Chương 3
“Ma’am,” he said to Elena, “I’ll need to speak with you in a few minutes.”
Elena nodded.
Arthur looked over his shoulder.
“With her?”
“With everyone who witnessed what happened.”
Arthur’s hand tightened against Leo’s back.
“Not him.”
The officer glanced at the boy.
“We’ll handle that appropriately.”
“He’s six.”
“I understand.”
Arthur turned away before the officer finished speaking.
Elena had never seen him dismiss anyone so abruptly.
Normally he was almost excessively polite with people who entered the house to do work.
He knew the names of delivery drivers.
He tipped the piano tuner at Christmas even though nobody in the house had played the piano in over a year.
Now he moved like a man protecting a narrow circle of air around his son.
Leo lifted his face.
“Can I go to my room?”
Arthur stopped.
The question seemed to hurt him.
“Do you want to?”
Leo nodded.
“Okay.”
He hesitated.
“Do you want me to carry you?”
Another nod.
Arthur continued toward the hall.
Elena followed until they reached the bottom of the staircase, then remained there.
The stairs no longer looked elegant.
She could still see the faint smear one of Leo’s palms had left on the polished marble.
A small crescent of blood marked the edge of the third step.
Elena stared at it too long.
The officer noticed.
“Is that his blood?”
“I think so.”
“Don’t clean it.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Her answer came sharper than she intended.
The officer did not react.
“All right.”
Elena pressed both palms against the front of her apron.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be.”
“I know.”
She looked toward the hall where Arthur had disappeared.
“Do you?”
The officer waited.
Elena shook her head.
“Nothing.”
Through the open front doors came Victoria’s voice.
It was distant now but unmistakable.
“You cannot put me in that car like some criminal.”
A second voice answered too quietly to understand.
Then a car door slammed.
Elena closed her eyes.
She had imagined this moment several times during the past week.
In none of those imagined versions had she felt relieved.
Mostly she felt cold.
Arthur took Leo upstairs but did not bring him to his own bedroom.
He brought him to the smaller guest suite at the end of the east hall because Leo stopped when they reached his bedroom door and refused to go inside.
“No,” Leo said.
Arthur looked from him to the door.
“What’s wrong?”
Leo’s arms tightened around his neck.
“Not there.”
“All right.”
Arthur did not ask why.
Not yet.
He carried him farther down the hall.
The guest room had cream walls, a narrow writing desk, and a bed that was too high for Leo to climb into without help.
Arthur set him carefully on the edge.
Leo immediately reached for him again.
Arthur sat beside him.
“You’re not leaving?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
Arthur looked at his son.
“Promise.”
Leo leaned against his side.
For several minutes neither of them spoke.
Arthur could hear voices downstairs, the radio clipped to an officer’s shoulder, the muted thud of the front doors closing, then opening again.
Somewhere in the kitchen, a timer began beeping.
It beeped five times before someone silenced it.
Arthur stared at Leo’s scraped palm.
He had spent the afternoon arguing about a commercial property acquisition worth more money than his father had earned in his entire life.
At four thirty, he had left a conference room irritated because a lender wanted revised projections.
At four forty-two, he had seen Elena’s missed call.
He had almost ignored it.
She never called him during work hours.
Then the second call came.
He answered while stepping into the elevator.
Her voice had been low and uneven.
“Mr. Mercer, I need you to come home.”
“What happened?”
“I called the police.”
The elevator doors had opened onto the lobby.
Arthur had not moved.
“You did what?”
“It’s about Leo.”
Everything after that became fragments.
His driver asking whether he wanted the usual route.
Arthur telling him to move.
A red light that seemed to last for minutes.
His own hand dialing Victoria twice and then stopping before the call connected because Elena had said one sentence he could not get out of his head.
Please don’t warn her that you’re coming.
Now Leo rested against him, small and warm and exhausted.
Arthur felt something ugly moving under his ribs.
Not anger at Victoria.
That was simple.
The uglier thing was the memory of how often he had accepted convenient explanations.
Leo had become quieter after Victoria moved into the house.
Arthur had called it adjustment.
Leo had begun asking whether Arthur would be home for dinner.
Arthur had called it a phase.
Once, three months earlier, Leo had cried when Victoria offered to help him change after swimming.
Arthur had laughed and said, “You’re getting too old to be shy with people who love you.”
The memory made his stomach turn.
Leo shifted.
“Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you mad?”
Arthur looked down.
“At you?”
Leo nodded.
“No.”
“You look mad.”
“I am.”
Leo’s shoulders pulled inward.
Arthur immediately regretted the answer.
“Not at you.”
Leo studied his tie.
“You’re mad at Victoria.”
Arthur inhaled slowly.
“Yes.”
“Because I told?”
“No.”
The boy picked at a loose thread near Arthur’s cuff.
Arthur covered his hand gently.
“Because she hurt you.”
Leo did not answer.
Arthur waited.
After a while Leo said, “She said it wasn’t hurting.”
Arthur felt his throat tighten.
“What wasn’t?”
Leo’s gaze moved toward the window.
Outside, evening light reflected off the neighboring rooflines.
“She said I was making it dramatic.”
Arthur kept his voice steady.
“When?”
Leo shrugged.
“Sometimes.”
The word landed harder than anything Victoria had screamed downstairs.
Arthur lowered his eyes.
“What does sometimes mean?”
Leo’s face changed.
Not fear exactly.
Withdrawal.
Arthur saw it happen and hated himself for pressing.
“You don’t have to tell me right now.”
Leo looked at him again.
“Am I in trouble?”
May you like
“No.”
“Even if I didn’t tell you before?”
