Chương 9
“Not even top five.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to transfer it.”
“Then transfer it.”
“I don’t know how you’re handling her money.”
Ryan said nothing.
Derek looked at him.
“That wasn’t an accusation.”
“It sounded like one.”
“Everything I say sounds like one to you.”
“Because you’re usually accusing somebody.”
Grace said, “He has a point.”
Derek looked offended.
“Whose side are you on?”
“I have my own side. It has snacks.”
Linda rubbed her forehead.
Ryan looked at the statements again.
“Why now?”
Derek swallowed.
“My therapist asked what the promise meant.”
Ryan waited.
“I told her I didn’t know.”
“And?”
“She said that was convenient.”
Grace nodded approvingly.
“I like her.”
Derek ignored her.
“I went home and found the money.”
“You forgot ten thousand dollars?”
“No. I avoided it aggressively.”
That, Ryan understood.
Derek continued.
“I can’t apologize to Emily and keep money Noah told me was hers.”
Ryan closed the folder.
“No.”
Derek stared.
“No what?”
“You can transfer the money. That doesn’t buy the apology.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“I’m not trying to buy anything.”
Ryan looked at him.
Derek held his gaze.
For once, there was no joke waiting behind his eyes.
Ryan said, “I’ll talk to the person who handles the account Noah left for her. We’ll do it correctly.”
“Fine.”
“Document everything.”
“I did.”
Ryan tapped the folder.
“This is a start.”
Derek nodded.
Then he asked, “Can I write her?”
Ryan did not answer quickly.
Linda leaned forward.
“Ryan—”
He raised one hand.
She stopped.
The decision belonged to him only because someone had to make it, which was different from wanting that power.
He thought about Noah choosing him because Ryan stayed.
He had spent months turning that sentence into a virtue.
Standing beside Emily when she was afraid.
Signing forms.
Making dinner.
Learning how to braid badly.
Staying.
But staying could become control if he was not careful.
He looked at Derek.
“You can write one letter.”
Derek nodded.
“I won’t promise she’ll read it.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll read it first.”
Derek’s jaw tightened.
Ryan saw resentment.
He almost withdrew permission.
Then Derek said, “Okay.”
The letter arrived three days later.
It was terrible.
Ryan read it in his truck outside the post office and laughed once because it began:
Emily,
I am supposed to tell you I was wrong.
Ryan called Derek.
Derek answered, “What?”
“Rewrite it.”
“Why?”
“Because you sound like a hostage.”
“I’m trying.”
“No, you’re trying to sound like somebody trying.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means you’re explaining yourself before apologizing.”
“I have to explain.”
“Not first.”
Silence.
Derek said, “Did she read it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because apparently it sucks.”
“It does.”
Derek exhaled.
“What am I supposed to say?”
Ryan looked through the windshield at people carrying packages through the parking lot.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re screening my letter.”
“I know a bad one when I see it.”
“That’s helpful.”
Ryan almost hung up.
Then he said, “Tell her what you did without shrinking it.”
Derek was quiet.
“Don’t say you dropped the horse. Say you took it from her.”
Another silence.
“Don’t say you were upset. Say you were angry at Noah and used her to hurt him because she was there.”
“That’s ugly.”
“Yes.”
“She’s seven.”
“Then use seven-year-old words.”
Derek breathed out slowly.
“I hate this.”
“Good.”
The second letter was shorter.
Emily,
I took your horse from you because I was angry about things that were not your fault. I broke it on purpose. What I said about your dad was cruel. I loved him, and I was angry at him, and I let those feelings hurt you.
You asked if I knew about the words under the horse. I did.
Your dad asked me to be your uncle even when being around him was hard for me. I promised I would protect you. On Christmas Eve I did the opposite.
You do not have to forgive me.
I am sorry.
Uncle Derek
Ryan read it three times.
Then he gave it to Emily.
She read slowly.
Her lips moved over difficult words.
When she finished, she folded it in half.
Ryan waited.
“Do I have to write back?”
“No.”
“Can I throw it away?”
“Yes.”
She thought.
“Can I keep it and still be mad?”
“Yes.”
She put it in the drawer beside her bed.
Then she asked Ryan to help with math homework.
Two weeks later, she asked to see Derek.
Ryan’s first response was no.
It came too quickly.
Emily frowned.
“You said I decide.”
“I said you decide if you want to hear from him.”
“I want to see him.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Ryan hated when children found structural weaknesses in adult arguments.
“It just is.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He stared at her.
Noah again.
Everywhere.
Ryan sat at the kitchen table.
“Okay.”
Emily waited.
“Let me think.”
She nodded.
That night, Ryan called Grace.
“Why are you calling me?”
“I need advice.”
“That’s new.”
“Emily wants to see Derek.”
Grace was silent for a few seconds.
“What does Emily want from it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ask her.”
“She’s seven.”
“Seven-year-olds know what they want surprisingly often. They’re terrible at scheduling it.”
Ryan stared at the sink.
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re afraid.”
“Of Derek?”
“No.”
Ryan waited.
Grace said, “You’re afraid she’ll love him.”
The sentence irritated him because it was true in a place he had not looked.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Sure.”
“He hurt her.”
“Yes.”
“She barely knows him.”
“Yes.”
“He disappears.”
“Yes.”
“Could you argue with me?”
“I thought that’s what we were doing.”
Ryan rubbed his face.
Grace continued.
“You’ve built your whole life around being the person who stays. Derek becoming even slightly reliable threatens your favorite story about yourself.”
Ryan stood.
“I regret calling.”
“I knew you would.”
He hung up.
Then he walked to Emily’s room.
She was reading on the floor.
“Why do you want to see him?”
May you like
She shrugged.
“Because.”
