Chương 4
The fourth said I had turned my father against him.
The fifth accused Dad of threatening his career.
By the ninth, the anger had shifted.
Please just tell me the truth.
I deserve that much.
The eleventh arrived while I was reading.
I’m sorry I hit you, but you have to understand what seeing that baby did to me.
Dana was watching my face.
“Don’t delete those,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Do you want to respond?”
I typed three different answers and erased them.
The first was vicious.
The second was defensive.
The third was six paragraphs long and sounded like a closing argument written by a woman on pain medication.
Finally I sent one sentence.
The children are safe, Benjamin is safe, and I will not speak with you tonight unless it concerns an emergency involving one of the girls.
David replied before I could put the phone down.
His name is not Benjamin until I know he’s mine.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
Dad muttered something under his breath.
“What?”
“I said nothing.”
“You absolutely said something.”
“I’m practicing restraint.”
“You’re terrible at it.”
“I’m new.”
Dana covered a smile with her hand.
The room loosened for three seconds.
Then Marisol called.
She answered my request before I finished making it.
“Yes.”
“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”
“You’re in a hospital and you sound like hell.”
“Thank you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I need you to pick up the girls from Carol’s.”
A pause.
“Where’s David?”
“I don’t know.”
Another pause.
This one was different.
“I’ll get my shoes.”
“Marisol.”
“What?”
“Carol might argue.”
“Carol always argues.”
“Don’t fight with her.”
“I am forty-three years old.”
“That has never stopped you.”
“It has occasionally slowed me down.”
I heard keys jangling.
“Text me the address.”
“You know the address.”
“I deleted it after the Thanksgiving thing.”
The Thanksgiving thing involved Carol telling Marisol that store-bought pie was not technically dessert.
“Please just get them.”
“And don’t tell them anything.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
“I know how to talk to children.”
“You told Sophie that the tooth fairy was an exploitative business model.”
“She asked.”
“Marisol.”
“I’ll be normal.”
Dad gave me a doubtful look.
I ignored him.
When the call ended, Benjamin began fussing.
The nurse helped me reposition him, and for several minutes the entire world narrowed to a hungry baby who did not care about accusations, custody, military rank, or encrypted phones.
He rooted badly, got angry, lost his latch, and screamed with astonishing outrage for someone weighing seven pounds four ounces.
I began crying.
The nurse thought I was in pain.
“I’m fine,” I said.
She handed me a tissue.
“You don’t have to keep saying that.”
I looked at her.
She adjusted Benjamin’s blanket and pretended not to notice my face.
Dad wandered to the window.
Traffic moved below the hospital in red and white streams.
People were going home from work.
Someone somewhere was deciding what to order for dinner.
A bus stopped at the corner and collected three people.
My marriage had split open, and the rest of Northern Virginia had apparently declined to notice.
“Dad.”
He turned.
“Why didn’t you ever tell David?”
“Tell him what?”
“About you.”
Dad looked genuinely confused.
“He never asked.”
“You know what I mean.”
He scratched the side of his jaw.
“I assumed you had.”
“I told him you were retired Army.”
“That is accurate.”
“You were a lieutenant general.”
“Also accurate.”
“You commanded people in places I’m still not allowed to know about.”
He considered that.
“Some places were nicer than others.”
“Dad.”
He sighed and returned to the chair.
“You wanted a life that wasn’t organized around my career.”
That stopped me.
He looked at Benjamin instead of me.
“After your mother died, every person you met knew who I was before they knew who you were.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“No, but it happened.”
His thumb rubbed slowly along the seam of his jeans.
“When you married David, you asked me not to interfere.”
“I meant with the wedding seating chart.”
“You were emphatic.”
“You tried to move an entire table because a colonel and a congressman had a feud.”
“It was a legitimate concern.”
“They were seventy feet apart.”
“They had history.”
I stared at him.
Dad almost smiled.
Then the smile vanished.
“So I stayed out.”
“You let him think you were broke.”
“I drive a twelve-year-old truck.”
“You have money.”
“I have enough.”
“You own that house outright.”
“The bank was annoying.”
I closed my eyes.
This conversation was impossible.
“Did you dislike him?”
Dad took a long time to answer.
“I disliked the way you became quieter around him.”
My eyes opened.
He looked down at his hands.
“But adults are allowed to become different people inside marriages.”
“You thought he was controlling.”
“I thought you stopped disagreeing in public.”
That landed somewhere painful.
“I disagreed with him.”
“I know.”
“Constantly.”
“I know.”
“You make it sound like I disappeared.”
“No.”
Dad’s voice softened.
“You just got very good at making yourself smaller before anyone asked.”
The door opened before I could answer.
A hospital security officer entered.
His expression was careful.
“Mrs. Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“Your husband is downstairs.”
My heart started beating too fast.
Dad rose.
The officer lifted one hand.
“He isn’t trying to come up.”
“Then why are you here?” I asked.
“He says he wants to speak with police.”
I stared at him.
“About hitting me?”
The officer hesitated.
“No, ma’am.”
He glanced toward Benjamin.
“He says he wants to report that your father threatened him with classified military authority and that he believes your newborn may be connected to some kind of government cover-up.”
For one second nobody spoke.
Then Dad sat back down.
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Oh,” he said.
Dana blinked.
The nurse stopped adjusting the IV tubing.
I stared at my father.
May you like
“Please tell me this is not somehow your fault.”
Dad looked through his fingers at me.
