no handle on my side.
Grandpa went to the coat rack and put his jacket back on.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re going there.”
My heartbeat jumped.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Grandpa.”
“We are not waiting until morning.”
“You said we were.”
“I changed my mind.”
“I’m not going back.”
“You don’t have to go inside.”
“They’ll know I’m there.”
“They already know where you are.”
I shook my head.
“You don’t understand how Mom gets.”
“I raised your mother.”
“That doesn’t mean you know her now.”
He froze with one sleeve half on.
For the first time all evening, I had hurt him.
Not because I was cruel.
Because I was correct.
He finished putting on the jacket.
“Fair.”
The word came out quietly.
I shifted Noah higher against me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for accuracy.”
He picked up his keys.
“What I do know is that you need your license, Noah’s insurance card, his birth certificate if it’s there, and anything else you’re legally entitled to possess.”
“What if they won’t give it to me?”
“Then we leave.”
“That’s it?”
“For tonight.”
I watched him.
“No yelling?”
“No.”
“No threats?”
“No.”
“No telling Dad he’s a failure as a father?”
Grandpa’s mouth twitched.
“I can’t promise not to think it.”
I almost smiled.
Then my phone rang.
Dad.
I let it stop.
It rang again.
Grandpa waited.
On the third call, I answered.
“Hi.”
Dad’s breathing filled the line.
“Are you with him?”
“Yes.”
“You need to come home.”
“I’m coming to get some things.”
A pause.
“What things?”
“My license.”
Another pause.
It lasted too long.
“Why?”
The question chilled me more than the winter air had.
“Because it’s mine.”
“Madison, don’t start this.”
“I’m not starting anything.”
“You are bringing your grandfather into private family business.”
“What private business?”
Dad said nothing.
I heard Mom’s voice in the background.
Then Dad covered the receiver, but not well enough.
“She wants the papers.”
Mom said something I could not make out.
Dad came back.
“Your mother keeps those things safe.”
“I need them.”
“For what?”
“I need my own license.”
His voice hardened.
“You can get it tomorrow.”
“Why not tonight?”
“Because it’s late.”
“It’s seven-thirty.”
“Because your mother is upset.”
“I’m not asking her to talk.”
“You don’t come into this house after doing this and expect everyone to act normal.”
Grandpa held out his hand.
I shook my head.
Dad kept going.
“Lauren has been crying for an hour.”
“She texted me twelve times.”
“That doesn’t mean she isn’t hurt.”
“What did I do to her?”
“You made your grandfather think she stole a car.”
“The car is mine.”
“She needed transportation.”
“So did I.”
“You’re home with the baby.”
The words landed differently now.
Not as an explanation.
As a sentence.
I looked at Noah.
He slept with his cheek pressed against my sweater.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Was the Cadillac ever put in my name?”
Silence.
Grandpa looked at me sharply.
I had not planned the question.
It had simply appeared.
Dad cleared his throat.
May you like
“Your grandfather bought it for you.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
