Chương 2
The same attempt to close a door before I could see what was behind it.
I slept badly in my old bedroom that night.
At three in the morning, I found myself staring at a crack in the ceiling I had once promised my mother I would repair.
It was still there.
Some things apparently survived neglect better than marriages did.
Beside me, Chloe slept facing away.
Her phone rested on the nightstand.
At 3:17, the screen lit up.
I did not touch it.
I only saw the preview.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: He saw her.
The message vanished when the screen dimmed.
I lay awake until morning.
At breakfast, Chloe claimed she had a headache and went upstairs.
My aunt Patricia arrived shortly after nine carrying oranges and complaining about parking.
She had always entered houses as though she had been invited to solve a minor emergency.
“You look terrible,” she told me.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Vancouver made you skinny.”
“That’s what Mom said.”
“Your mother thinks every problem can be solved with potatoes.”
From the sink, my mother said, “You’re welcome to leave.”
Patricia ignored her and began peeling an orange at the kitchen island.
I poured coffee.
“I ran into Samantha yesterday.”
The peeler slipped from Patricia’s fingers.
My mother turned off the faucet.
Nobody spoke.
I looked at Patricia.
“What?”
She stared at my mother.
My mother stared back.
Something old and hostile moved between the sisters.
“Patricia,” my mother said quietly.
My aunt’s eyebrows rose.
“What?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“You know exactly what.”
I set down my mug.
“Would somebody like to explain why everyone in my life acts like Samantha is carrying a bomb?”
Patricia looked genuinely confused.
Then confusion became alarm.
“Oh, God.”
My mother stepped toward her.
“Patricia.”
“You never told him?”
The kitchen seemed to shrink around us.
“Told me what?”
My mother’s face lost color.
Patricia put the orange down.
“I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“About the pregnancy.”
The refrigerator motor clicked off.
I heard a car pass outside.
Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
“What pregnancy?”
My mother gripped the edge of the counter.
Patricia looked from her to me.
“Three weeks after the divorce was finalized, Samantha came here.”
I stared at her.
“She was pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“How pregnant?”
“I don’t know.”
“Patricia.”
“I don’t know, Ethan.”
She pushed the orange away.
“She was soaked because it was raining, and she kept asking for you.”
I turned toward my mother.
“Where was I?”
“You had already gone to Vancouver.”
“Did Samantha know that?”
My mother said nothing.
“Mom.”
“She knew.”
“Did she ask how to reach me?”
Patricia closed her eyes.
My mother’s voice hardened.
“You were barely functioning after that divorce.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“You were angry, drinking too much, missing work, and blaming yourself for everything.”
“Did she ask how to reach me?”
“Yes.”
The word landed softly.
I could barely feel my hands.
“And you gave her my number.”
My mother looked away.
I laughed once.
It was an ugly sound.
“Of course you did.”
“Ethan—”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Patricia whispered my name.
I pointed at my mother.
“Did Samantha tell you the baby was mine?”
“She said it was.”
The room tilted.
I gripped the back of a chair.
“And what did you say?”
My mother pressed her lips together.
“What did you say to her?”
“I told her to leave you alone.”
Patricia stood.
“Elaine, tell him all of it.”
“Stay out of this.”
“You dragged me into it five years ago.”
“Tell me what?”
Neither answered.
I slammed my palm against the counter.
“What else happened?”
Footsteps sounded behind me.
Chloe stood at the kitchen entrance.
She was barefoot, holding her phone.
My mother saw her and seemed to lose whatever remained of her composure.
“Not now.”
Chloe’s eyes flicked toward Patricia.
Patricia stared back.
That same recognition from the airport tightened my stomach.
I turned slowly toward Chloe.
“You knew Samantha was pregnant.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
“Then why did someone text you last night saying I saw her?”
Chloe stopped breathing for a moment.
My mother whispered, “Ethan.”
I faced her.
“Was Samantha carrying my child?”
My mother shut her eyes.
When she opened them, she looked older than she had the night before.
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“But I decided you didn’t need to know.”
The silence afterward felt almost physical.
Then a child laughed outside.
It was a bright, careless sound from the sidewalk beyond the kitchen window.
I turned toward it before I could stop myself.
Two little boys were racing scooters past the house.
For one irrational second, I counted their ages.
Five years.
I looked back at my mother.
“What happened to the baby?”
Nobody answered.
Patricia lowered herself into the chair.
Chloe stared at the floor.
My mother began crying without making a sound.
And suddenly Samantha’s fear at the airport returned to me with a different shape.
She had not been afraid of seeing me.
She had been afraid I might see someone else.
I looked from my mother to Chloe, and neither of them could hold my eyes.
“Someone tell me where the child is.”
My mother sat down slowly, as though her knees had stopped cooperating.
Patricia rubbed both hands over her face.
Chloe remained near the doorway with her phone pressed against her chest.
“Ethan,” my mother said, “you need to calm down before we talk about this.”
“Don’t tell me what I need.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“Apparently that’s been your excuse for five years.”
Her mouth tightened.
Patricia pushed her chair back.
“I’m making coffee.”
“No one is making coffee.”
She stopped.
I heard how sharp my own voice sounded, but I did not care.
“What happened to Samantha’s baby?”
My mother stared at a dark knot in the kitchen table.
“She had the baby.”
My lungs seemed to lock.
“A boy or a girl?”
No answer came.
May you like
I turned to Patricia.
“You knew about the pregnancy, so what happened after that?”
