Chương 9
I let her.
Dad made coffee.
The kitchen smelled faintly of burned eggs from the night before.
A pan still soaked in the sink.
One cabinet stood open.
David hated open cabinets.
I stared at it longer than necessary.
Dad saw me.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“You reorganized something?”
“Spices.”
I opened the cabinet.
Everything was alphabetized.
“You need help.”
“I’ve been told.”
Grace yelled from the living room.
“He moved!”
“He’s a baby,” Lily said.
“They do that.”
Dad poured coffee.
“You need to eat.”
“I need a shower.”
“Eat first.”
“Stop commanding me.”
“Then stop behaving like someone who needs commands.”
I turned on him.
The anger surprised both of us.
“I am not one of your soldiers.”
Dad’s face closed.
“I know.”
“I don’t need you deciding what I do.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re arranging lawyers, calling people, talking to police, talking to David.”
“I asked before I made the first call.”
“You made three more afterward.”
He set the coffee pot down.
“You want me to do nothing?”
“I want you to stop making this yours.”
The kitchen went silent.
From the living room, Sophie shushed someone.
Dad lowered his voice.
“It is not mine.”
“It feels like it.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“You help like you’re taking over a country.”
His mouth twitched despite himself.
I was too angry to enjoy it.
“I need to know I can do this.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“All right.”
The lack of argument took some of the fight out of me.
He picked up his coffee.
“I’ll stop contacting anyone unless you ask.”
“Thank you.”
“I reserve the right to make breakfast.”
“You burned it.”
“The second batch was fine.”
“Emma sent evidence.”
“That child has no loyalty.”
The corner of my mouth moved.
Dad walked out of the kitchen.
I stood alone beside the sink, suddenly ashamed.
Then Emma appeared.
“You yelled at Grandpa.”
“I did.”
“He deserved it a little.”
I looked at her.
She shrugged.
“He was being bossy.”
“You heard all that?”
“The house isn’t huge.”
I leaned against the counter.
Emma stared at my face again.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“Are you divorcing Dad?”
The question was so direct that I almost reached for an easy answer.
I stopped myself.
“I don’t know exactly what happens next.”
“That means yes.”
“No.”
“It usually means yes on TV.”
“This is not TV.”
She looked down.
“Do you still love him?”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
Emma looked surprised.
“So why are you mad?”
“Those things can happen at the same time.”
She frowned.
“That seems stupid.”
“It is extremely stupid.”
That earned the smallest smile.
Then she asked, “Do you love him enough to let him come home?”
The question took the air out of me.
“No.”
Emma looked toward the living room.
Dad was kneeling beside the car seat while Grace instructed him on proper baby observation.
“I’m glad.”
I looked at my daughter.
Her face had gone careful.
“Why?”
She rubbed her thumb over a scratch on the countertop.
“Because when Dad gets mad, everyone has to act different.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What do you mean?”
Emma shrugged.
“Just different.”
“Emma.”
She avoided my eyes.
“We tell Grace not to make noise.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“When Dad’s in a mood.”
“What mood?”
“You know.”
I did.
I hated that she knew I did.
“Anything else?”
Emma looked toward the hall.
“We hide stuff sometimes.”
“What stuff?”
“Bad grades.”
“Why?”
“So he won’t yell.”
I swallowed.
“What else?”
Her voice became quieter.
“Sophie broke the lamp.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“The one Dad said he broke last year.”
My mouth went dry.
“He said he knocked it over.”
“He did.”
Emma’s face tightened.
“After Sophie told him she broke the picture frame.”
I felt the edges of the counter under my fingers.
“What happened?”
“He got mad and threw the lamp.”
“Was Sophie there?”
Emma nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her eyes finally met mine.
“Because you were there.”
For a second I wondered whether exhaustion had rearranged her words into something else.
“I was there?”
Emma nodded.
“You were in the laundry room.”
I tried to picture it.
The old lamp had shattered near the dining table.
David told me he had clipped it with his elbow while reaching for Sophie’s broken picture frame.
He had sounded annoyed with himself.
I had believed him before I finished sweeping the glass.
“What happened before he threw it?”
“Sophie dropped the frame.”
“On purpose?”
“No.”
Emma’s voice had become flat.
“She was carrying it upstairs because Dad told her to clean the table.”
I looked toward the living room.
Sophie sat cross-legged on the rug with Nathan in Dad’s arms beside her.
She was watching him breathe.
“How angry was he?”
Emma shrugged.
“Dad angry.”
“That doesn’t tell me enough.”
“It tells me.”
The answer struck harder than I expected.
I lowered myself into a kitchen chair.
My body protested immediately.
Emma moved toward me.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m sore.”
“You look weird.”
“Thank you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
She sat across from me.
“Did he ever throw things at any of you?”
“No.”
“Did he ever grab you?”
Emma hesitated.
That hesitation changed everything.
“Emma.”
“He grabbed my arm once.”
“When?”
“Last summer.”
“Why?”
“I was walking away.”
“From what?”
“An argument.”
“What argument?”
She looked embarrassed.
“I called him sexist.”
Under different circumstances I might have smiled.
“Why?”
“He said girls shouldn’t dress like I was dressed.”
I remembered the afternoon.
Emma had come downstairs wearing denim shorts and a sleeveless shirt.
David told her to change.
I had told him the shorts were fine.
He said he did not want boys looking at his daughter.
I rolled my eyes and told Emma to put on sneakers because we were late.
The argument had seemed stupid and ordinary.
May you like
“What happened after I left the room?”
Emma picked at the edge of the table.
