Chương 4
Emily turned it off.
Then she said, “Do I have to see Uncle Derek today?”
Ryan put his coffee down.
“No.”
“Grandma said we were having lunch.”
“We can see Grandma another day.”
“Will she be mad?”
“Probably.”
Emily considered that.
“Will you?”
“About what?”
“If I don’t want to go.”
“No.”
She looked relieved.
Then she frowned.
“Grandma always gets sad when people change plans.”
Ryan nearly said, That isn’t your responsibility.
The sentence sounded suspiciously like something a therapist might print on a mug.
Instead he said, “Grandma can be sad.”
Emily nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
The phone rang ten minutes later.
Linda.
Ryan answered in the kitchen.
“Merry Christmas,” she said.
It sounded miserable.
“Merry Christmas.”
“How is she?”
“Opening things.”
“Is she coming at noon?”
“No.”
Linda was quiet.
Ryan opened the refrigerator, looked inside, forgot what he wanted, and closed it.
“Ryan, please.”
“Not today.”
“I want to see my granddaughter.”
“And she doesn’t want to see Derek.”
“He won’t be here.”
Ryan paused.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Make me defend him.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You do it with your face.”
Ryan looked toward the living room.
Emily had turned the robot dog on again. It was barking underneath the coffee table.
Linda said, “I’m not defending what he did.”
“You laughed.”
The silence on the phone changed.
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I was shocked.”
“You laughed.”
“I made a sound.”
“Emily heard it.”
Another silence.
This one lasted longer.
Ryan could picture Linda sitting at the white desk in her bedroom, silver hair brushed neatly no matter how badly the morning was going, one hand around a coffee cup she would forget to drink.
“I’m ashamed of that,” she said.
Ryan did not answer.
“I don’t know why I did it.”
“People laugh when they’re uncomfortable.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
He leaned against the counter.
“Tell her.”
“I will.”
“Not today.”
“Ryan.”
“She needs one morning where nobody asks her to manage an adult’s feelings.”
Linda inhaled sharply.
He regretted the sentence even before she responded.
“You think that’s what I do?”
“Yes.”
“Well.”
Her voice went colder.
“That’s convenient.”
“What is?”
“You get to be the good one now.”
Ryan closed his eyes.
There it was.
Not Derek.
Not the horse.
The thing underneath.
Linda continued.
“You had seven months with her and suddenly the rest of us need permission to be family.”
Ryan kept his voice down.
“I didn’t decide she would live with me.”
“Noah did.”
“Yes.”
“And you never wondered why that hurt us?”
“I wondered every day.”
“You don’t act like it.”
“Because I’m busy raising her.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
Ryan almost hung up.
Instead he stood there, listening to the robot dog bark in the next room.
Then he said, “I’ll bring the horse over this afternoon.”
“What?”
“You said you had Noah’s old tools.”
Linda went quiet.
“They’re in the garage.”
“I need the small clamps.”
“You’re fixing it?”
“I’m going to try.”
“Bring Emily.”
“No.”
“Ryan—”
“No.”
He disconnected.
It was not mature.
It was not satisfying.
It was also the only answer he had left.
That afternoon, Grace met him in Linda’s driveway before he reached the front door.
She wore jeans, boots, and a black coat instead of the green dress from the night before. Her auburn hair was tied back.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“Merry Christmas.”
“Linda’s in the garage.”
“Why are you here?”
“She asked me to come.”
“Of course she did.”
Grace glanced at the horse under his arm.
“I also wanted to see that.”
Ryan stopped.
“Why?”
“I’m not sure.”
“That’s reassuring.”
She opened the garage door.
Linda was standing beside Noah’s old workbench.
Ryan had not been in that garage since the week after Noah died.
The smell got him first.
Sawdust.
Machine oil.
Coffee.
Noah had kept a small shop in Linda’s garage after his illness made full-time work impossible. He built stools, cabinets, birdhouses, boxes, and one little rocking horse that had taken him four months because chemotherapy made his hands shake.
Ryan set the horse on the bench.
Linda touched the broken leg.
Her fingers trembled.
“He repaired this here,” she said.
“When?”
“January.”
Ryan looked at her.
“Two months before he died?”
She nodded.
“I thought he made it years ago.”
“He did. He repaired it years later.”
Grace leaned against the opposite workbench.
Ryan examined the old brackets.
“Why did it need repairing?”
Linda looked embarrassed.
“Derek.”
Ryan stopped.
Linda raised a hand.
“Not like last night.”
“What does that mean?”
“Emily was here. She was four. Derek tripped over it.”
Ryan stared at her.
“You’re kidding.”
“It cracked. He felt terrible.”
Grace looked down.
Ryan turned the horse over.
The old brackets were all positioned around the same leg that had broken the night before.
“Derek broke it before.”
“Accidentally.”
“And Noah repaired it.”
“Yes.”
Ryan looked at the carving.
“When did he carve Derek’s name?”
Linda rubbed her arms beneath the cardigan.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did Derek know Noah repaired it?”
“Of course.”
“Did he help?”
Linda hesitated.
Ryan saw it.
“Linda.”
“He bought the brackets.”
Ryan looked at Grace.
Grace lifted one shoulder.
“I didn’t know that.”
Linda walked to a drawer and pulled it open.
Inside were pencils, sandpaper, spare hinges, tape measures, and half a dozen small metal brackets identical to the ones on the horse.
Ryan picked one up.
“Derek bought these?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Noah asked him to.”
Ryan leaned against the bench.
The story in his head had become less satisfying.
He preferred Derek as simple.
Cruel.
Drunk.
Jealous.
Finished.
Simple people were easier to remove from a child’s life.
Linda said, “After he broke it the first time, he wanted to buy Emily a new one.”
Ryan snorted.
“That sounds like him.”
“Noah refused.”
“Also sounds like him.”
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“They argued about it for days.”
Grace said, “About a toy?”
