Chương 6
Ryan had always thought it was a joke.
It was only partly a joke.
His phone buzzed on the workbench.
Derek.
A text.
I want the horse.
Ryan showed Grace.
She stared.
Linda whispered, “Why?”
A second message appeared.
It belongs to my brother.
Ryan typed, No.
Derek replied immediately.
You don’t get to keep everything.
Ryan’s jaw tightened.
Grace said, “Don’t answer angry.”
“Why does everyone suddenly have advice about when I should touch wood or phones?”
“Because you’re predictable.”
Linda almost smiled.
Ryan looked at her.
The smile vanished.
He typed, It belongs to Emily.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then:
You have no idea what it belongs to.
Ryan read the sentence twice.
Grace leaned closer.
“What does that mean?”
Ryan called him.
Derek answered after one ring.
“What?”
“You texted me.”
“I want the horse.”
“No.”
“Then bring it to Mom’s.”
“I’m at your mom’s.”
Silence.
Derek said, “You went through Noah’s stuff.”
“I’m repairing what you broke.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Emily did.”
Another silence.
Ryan heard traffic through Derek’s phone.
“You driving?”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
“Because you’re acting strange even for you.”
Derek laughed once.
“Careful. You might start sounding like family.”
Ryan gripped the edge of the bench.
“What does the horse belong to?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Derek said nothing.
Then Ryan heard a public announcement in the background. A train station, maybe. Or airport.
“Derek.”
“I’ll come by later.”
“No.”
“You don’t control Mom’s house.”
“I control whether Emily is around you.”
The line went quiet.
Ryan regretted the phrasing.
It sounded territorial.
Possessive.
As though Emily were a border crossing.
Derek’s voice lowered.
“That’s what Noah wanted, right?”
Ryan said, “Noah wanted you to keep one promise.”
“Don’t.”
“You carved it under a toy and still couldn’t manage it.”
“I said don’t.”
“You broke the same horse twice.”
The words hit something.
Ryan heard Derek inhale.
Then the line disconnected.
Grace looked at him.
“What?”
Ryan set the phone down.
“I think I finally asked the right question.”
Derek arrived forty minutes later.
He did not come through the house.
He walked straight up the driveway and into the open garage wearing the same dark trousers from Christmas Eve and a black coat thrown over a wrinkled T-shirt. He had not shaved. His eyes were bloodshot.
Ryan moved between him and the workbench.
Derek stopped.
“I’m not here to fight.”
“You did a convincing impression of that last night.”
Derek looked past him at the horse.
“You fixed it.”
“Mostly.”
“You used the wrong screws.”
Ryan looked at the bracket.
“They fit.”
“They’re too long.”
Grace, standing near the cabinet, whispered, “Of course.”
Ryan ignored her.
“You want to insult my repair work or tell me why you’re here?”
Derek took off his coat.
Linda appeared in the doorway.
He looked at her and sighed.
“You too.”
“It’s my garage.”
“You hate the garage.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Grace coughed into her hand to hide a laugh.
Derek stared at the horse.
Ryan noticed something he had missed the night before.
Derek was not looking at the carving.
He was looking at the cracked leg.
“You knew where it had been repaired,” Ryan said.
Derek’s shoulders stiffened.
“You bought the brackets.”
“So?”
“You helped Noah fix it.”
“No.”
“Linda says you did.”
“I bought parts.”
“That’s helping.”
“It’s shopping.”
Grace said, “This family has very strict emotional definitions.”
Derek looked at her.
“Why are you here?”
“I’ve been asking myself that for six years.”
Linda said, “Derek.”
He rubbed his face.
“What do you all want?”
Ryan answered first.
“The truth.”
“About a toy?”
“About why you broke it.”
Derek laughed.
“You saw why.”
“No. I saw what.”
Derek looked at him.
Ryan continued.
“You broke the same leg you broke three years ago.”
“It was an accident.”
“Last night wasn’t.”
“I dropped it.”
“You snatched it from a child first.”
Derek’s eyes flicked toward Linda.
She did not rescue him.
That seemed to surprise him.
Ryan said, “Why that horse?”
Derek looked at the workbench again.
“Because he made it.”
There it was.
Small.
Ugly.
Human.
Ryan waited.
Derek’s jaw tightened.
“You want more?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
He walked past Ryan but stopped before the bench.
“Noah made everything into a lesson near the end. The horse. The promise. Emily. Me. Every conversation was suddenly some final meaningful thing I was supposed to carry for the rest of my life.”
Linda’s face hardened.
“He was dying.”
“I noticed.”
“Then act like it.”
Derek turned on her.
“I did.”
His voice rose, then he pulled it back.
“I went to every appointment he asked me to go to.”
Linda stared.
“I drove him when he couldn’t drive. I sat through four-hour infusions. I cleaned his bathroom after he got sick because he wouldn’t let you see it. I changed the sheets in his apartment at two in the morning.”
Ryan looked at Linda.
She had gone pale.
Derek laughed bitterly.
“Yeah. He didn’t tell you.”
Linda whispered, “No.”
“He didn’t tell Ryan either.”
Ryan said nothing.
Derek looked at him.
“He liked having different people for different parts of dying.”
The sentence sat in the garage.
It sounded like something Derek had been carrying too long.
Ryan asked, “What happened with the horse?”
Derek took a breath.
“The first time I broke it, Emily was four. She left it in the middle of the kitchen. I stepped backward and went straight through the rocker.”
“You offered to replace it.”
“Of course I did.”
“Noah refused.”
“Of course he did.”
Derek touched the edge of the workbench.
“He said I always replaced things because fixing them required patience.”
Grace looked away.
Derek noticed.
“You can laugh.”
“I’m not.”
“You want to.”
“Maybe a little.”
Derek almost smiled.
It disappeared.
“He made me help.”
“With the repair?”
“Yeah.”
Ryan looked at the brackets.
“So you did help.”
May you like
“I held things. He insulted my sanding.”
“That also sounds like him.”
