Chương 3
“Dad.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t know about bruises.”
Vincent opened them again.
Across from him, Teresa had stopped writing.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“I swear to you, I didn’t know.”
Vincent looked at Lily sleeping beneath the borrowed hospital blanket.
For the first time since the snowy gate opened, the shape of the problem changed.
It became larger than one cruel punishment.
And much more difficult than a man he could simply knock down.
Vincent did not answer his son immediately.
He looked at Teresa, and she was already studying him with the expression she used when she wanted him to understand that the next thirty seconds mattered more than the previous thirty years.
“Then start with what you do know,” Vincent said.
Daniel breathed out shakily.
“I know Rebecca gets frustrated with Lily.”
“Frustrated how?”
“Normal frustrated.”
“There’s nothing normal about tonight.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
Daniel’s voice hardened.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn every answer into a trial.”
Vincent looked down at Lily.
She was still asleep.
One small hand rested open against his chest.
Her fingernails had dirt beneath them.
“Then don’t make me drag the truth out of you.”
“I’m trying to understand it myself.”
Teresa lifted one finger and mouthed, Slow down.
Vincent ignored her.
“What happened today?”
Daniel was quiet long enough that Vincent heard movement on the other end.
A door closing.
Footsteps.
Then Daniel spoke more softly.
“Rebecca picked Lily up from preschool.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“She still goes to the one on Orchard?”
“No.”
“When did that change?”
“September.”
“You never told me.”
“You weren’t exactly getting family newsletters.”
The cruelty in the remark seemed to surprise Daniel as much as it did Vincent.
Neither man said anything for a moment.
Daniel finally cleared his throat.
“It’s a place near our house.”
“What happened after pickup?”
“I got home around six.”
“And?”
“Lily was upset.”
“Why?”
“She wouldn’t eat.”
“That’s not why she was upset.”
“I know.”
Vincent waited.
Daniel rubbed at something near the phone.
Vincent could hear fabric rasping.
“Rebecca said Lily had been difficult all afternoon.”
“Define difficult.”
“Crying.”
“About what?”
“She wanted Caroline.”
The name made the room shrink.
Vincent looked at Lily’s sleeping face.
Caroline had been dead almost two years, but three-year-olds did not obey calendars.
Some days a mother was gone.
Other days she had simply not come back yet.
“What did Rebecca say?” Vincent asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You were there.”
“I was in the kitchen.”
“Then what did you hear?”
Daniel exhaled.
“Rebecca told her to stop.”
“That all?”
“No.”
Vincent waited.
“She said Caroline wasn’t coming back.”
Teresa’s face tightened.
Vincent stared at the floor.
There were sentences that became cruel because of tone.
There were others that needed no help.
“How did Lily react?”
“She screamed.”
“And then?”
“She threw a plate.”
“Ceramic?”
“Plastic.”
“Did it hit anyone?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Rebecca sent her to her room.”
“And you?”
“I told her to listen.”
Vincent’s jaw worked.
Daniel heard the silence.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to.”
“What happened next?”
“She came back downstairs.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I don’t know everything that happened.”
“Apparently.”
“Dad.”
Vincent stopped himself.
He could hear Teresa’s earlier warning without looking at her.
This was not about winning.
It was not about making Daniel small enough to fit inside Vincent’s anger.
“What happened when Lily came back downstairs?” he asked.
Daniel’s voice lost some of its edge.
“She had her coat.”
“The pink one?”
“Yes.”
“She put it on herself?”
“I think so.”
“You think.”
“I saw her near the door.”
“What was Rebecca doing?”
“Talking to her.”
“About?”
“I couldn’t hear.”
“Why not?”
“I was on a work call.”
Vincent shut his eyes.
The old impulse came quickly.
A useless one.
He wanted to ask what kind of phone call could matter more than watching a frightened child.
He wanted to say that Daniel always had an excuse with a battery percentage attached to it.
He wanted to make his son feel exactly as negligent as Vincent feared he had been.
Teresa tapped the folder with one fingernail.
Vincent opened his eyes.
“Finish.”
“Lily opened the door.”
“And Rebecca?”
“Went after her.”
“With the key?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did the door end up locked?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to believe I wasn’t standing there.”
“Where were you?”
“In my office.”
“You told her to leave Lily outside.”
Daniel said nothing.
Vincent felt the pulse in his neck.
“I heard you.”
“I know.”
“You said, ‘Leave her outside.’”
“I know what I said.”
“Then explain it.”
Daniel’s breathing changed.
“I thought she had been out there thirty seconds.”
Vincent’s fingers tightened against the hospital blanket.
“How long had she actually been outside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
“Five minutes.”
Vincent said nothing.
“Maybe eight.”
Still nothing.
“Jesus, I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you check?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“When I came downstairs.”
“After saying to leave her outside.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“Then you were there.”
Vincent leaned back slightly.
The pieces did not fit cleanly, which made him trust the conversation more than he wanted to.
People lying from preparation usually produced smoother stories.
Daniel sounded like a man discovering gaps in his own memory and hating what lived inside them.
“Where is Rebecca now?” Teresa asked loudly enough for the phone to catch it.
Daniel hesitated.
“At the house.”
“Alone?” Vincent asked.
“Yes.”
“Police?”
“They came.”
Vincent looked at Teresa.
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth.”
Teresa made a face.
Vincent ignored her.
“What truth?”
“That you hit Rebecca and then hit me.”
“And Lily?”
Daniel’s voice dropped.
“I told them she’d been outside.”
“How long?”
“I said I didn’t know.”
“Did Rebecca give a number?”
“She said less than two minutes.”
May you like
Vincent’s eyes moved to the wet clothing folded in a clear hospital bag near the wall.
Snow had melted into the fabric, leaving dark patches.
