Chương 11
“So was I.”
Her eyes softened.
“That was poorly timed.”
The nurse came in to check my blood pressure.
She looked at Dad eating melon, Evelyn with a legal pad, me staring at my phone, and Benjamin sleeping through all of it.
“Family meeting?”
“Something like that,” I said.
She wrapped the cuff around my arm.
“Your pressure’s up.”
“I’m shocked.”
“Try not to solve your whole life tonight.”
Evelyn pointed at her.
“I like her.”
The nurse removed the cuff.
“Everybody does until I make them walk.”
She left before I could ask what walking had to do with anything.
My phone rang again.
Same officer.
I answered immediately.
“Mrs. Bennett.”
“Yes.”
“We’ve spoken with a supervisor.”
I sat straighter.
“And?”
“Your husband agreed to wait voluntarily while we contacted the appropriate federal duty officer.”
Voluntarily.
That word mattered.
“What changed his mind?”
The officer paused.
“He was advised that removing or destroying records after being told they may relate to an investigation could create additional legal issues.”
Evelyn’s eyebrows lifted.
Dad stopped chewing.
“Did he go inside?”
“No.”
I breathed out.
“Where is he now?”
“In his vehicle.”
“Is he leaving?”
“He says no.”
The officer lowered his voice slightly.
“Ma’am, I also need to ask whether you want officers present if you later return to the residence for personal belongings.”
“Yes.”
The answer came before I had time to think.
“Yes, I do.”
“All right.”
He gave me a case number.
I wrote it badly on the back of a hospital menu.
When the call ended, Dad reached for the paper.
I pulled it away.
“I’ve got it.”
He nodded.
That tiny exchange mattered.
It was the first thing all night I had held onto because I wanted it to be mine.
Evelyn checked her watch.
“The federal contact may take time.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“I hate everyone saying that.”
“You should be more afraid of people who always know.”
Dad pointed his fork at her.
“That is excellent advice.”
“You once flew across an ocean because a colonel said he was certain.”
“He was wrong.”
“Exactly.”
I looked at them.
“How long have you two known each other?”
“Long enough,” Evelyn said.
Dad said, “Twenty-six years.”
“You already told me that.”
“You asked again.”
“I was asking emotionally.”
He frowned.
“I don’t know what that means.”
Evelyn smiled.
“That is why your daughter stopped telling you things.”
Dad’s face went still.
The humor vanished.
I looked down.
Evelyn noticed too late.
“Sorry.”
“No,” I said.
“She’s right.”
Dad put the fork down.
“Claire.”
“I didn’t stop because of one thing.”
“I know.”
“You weren’t around much when Mom was sick.”
His eyes closed for half a second.
“I know.”
“You were there physically sometimes, but you were always leaving.”
“I know.”
“And after she died, everyone acted like your job was sacred.”
No one spoke.
I had not planned to say any of it.
Maybe that was why it came out cleanly.
“You got to have reasons for everything.”
Dad’s voice was quiet.
“They weren’t always good reasons.”
“No.”
“I thought they were at the time.”
“That’s the problem.”
He nodded.
I looked at him.
“I married someone who always had reasons too.”
The sentence seemed to strike him somewhere deep.
He rubbed one hand over his knee.
“I’m sorry.”
There was no speech after it.
No explanation.
Just that.
I believed him more because he stopped.
Evelyn got up.
“I’m getting coffee.”
Dad said, “It’s eleven at night.”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“That is not a metabolism.”
She left us alone.
I looked at the hospital ceiling.
One of the acoustic tiles had a brown stain in the corner.
The building was expensive enough that I resented the stain.
“Did you really only sit in meetings?” I asked.
Dad glanced at me.
“What?”
“With Emma.”
“No.”
“I knew it.”
“I sat in many meetings.”
“That was not the question.”
“You’re tired.”
“You’re evasive.”
“I am retired.”
“That is not an answer either.”
He picked up another piece of melon.
“Some habits are durable.”
Benjamin stirred.
His face twisted, and then his eyes opened.
Blue.
Dad looked at him and went still.
“He really does have my eyes.”
“Yes.”
“Poor kid.”
I laughed softly.
“Why poor?”
“They’re very sensitive to sunlight.”
“That’s your concern?”
“It is a practical concern.”
“He’s nine hours old.”
“Start early.”
I looked at my son.
For the first time since David had walked into the room, I let myself imagine Benjamin at five.
At ten.
At sixteen.
It hurt.
Not because I could not see him.
Because every image had once included David.
Soccer games.
School concerts.
Fights over curfew.
A lanky teenager eating cereal out of a mixing bowl.
I had assumed his father would be in the kitchen complaining about the grocery bill.
Now the future had holes in it.
Dad seemed to notice something in my face.
“You don’t have to decide forever tonight.”
“I know.”
“You can be furious and still grieve.”
“I know.”
“You can miss him.”
“I know.”
He nodded.
Then, because he was my father and could never leave silence alone for too long, he added, “You can also hate him.”
“I’m working on variety.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“It probably isn’t.”
Benjamin began rooting again.
I winced before he even latched.
Dad immediately looked toward the door.
“Do you need the nurse?”
“No.”
“You made a face.”
“Dad.”
“Right.”
He turned toward the window with exaggerated obedience.
“You can look.”
“I was told not to hover.”
“You are hovering backward.”
“I don’t know how else to be.”
That answer softened me.
“Sit down.”
He did.
While Benjamin fed, my phone buzzed again.
This time it was Marisol.
Everyone asleep.
Sophie stole my pillow.
I typed back.
Good.
Then another message arrived.
Emma wants to know if you’re getting divorced.
I stared at the words.
Dad noticed.
“What?”
“Emma.”
“What about her?”
“She wants to know if we’re getting divorced.”
May you like
He said nothing.
“Do I tell her I don’t know?”
