Chương 11
Frank looked at his wife.
She was crying without making a sound.
“Because being angry doesn’t mean I get to hurt somebody.”
Ava said nothing for several seconds.
Then, very quietly, “Oh.”
Frank heard Rachel’s voice near her.
Ava replied to something.
Then returned.
“Mommy says bath now.”
“Okay.”
“Bye.”
“Bye, sweetheart.”
“I love you.”
Frank closed his eyes.
“I love you too.”
The line changed hands.
Rachel came on.
“That was hard.”
“Yes.”
“She needed to ask.”
“I know.”
“She keeps talking about everybody hitting everybody.”
Frank pressed two fingers against his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Rachel’s voice sounded tired now.
“Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Please don’t make me choose between protecting Ava and protecting you.”
Frank opened his eyes.
“You don’t have to.”
“Good.”
“I mean it.”
Rachel was quiet.
He continued.
“If somebody asks what I did, tell them.”
“You know I will.”
“I know.”
She breathed out.
“Mom too?”
“Yes.”
Frank looked at his wife.
She met his eyes.
“Yes.”
Rachel heard her.
Another silence.
Then his wife spoke louder.
“Rachel.”
Frank did not know whether his daughter had moved the phone away.
His wife continued anyway.
“I’m not going to ask you to change anything.”
Frank watched her struggle to keep her voice steady.
“I’m not going to ask you to bring Ava here.”
She swallowed.
“And I’m not going to ask you to tell anyone it wasn’t serious.”
Rachel said something Frank could not hear.
His wife closed her eyes.
“No.”
Another pause.
“I don’t know why I did it yet.”
Frank watched her.
She looked almost embarrassed by the answer.
“But I know being angry at you was part of it.”
Rachel’s voice came through faintly.
His wife listened.
“I know.”
She sat down.
“I know that makes it worse.”
A longer silence.
Then she said, “I’m sorry.”
The words were plain.
No defense followed.
No request followed either.
Frank realized that mattered.
Rachel answered quietly.
His wife’s face tightened.
“No.”
She nodded.
“I understand.”
The call ended a minute later.
Frank set his phone on the table.
His wife stared at the wood grain.
“What did she say at the end?”
“She said she heard me.”
Frank waited.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
His wife nodded.
For some reason, that seemed harder for her than anger.
Frank understood.
Anger gave you something to push against.
Being heard gave you nowhere to hide.
He reached for the unfinished glass of water.
His wife spoke.
“Do you think Ava will ever want to come back?”
Frank set the glass down.
“I don’t know.”
She gave a small, exhausted laugh.
“There it is again.”
“It’s still true.”
She nodded.
Frank looked toward the family room.
The toy box remained open.
A stuffed rabbit leaned halfway out as if Ava had abandoned it mid-rescue.
He got up.
“Where are you going?”
“To close the toy box.”
His wife watched him.
“Why?”
“Because I keep looking at it.”
He walked into the room.
The yellow truck was still near the coffee table.
He picked up the stuffed rabbit first.
Its left ear was bent backward.
Ava always insisted the rabbit slept upside down because, according to her, that was how rabbits rested after birthdays.
Frank had never corrected her.
He placed it inside the toy box.
His wife came to the doorway.
“Leave the truck.”
He turned.
She was staring at it.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Frank waited.
She folded her arms.
“I don’t want everything cleaned up.”
The words were strange enough that he understood them.
He left the truck where it was.
His wife sat on the edge of the sofa.
Frank remained beside the toy box.
“What happens tomorrow?”
She asked.
He closed the lid gently.
“We answer the phone.”
“And after that?”
“Whatever comes next.”
She looked at him.
“You’re staying?”
Frank understood the question beneath it.
Not in the room.
Not until morning.
In the marriage.
He did not have an answer ready.
“I’m here tonight.”
Her expression changed.
Pain, anger, and relief moved across it too quickly to separate.
She nodded once.
“That’s honest.”
“It’s what I have.”
She looked at the yellow truck.
Frank sat in the chair across from her again.
Neither of them touched it.
Neither of them tried to put the room back the way it had been.
Morning arrived without giving either of them enough sleep.
Frank had spent most of the night in the guest room because lying beside his wife felt dishonest and leaving the house felt theatrical.
At six-thirty he gave up on pretending.
He showered, dressed, and went downstairs.
The yellow truck was still where they had left it.
He stepped around it.
His wife was already in the kitchen.
She wore the same dark sweater from the night before and had tied her gray hair back with an elastic band he did not recognize.
A mug sat untouched in front of her.
“You sleep?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
She nodded toward the coffee maker.
“There’s some left.”
Frank poured a cup.
It tasted burned.
He drank it anyway.
His wife looked at the clock.
“What time do you think they’ll call?”
“I don’t know.”
She almost smiled.
“Right.”
Frank sat across from her.
Her phone lay faceup between them.
His lay beside his coffee.
Neither had rung.
She picked at the paper sleeve around a tea bag she had not used.
“What should I say if they ask whether I meant to hurt Ava?”
“The truth.”
“That sounds easy when you say it.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean I don’t know what the truth is.”
Frank looked at her.
She continued before he could respond.
“I didn’t want to injure her.”
“That part seems true.”
“But I wanted her to be afraid enough to listen.”
Frank stayed quiet.
His wife stared at the table.
“I don’t know what word people use for that.”
“You don’t need a better word.”
She looked up sharply.
“I’m not trying to soften it.”
“I know.”
May you like
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
