Chương 3
“Lily.”
“I wanted seven.”
“We’re going to five.”
“Seven has the fish.”
“That was last week.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“It was.”
The other girl looked at me solemnly.
“Lily lies about fish.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
Grace closed her eyes.
For three seconds, the elevator contained nothing except the hum of machinery and two children debating an aquarium.
It was absurdly ordinary.
I had expected some immediate transformation after hearing the word leukemia.
Sirens in my head.
A dramatic collapse.
Instead, one child complained about fish.
Another chewed on the sleeve of her raincoat.
Noah leaned against the wall and picked at the dinosaur’s felt tooth.
My son might have been dying, and the elevator music was a piano version of an eighties pop song.
When the doors opened on five, Noah stepped out slowly.
Grace noticed.
“You okay, buddy?”
“My legs hurt.”
“I know.”
“Can I ride?”
Grace looked at the empty stroller.
Before she could answer, I reached for it.
“I’ll push the girls.”
“No.”
“I can push a stroller.”
“I know what you can do.”
The words came out sharper than she intended.
Lily stopped walking.
Grace exhaled.
“Sorry.”
She lifted Noah into the stroller.
He was lighter than he looked.
That frightened me in a way nothing else had.
Grace pushed him toward a hallway decorated with painted rockets.
I followed because I had no idea what else to do.
The girls kept close to her, but one of them kept turning around to inspect me.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Ryan.”
She considered that.
“I’m Sophie.”
“I’m Lily,” her sister said loudly, offended at being left out.
“I guessed.”
“How?”
“Sophie mentioned you.”
Lily accepted this explanation and skipped twice before Grace told her to walk.
Noah remained silent.
We reached a waiting area divided by glass panels and low bookshelves.
Grace checked him in at a small desk.
The receptionist knew them.
“Morning, Noah.”
Noah lifted the dinosaur.
“Rex says morning.”
“Morning, Rex.”
The familiarity in that exchange made my stomach turn.
They had been here often enough for the staff to know the stuffed animal’s name.
Grace removed the girls’ wet coats and hung them over the back of a chair.
I stood nearby feeling like a man who had accidentally entered somebody else’s family photograph.
“Sit down,” she said without looking at me.
I sat.
Sophie climbed onto a chair across from me.
Lily found a plastic kitchen in the corner and immediately began banging a toy saucepan against the counter.
Grace sat beside Noah.
I watched her tuck his hair behind his ear.
There was less of it than there should have been.
I had not noticed downstairs.
Maybe I had not wanted to.
“How long?”
Grace kept watching Noah.
“Four months since diagnosis.”
“And you didn’t call me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
She rubbed her thumb over a seam in her jeans.
“You want the short answer or the one you’re going to argue with?”
“The truth.”
“That’s not always the same thing to you.”
I leaned back.
The old instinct came instantly.
Defend yourself.
Correct the accusation.
Win the point.
I had done that for most of our marriage.
Maybe Grace saw it arrive on my face because she gave me a tired little nod, as if something had just been confirmed.
I swallowed whatever I had been about to say.
“The one I’m going to argue with, then.”
She looked toward the hallway.
“When I found out I was pregnant, I called you.”
“I never got a call.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
She nodded.
“I called your office first.”
I stared at her.
“Why my office?”
“Because you’d changed your number after we separated.”
“I changed carriers.”
“And you didn’t give me the new number.”
“We were divorcing.”
“Yes.”
The answer landed without drama.
Just yes.
I looked down at my hands.
“Who answered?”
“Your mother.”
My head came up.
Grace gave a humorless smile.
“That got your attention.”
“My mother didn’t work at my office.”
“She was there that morning.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“She said you were in a meeting.”
“She could’ve put you through.”
“She didn’t.”
A nurse came through the waiting room carrying a tray of covered cups.
Grace waited until she passed.
“I told her I was pregnant.”
The room seemed to narrow.
“What did she say?”
Grace looked at me for a long time.
“She asked whose they were.”
My jaw tightened.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“She wouldn’t say that.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“That thing you do.”
“What thing?”
“You decide what someone you love is capable of before you decide whether I’m telling the truth.”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing useful came out.
Lily banged the saucepan again.
Sophie told her she was giving the plastic baby a headache.
Grace stared at them.
“I was already scared.”
Her voice softened.
“Your mother told me you had moved on.”
“I hadn’t.”
“She said you didn’t want contact from me unless it went through the attorneys.”
“My lawyer did say that.”
“Exactly.”
“For the divorce paperwork.”
“I didn’t know there was a special category for pregnancy.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“What happened after that?”
“I emailed you.”
“I never saw an email.”
“I sent three.”
“To what address?”
“Your company address.”
I almost answered too fast again.
Then I stopped.
My company email had changed during the merger.
For nearly six weeks, messages sent to the old domain had been forwarded through an administrative account.
My assistant handled most of them.
Except my assistant at the time had been my mother’s recommendation.
Caroline Voss.
She had left two months after the divorce.
A cold feeling moved through me.
“Do you still have the emails?”
Grace’s expression changed slightly.
“I have everything.”
“Show me.”
“No.”
“If you have proof—”
“I said I have it.”
May you like
“Then why won’t you show me?”
“Because Noah is about to have blood drawn, and I’m not going to turn his oncology appointment into a courtroom because you suddenly care about evidence.”
