Chương 6
“You know I love you.”
He did not answer.
She seemed wounded by that.
The reaction angered Rachel more than shouting would have.
“Don’t make him take care of your feelings right now.”
“I am not doing that.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I told my grandson I love him.”
“You told him because you want him to say it back.”
The grandmother’s face stiffened.
“That’s enough.”
Rachel nodded.
“Yes.”
She turned toward the door.
Her father followed.
“Rachel.”
She stopped in the hall.
“What?”
“I should come with you.”
“No.”
“Ava is upset.”
“So am I.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He let the question sit.
Rachel adjusted Ava on her hip.
“I need to call Mark before he gets here and walks into this.”
“I can call him.”
“No.”
Her father looked at her.
She lowered her voice.
“You already had your version of protecting everybody.”
That one hurt.
He nodded.
“All right.”
Rachel’s son opened the front door.
Cool evening air came inside.
The grandmother appeared at the kitchen entrance.
“Rachel.”
Rachel did not turn.
Her mother tried again.
“What do you plan to tell Mark?”
Rachel looked back then.
“The truth.”
“You don’t even know what happened before you got here.”
“I know enough.”
“No, you know what a frightened child told you and what your father admitted after losing control.”
Rachel stared at her.
“Are you saying he lied?”
“No.”
“Are you saying my son lied?”
“No.”
“Are you saying Ava lied?”
The grandmother hesitated.
That hesitation ended the conversation.
Rachel opened the door wider.
Her son went outside.
She followed with Ava.
Her father stood in the entryway and watched them cross the driveway.
Ava looked over Rachel’s shoulder.
“Grandpa.”
He stepped outside.
Rachel stopped beside the car.
Ava reached toward him.
He came closer but waited.
Rachel looked at her daughter.
“You want to hug Grandpa?”
Ava nodded.
Rachel shifted her carefully.
He opened his arms.
Ava went to him.
For a few seconds she clung to his neck.
He closed his eyes.
“I’ll see you soon.”
“When?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She pulled back.
“That’s not soon.”
He almost smiled.
“You’re right.”
Rachel watched him.
He gave Ava back.
Then he looked at his daughter.
“I’m sorry.”
Rachel opened the rear door.
“For which part?”
“All of it.”
She buckled Ava into the car seat.
Her son climbed into the opposite side.
Rachel shut the door before answering.
“I’m too angry to do anything useful with that right now.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
He did not answer.
Rachel went around to the driver’s side.
Her mother had come onto the porch.
She stood with both hands clasped in front of her.
“Rachel.”
Rachel ignored her.
The grandmother raised her voice.
“I am still your mother.”
Rachel stopped with one hand on the car door.
She looked across the roof.
“That’s what makes this worse.”
The grandmother recoiled as if the words had physical force.
Rachel got into the car.
The engine started.
Her father stepped away from the driveway.
Ava pressed one palm against the window.
He lifted his hand.
The car backed out.
Her grandmother did not wave.
The grandfather watched until the taillights disappeared.
When he turned, his wife was already inside.
He found her in the family room.
She was standing over the yellow truck.
Neither of them spoke.
He picked up the framed photograph from the carpet.
The glass had not broken.
The picture showed their three children at a beach nearly twenty years earlier.
Rachel was laughing at something outside the frame.
Their oldest son had his eyes closed against the sun.
The youngest was holding a sandwich in one hand.
His wife had always loved that picture.
She had insisted it belonged in the family room because everyone looked happy without trying.
He set it back on the shelf.
“You made me into a monster tonight.”
He turned.
His wife stood near the sofa.
“I didn’t make you do anything.”
“You hit me.”
“Yes.”
“You punched an employee.”
“Yes.”
“And somehow I’m the dangerous one.”
He looked at her.
“You were holding Ava.”
“She was fighting me.”
“She was scared.”
“She became scared after everyone started shouting.”
“No.”
His wife’s eyes narrowed.
“You weren’t here.”
“That’s true.”
“So stop telling me what happened.”
“The children told me.”
“Children misunderstand.”
“Adults do too.”
She laughed bitterly.
“So now I’m delusional.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You never have to say the worst thing.”
She sat on the sofa and touched her cheek.
“You let everyone else finish it for you.”
He remained standing.
The old instinct to defend himself rose quickly.
He almost followed it.
Instead he sat in the chair opposite her.
“When did you decide it was acceptable?”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“To have one child hit another.”
Her expression hardened.
“I did not decide that in some dark little meeting with myself.”
“Then how?”
“She pushed the truck into him.”
“He said it rolled.”
“He was upset.”
“He also said she apologized.”
“After I told her to.”
He watched her.
She rubbed her thumb along the seam of the sofa cushion.
“I asked him what he thought should happen.”
“And?”
“He said she should say sorry.”
“That wasn’t enough for you.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Her mouth tightened.
“Because nobody listens anymore.”
The answer surprised him.
“Who is nobody?”
She looked toward the hallway.
“Our children.”
He waited.
“The grandchildren.”
She continued.
“Everybody smiles and nods and then does whatever they were already going to do.”
“That sounds like family.”
“You think it’s funny.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
She looked at him again.
“You’ve always had the luxury of finding things funny because someone else handled the consequences.”
He leaned back.
“There’s truth in that.”
She blinked.
The admission removed the argument she expected.
He continued.
“I left too much to you.”
Her face changed slightly.
“That doesn’t excuse today.”
There it was again.
The line she wanted him either to cross or erase.
May you like
He refused both.
“I know.”
