Chương 8
“I know.”
“Claire, if you take the test, understand what it can and cannot do.”
“I understand biology.”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
I leaned back against the pillows.
Patricia’s tone softened without becoming warm.
“It can answer whether David is Nathan’s biological father.”
“Yes.”
“It cannot answer whether your marriage is safe.”
I shut my eyes.
“I know.”
“It cannot make him unsay what he said.”
“I know.”
“It cannot turn the slap into a misunderstanding.”
“I know.”
She let me sit with that.
Finally I said, “I still want it.”
“Then do it through a reputable lab and preserve the documentation.”
“Of course you’d say that.”
“I bill by the hour for being predictable.”
The hospital discharged me shortly after ten.
Dad arrived wearing the same flannel shirt from the day before.
He had changed jeans, which apparently represented formal effort.
“You slept in that?”
“I had a T-shirt.”
“That is not what I asked.”
He took the diaper bag from Marisol.
“I slept.”
Marisol looked at him.
“Where?”
Dad hesitated.
She pointed at him.
“That answer means chair.”
“Recliner.”
“Chair with ambition.”
I laughed.
Dad frowned at both of us.
“You’re encouraging her.”
“She needs encouragement.”
“She needs rest.”
“She needs both.”
Dad muttered something about medical professionals becoming argumentative.
Marisol looked delighted.
Before we left, she hugged me.
I stiffened in surprise, then hugged her back with one arm.
“Take care of yourself,” she said.
She pulled away and looked directly at me.
“No, really.”
The words landed differently.
I nodded.
Dad carried Nathan’s car seat as if it contained an unstable explosive.
He checked the straps twice.
Then he checked whether I had checked them.
“You realize I brought four babies home from hospitals before this one.”
“You were younger.”
“So were you.”
“That is irrelevant.”
We made it to the elevator before I told him to stop hovering.
He did not.
The parking garage smelled like oil and damp concrete.
Morning traffic hummed beyond the walls.
Everything outside the hospital looked offensively normal.
A delivery driver argued with someone on speakerphone.
A woman in scrubs jogged across the lane carrying a yogurt.
A man leaned against his car drinking an energy drink while staring at his shoes.
I had imagined leaving the hospital with balloons tied to Nathan’s car seat.
David had wanted to drive slowly around the neighborhood before taking him inside so the girls could watch from the window.
Instead Dad opened the rear door of his old SUV.
“Careful getting in.”
“I know how.”
“You have stitches.”
“I was there.”
He held up both hands.
“Fine.”
I lowered myself slowly.
Pain burned through my pelvis and abdomen.
Dad pretended not to notice my face.
I was grateful for that.
Halfway home, he stopped at a red light and said, “David called me.”
My head turned.
“When?”
“Six twelve.”
“What did he say?”
“He wanted me to stay out of his marriage.”
I laughed once.
“That went well.”
“I told him the marriage stopped being private when he struck you in front of hospital staff.”
“Dad.”
“What?”
“You weren’t supposed to confront him.”
“He called me.”
“That counts.”
“No, it does not.”
“What else did he say?”
Dad stared through the windshield.
“He asked whether I had ever doubted you.”
The answer hurt unexpectedly.
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
“You could’ve at least pretended to think.”
“I didn’t need to.”
The light changed.
Dad drove.
“He said I was protecting you because you’re my daughter.”
“That seems accurate.”
“I told him being my daughter is not evidence.”
I watched strip malls slide past the window.
“What did he say about Nathan?”
“Nothing useful.”
“That sounds like avoiding the question.”
“It is.”
“Dad.”
His fingers tightened around the wheel.
“He said he would accept the child if the test proved paternity.”
Something inside me went cold.
“Accept him.”
Dad did not answer.
I looked down at Nathan.
He was asleep in the car seat, his mouth slightly open.
“He thinks that sounds generous.”
“Yes.”
“That’s the problem.”
“Yes.”
We drove another mile.
Then Dad said, “He also apologized.”
I stared at him.
“For hitting me?”
“No.”
A humorless smile touched his mouth.
“For disrespecting me.”
I turned toward the window.
For several seconds I could not speak.
Then I started laughing.
It was not amusement.
It came out too hard and kept going until my incision hurt.
Dad glanced at me.
“Claire.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re crying.”
“I know.”
“He apologized to you.”
I wiped my face.
“He apologized to the three-star general.”
Dad’s jaw moved.
“He does not know what I think.”
“No.”
“He’s afraid of you.”
“Probably.”
“But he isn’t afraid of what he did to me.”
Dad looked at the road.
“I think he may be.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
His answer was immediate.
The house looked different when we reached it.
Nothing had changed outside.
The same chalk rainbow covered part of the driveway.
One of Lily’s sneakers sat abandoned near the porch.
A grocery delivery bag from two days earlier was still folded beside the recycling bin because David had forgotten to bring it inside.
But two police business cards were tucked under the edge of the doormat.
The sight of them made my chest tighten.
The front door opened before Dad could reach it.
Grace came running barefoot.
“Mom!”
Dad intercepted her.
“No tackling.”
“I wasn’t!”
“You were moving at tackling speed.”
Grace stopped three feet away and bounced instead.
“Can I see him?”
“All of you can.”
The other girls appeared behind her.
Emma did not run.
She stood in the doorway with her arms folded.
Her eyes went directly to my cheek.
I smiled.
She did not.
Dad carried Nathan inside.
The girls swarmed the car seat.
For five minutes there was nothing but noise.
Grace complained that newborns should be larger.
Lily wanted to know why Nathan’s fingernails were so small.
Sophie cried when he yawned.
May you like
Emma stayed back.
I noticed.
