Chương 12
Then she bent and lifted it.
The buzzing stopped.
The box was heavier than she remembered.
Inside the kitchen, she set it on the floor beneath the window.
The recorder remained on the counter under the loose dish towel.
For a moment Margaret stared at both objects.
Her peaceful house had begun looking less like a sanctuary and more like an evidence locker.
"Is it inside?" Daniel asked.
"Yes."
"Don't touch it."
"You've said that three times."
"Because you touch things."
Margaret bristled.
"That's generally how people interact with the physical world."
Daniel sighed.
"Can we not?"
Margaret sat at the kitchen table.
The chair across from her remained pulled slightly out, the way Daniel had left it the night before.
"Where are you?"
"Gas station."
"Which one?"
"Mom."
She closed her eyes.
"Never mind."
"Thank you."
Margaret listened to the faint sounds around him.
A truck braking.
A door slamming.
Someone speaking over a distant intercom.
Normal life continuing while theirs narrowed around a cardboard box.
"Are you going to the hotel?" she asked.
"I haven't picked one."
"Don't go to Kyle's."
"I heard you."
"That isn't the same as agreeing."
Daniel was quiet.
Margaret said, "Please."
The word came out more tired than frightened.
"That's what your father used to say when he had no plan."
Daniel gave a soft laugh.
"Yeah."
"He usually meant he was going to Lowe's."
"Also yeah."
For a few seconds neither spoke.
Margaret stared through the window at the empty driveway.
The absence of the moving truck left a pale rectangle where the tires had disturbed a layer of dust.
Daniel said, "I'm sorry I left the box."
"It's a box."
"I mean all this."
Margaret looked down at the legal documents.
The eviction notice had shifted slightly in the draft from the vent.
"Which part?"
"I don't know."
"That's broad."
"I know."
She waited.
Daniel sighed.
"I should've handled Vanessa before it got anywhere near you."
Margaret felt the old instinct to comfort him.
It rose quickly and automatically.
She resisted it.
"What does handled mean?"
"Left."
"Earlier."
"Yeah."
"How much earlier?"
Daniel did not answer immediately.
Margaret heard a car door close near him.
"A while."
"Months?"
"Probably."
Margaret rubbed her thumb along the edge of the table.
"Then why didn't you?"
"I kept thinking the next version of us would be better."
Margaret looked up.
Daniel's voice had changed.
No defensiveness now.
Just fatigue.
"After she apologized, she'd be great for a couple weeks."
He paused.
"Not fake great either."
Margaret listened.
"She'd make dinner."
"That alone wouldn't convince me."
Daniel snorted.
"She'd joke about herself."
"Better."
"She'd stop checking my phone."
Margaret's hand went still.
"She checked your phone?"
"Sometimes."
"You said she found the messages with Erin."
"Because she went through it."
"Without asking?"
Daniel made a small sound that meant yes.
Margaret stared at the box.
"Did you do the same to her?"
"Once."
"Why?"
"Because I thought she was cheating."
"Was she?"
"I don't know."
Margaret frowned.
"You never found out?"
"No."
"How do adults live like this?"
Daniel laughed once.
"Badly."
That answer stopped her.
Margaret leaned back in the chair.
"What happened when you checked?"
"She caught me."
"And?"
"She smashed my phone."
Margaret closed her eyes.
"When was that?"
"February."
"That was why you got a new one."
"Yeah."
"You told me you dropped it in a parking lot."
"I know."
"Why did I believe that?"
"Because I drop everything."
Margaret could not argue.
Daniel had broken three screens before he turned thirty.
Still, the ease of the lie unsettled her.
"How many things did you lie to me about?"
Daniel was silent.
Margaret immediately regretted asking.
The answer could only injure one of them.
"Forget it."
"No."
She waited.
"A lot."
Margaret looked toward the window.
A sparrow hopped along the fence and disappeared behind the trash bins.
"About money?"
"Yeah."
"About Vanessa?"
"Yeah."
"About work?"
"Sometimes."
"About being happy?"
The silence that followed felt different.
Longer.
Daniel said, "Mostly that."
Margaret swallowed.
The stitches above her eye itched again.
She resisted touching them.
"You could've told me."
"I didn't want to be the loser son moving back home because his girlfriend hit him."
Margaret stared at the coffee mug.
The cold coffee had formed a thin brown line against the ceramic.
"You were already living here."
"Exactly."
Margaret almost argued.
Then she understood enough not to.
Daniel continued.
"Dad would've known."
The sentence came quietly.
Margaret's chest tightened.
"Maybe."
"He always knew when I was lying."
"He usually knew when you were lying badly."
Daniel laughed under his breath.
"He would've told me to leave her."
"Probably."
"And then he'd have offered me a beer and pretended it was my idea."
Margaret smiled despite herself.
"That sounds like him."
The smile faded.
"Daniel."
"Yeah?"
"Your father didn't always know what to do either."
Daniel did not respond.
Margaret looked at Paul's old mug on the counter.
"He once slept in the garage for three hours because he was afraid to tell me he'd backed my car into the mailbox."
Daniel laughed.
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
"I never heard that."
"He told you the mailbox was hit by a delivery truck."
"That was him?"
"Entirely."
Daniel laughed harder.
Margaret felt the sound loosen something in her.
Then the box buzzed again.
Both went quiet.
Daniel said, "Call the attorney."
"Now?"
"Yeah."
Margaret checked the time.
"She's probably working."
"That's generally when attorneys answer phones."
"You are very funny for someone homeless."
The silence afterward was immediate.
Margaret closed her eyes.
"Daniel."
"It's fine."
"No."
"I know you didn't mean it."
"I did mean the joke."
"Mom."
"That makes it worse."
Daniel exhaled.
"It's fine."
Margaret hated the word.
She had used it herself too many times.
"Where are you going tonight?"
"Good."
"I'm using my own card."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking loudly."
Margaret looked at the empty chair.
"Call me when you get there."
May you like
"And don't tell Vanessa."
"I won't."
