Chương 11
“Mostly.”
“What does mostly mean?”
“Three seven-year-olds are arguing about toothpaste twenty feet away.”
“That qualifies.”
I leaned against the wall.
“How bad?”
“Potentially very bad, potentially manageable.”
“That is lawyer language for bad.”
“It is lawyer language for I need facts before I develop ulcers.”
I told her about the paternity report, Evelyn’s letters, Martin’s admission, and the trust provision.
She interrupted only twice.
The first time was when I explained how the laboratory had obtained Luke’s comparative genetic material through records disclosed in the prior litigation.
“Chain of custody intact?”
“Yes.”
“Consent issue?”
“The lab and family-law consultant both signed off.”
“Good.”
The second interruption came when I described Martin saying Luke knew about the pregnancy.
Claire went silent for several seconds.
“That matters.”
“For the trust?”
“For several things.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Can Luke sue me for showing up with the children?”
“For attending a wedding you were invited to?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
She sighed.
“He can sue you for nearly anything if he enjoys wasting money.”
“That is not comforting.”
“I am not paid to comfort you.”
“You charge enough that you could try.”
“That would be a different retainer.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then her voice sharpened.
“Anna, listen carefully.”
I did.
“Do not make decisions about visitation tonight.”
“I already told him to go through you.”
“Excellent.”
“He said he wants to know them.”
“Of course he did.”
The flatness of her response bothered me.
“You don’t believe him?”
“I do not care whether I believe him tonight.”
“That sounds harsh.”
“It is procedural.”
She paused.
“His intentions may be sincere and still be unstable.”
I looked toward the bathroom.
Mason was singing something about toothpaste.
“That part I understand.”
“Good.”
Claire lowered her voice.
“And there is another issue.”
“What?”
“Media.”
I straightened.
“What media?”
“The groom is a senior partner at a major real estate firm, the bride’s family owns hotels, and there were photographers at a wedding that appears to have been canceled in front of nearly two hundred people.”
My stomach tightened.
“No.”
“I am not saying it has broken publicly.”
“You just said you saw photographs.”
“In a private industry group.”
“What photographs?”
“A few of you arriving with the children, one of Chloe without her veil, and one of Luke holding papers.”
I closed my eyes.
“Can they identify the kids?”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet?”
“Faces are visible.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Claire.”
“I know.”
“No one is using their faces.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
She let the repetition settle.
“We can send notices if necessary.”
I stared at the baseboard.
A smear of blue crayon remained near the corner despite three attempts to scrub it off.
I had once been furious about that mark.
Now it looked like evidence of a world I wanted to keep small.
“Do it.”
“And Chloe?”
“What about her?”
“She gave me her family counsel’s card.”
Claire went quiet.
“That is interesting.”
“She said the Sterling lawyers overlap.”
“They do.”
“You knew?”
“I know enough people who bill by the hour.”
“Should I call him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because tonight you call nobody except me and maybe your mother if you have one who does not post family drama online.”
“My mother died eleven years ago.”
Claire’s voice softened.
“Right.”
I looked down the hallway.
“I’m okay.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
That was why I liked her.
She never tried to tidy emotions she had not been asked to manage.
“Send me photographs of every document you saw if you have them.”
“I don’t.”
“Then we wait for Iris.”
“What if she doesn’t send them?”
“Then we request them properly.”
“And the trust?”
“We do not assume you or the children are entitled to anything until I read the instrument.”
I breathed out.
“Thank you.”
“For disappointing you?”
“For not turning it into a fairy tale.”
She made a quiet sound.
“Anna, inheritances are rarely fairy tales.”
After we hung up, I stood in the hallway for another minute.
The bathroom door opened.
Leo came out.
“You were talking about us.”
“Yes.”
“To the lawyer?”
“Yes.”
He leaned against the doorframe.
“Are we in trouble?”
“No.”
“Then why do we need a lawyer?”
I considered lying.
Instead I sat on the floor.
He sat too, though with more suspicion.
“Because adults sometimes disagree about what should happen, and lawyers help put rules around the disagreement.”
“Is Luke going to try to take us?”
The question knocked the air out of me.
“No one is taking you.”
“You said adults disagree.”
“Yes.”
“So maybe he disagrees.”
“He might.”
Leo stared at his knees.
“You don’t know.”
“No.”
He picked at a loose thread in his pajama pants.
“Do you want him to be our dad?”
I hated how much that question hurt.
“He is your biological father.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You’re getting very good at saying that.”
He looked up.
“I mean like a real dad.”
I pressed my hands together.
“I don’t get to decide that by myself.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No.”
“You decide everything.”
The accusation was not cruel.
That made it worse.
I looked toward the kitchen, where bills sat beneath a ceramic bowl and tomorrow’s lunches still needed packing.
For seven years, deciding everything had been necessity.
Somewhere along the way, necessity had become identity.
“I have decided a lot.”
“All of it.”
“Almost.”
“So decide.”
I looked at him.
“I can decide who enters our home.”
He listened.
“I can decide what adults are safe enough to meet you.”
He nodded.
“But I cannot decide whether you ever want to know Luke.”
His mouth tightened.
“What if I don’t?”
“Then I will listen.”
“What if Mason does?”
“I’ll listen to him too.”
“What if Iris does and I don’t?”
“That may happen.”
He frowned.
“That’s messy.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like messy.”
“Neither do I.”
He gave me a look.
“Your closet is messy.”
May you like
“That is different.”
“It has a chair with clothes on it.”
