Chương 11
“Show me.”
Leo glanced at me.
“What?”
“Show me how she likes it.”
Suspicion remained on his face, but he adjusted the strap.
“Here.”
“Okay.”
“Not too tight.”
“It has to be safe.”
“She says it hurts.”
Maya touched her collarbone.
I checked the strap position and moved the padding slightly.
“Like that?”
She nodded.
Leo watched.
I closed the door.
That was our first parenting negotiation.
Nobody won.
That seemed promising.
Mrs. Ellis drove her own car behind us.
Luis and Marisol followed until the highway split, then headed home with a promise to come by in the morning.
Rachel stood beside my window before I pulled away.
“Call me if the department contacts you about anything you don't understand.”
“I don't understand most of the folder.”
“Anything legally important.”
“How will I know?”
She stared at me.
“Call me.”
“Got it.”
She leaned closer.
“And Bernard.”
“What?”
“You do not have to prove tonight that the judge was right.”
I looked through the rearview mirror.
Five faces occupied almost every visible seat.
“I know.”
She tapped the roof.
“No, you don't.”
Then she walked away.
Traffic out of downtown moved slowly.
For the first ten minutes nobody spoke.
The silence felt unnatural after the courthouse.
Then Ben asked, “Where's Mommy?”
My hands tightened on the steering wheel.
A horn sounded two lanes over.
I glanced into the mirror.
Ben was looking out the window.
June answered him before I could.
“Dead.”
The word entered the minivan without ceremony.
Maya turned toward the glass.
Leo stared straight ahead.
Ben said, “I know.”
Then, after several seconds, “Where's her car?”
I had no idea.
Leo said, “Burned.”
“Everything burned?”
“Mostly.”
“My dinosaur?”
Leo closed his eyes.
I waited.
Nobody had prepared me for the possibility that grief would arrive disguised as a plastic dinosaur.
“I don't know about your dinosaur,” I said.
“It was green.”
“Okay.”
“With yellow.”
“His name's Bite.”
“Bite?”
“Bite.”
June leaned forward against her harness.
“He doesn't bite.”
Ben yelled, “Yes he does.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Their argument lasted four exits.
I was absurdly grateful for it.
My house sat on three acres at the edge of town, where residential streets gave up and older farm properties began.
The woodworking shop occupied a converted metal building behind the main house.
I had spent most of the previous week transforming the place while imagining children who had existed mainly as photographs and paperwork.
Reality arrived in the driveway with sticky fingers.
When I opened the side door, nobody got out.
“This is it,” I said.
Leo looked toward the house.
It was a two-story brick place built in the seventies, too large for one man and too ordinary to impress anyone.
The porch light had come on automatically.
Mrs. Ellis pulled in behind us.
Maya asked, “Whose house?”
“Mine.”
She looked at Leo.
He looked at me.
“Ours?”
The word caught me unprepared.
“For now,” I said.
Leo's face shut down.
I heard it as soon as I said it.
For now.
Another adult phrase.
Another disguised maybe.
I opened my mouth.
He climbed out before I could fix it.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of sawdust despite two days of cleaning.
I had removed every sharp tool from the converted workshop room, covered outlets, installed window guards, anchored furniture, and put childproof latches on cabinets.
Mrs. Ellis walked into the kitchen and immediately opened the drawer beneath the sink.
“You missed one.”
I stared.
It contained dishwasher tablets.
“Damn.”
Maya looked at me.
Mrs. Ellis said, “Wonderful.”
“Sorry.”
“Get used to apologizing.”
I moved the tablets to the locked pantry.
Ben found a wooden bowl on the dining table and put it on his head.
June demanded one.
There was only one wooden bowl.
Within ninety seconds, they were fighting over something I had made in college and had not touched in six years.
I bought five car seats, I thought.
I built beds.
I hired a lawyer.
I did not buy a second useless wooden bowl.
“Take turns,” I said.
Neither did.
“Ben, give June the bowl.”
“No.”
“You've had it.”
“No.”
“Ben.”
He ran.
June chased him.
I caught neither.
They disappeared through the living room.
A crash followed.
My heart stopped.
I found Ben staring at a fallen floor lamp.
June stood beside him.
Neither was hurt.
The lampshade had cracked.
I looked at the lamp.
Then at them.
Ben's face tightened in anticipation.
“Did you do that?”
He pointed at June.
June screamed, “No.”
“You were running.”
“He pushed.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
I could feel my patience leaving at a speed that embarrassed me.
“We've been here two minutes.”
Mrs. Ellis appeared behind me.
“So?”
I looked at her.
“So they can't destroy the house.”
“It's a lamp.”
“That's not the point.”
She tilted her head.
“What is the point?”
I almost said respect.
Then I looked at Ben.
His whole body had gone rigid.
He was waiting for punishment.
Not correction.
Punishment.
I picked up the lamp.
“Anybody hurt?”
They shook their heads.
“Okay.”
Ben stared at me.
“That's it?”
“No running in the house.”
He glanced at June.
“She did too.”
“Then both of you.”
June crossed her arms.
“He started.”
I pointed toward the hallway.
“No running inside.”
They looked deeply dissatisfied with the absence of a trial.
Then Ben ran toward the kitchen.
“Walking.”
He slowed to an exaggerated march.
June copied him.
Mrs. Ellis hid a smile.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to say your lamp was ugly.”
“It was.”
“That helped.”
Upstairs, the converted room was waiting.
I had built two oak bunk beds along opposite walls and a low toddler bed between them.
The baby would sleep in a crib in my bedroom until we figured out something better.
Each bunk had a removable wooden nameplate that I had left blank.
On the dresser sat five small containers of paint samples.
Blue.
Green.
Yellow.
Purple.
May you like
Red.
I had imagined them choosing colors.
