Chương 4
“Mom, Patricia came downstairs acting weird, Tara knows something happened, and now everybody’s asking where you are.”
“Tell them.”
“Tell them what?”
“That there wasn’t a chair.”
His mouth tightened.
“You could have just pulled one up.”
“From where?”
“The kitchen.”
“There are twenty-one people downstairs, Daniel.”
“I know how many people are downstairs.”
“Do you?”
He stared at her.
Evelyn set the plate on the nightstand.
“Because I counted twenty-one invitations and apparently you counted twenty-one guests plus a mother who could float between courses.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“How should I say it?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“She planned this badly.”
“She planned it exactly.”
“That’s not fair.”
Evelyn almost admired him for that too.
His instinct to defend Tara remained intact even with the evidence sitting downstairs in the garage.
“Did you move my chair?”
“No.”
“Did you watch her move it?”
He looked away.
“Daniel.”
“I was making coffee.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“She said there wasn’t enough room.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said it seemed crowded.”
Evelyn waited.
He shifted his weight.
“That was it?”
“What did you want me to do, start a fight at seven in the morning?”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised both of them.
Daniel frowned.
Evelyn continued.
“I wanted you to say, ‘That is my mother’s chair in my mother’s house, so put it back.’”
He laughed once without humor.
“You make everything sound simple.”
“No.”
She stood.
“I make some things sound simple because some things are.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t have to live with Tara when she gets upset.”
The sentence landed so quietly that Daniel seemed not to realize he had said it.
Evelyn looked at him.
His face changed.
“Forget that.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it?”
He took two steps toward the window.
For several seconds he watched the neighbor rake the leaves the blower had failed to move.
“She holds on to things,” he said.
Evelyn stayed silent.
Daniel rubbed the back of his neck.
“If I push her on something, it doesn’t just end there.”
“What happens?”
“Nothing.”
“Daniel.”
“She gets cold.”
“How cold?”
He turned.
“Oh, come on.”
“I’m asking.”
“She shuts down.”
“For how long?”
He gave her an irritated look.
“A day.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Sometimes longer.”
“How much longer?”
He sank into the chair Patricia had used.
“A week.”
Evelyn felt her anger shift.
Not disappear.
Change.
There was exhaustion in Daniel’s posture she had not allowed herself to notice before.
His tie had been loosened.
His shirt cuff was stained with cranberry sauce.
He looked older than forty-two.
“You’re afraid of your wife being mad at you.”
He looked up sharply.
“I am not afraid of my wife.”
“You just told me you chose to let her put my chair in the garage because disagreeing with her might make your home unpleasant for a week.”
“This is my home too.”
Evelyn held his gaze.
He seemed to hear the sentence after saying it.
His expression hardened quickly, a shield dropping into place.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep twisting everything.”
“No, Daniel.”
Evelyn’s voice remained quiet.
“I think I may finally be listening.”
He stood.
“Fine.”
He reached for the door.
“Go downstairs.”
She did not move.
“Eat with your guests.”
“They’re your guests too.”
“No.”
He turned back.
“What?”
“They’re not my guests.”
“Mom, seriously.”
“I didn’t invite them.”
“You agreed to Thanksgiving here.”
“I agreed to Thanksgiving.”
“Same difference.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Daniel stared at her as if she had become unreasonable in a new and particularly inconvenient way.
“You’ve always hosted.”
“Yes.”
“So what exactly changed?”
Evelyn looked at him for several seconds.
“You stopped asking me.”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
“That’s what changed,” she said.
“You stopped asking whether I wanted people here.”
“You stopped asking before moving furniture.”
“You stopped asking before Tara redecorated the den.”
“You stopped asking before her sister stored boxes in the basement.”
“You stopped asking before you gave her parents the garage code.”
Daniel’s face tightened with each example.
“We live here.”
“Yes.”
“That means we have to be able to live normally.”
“You live here because I said you could.”
The room went still.
Daniel’s eyes narrowed.
“There it is.”
Evelyn felt the shift before he finished.
“What?”
“The leverage.”
His voice changed.
Not louder.
Harder.
“I wondered when you’d use it.”
She blinked.
“Use what?”
“The house.”
“You mean ownership?”
“I mean holding it over us.”
Evelyn almost stepped back.
The accusation was so complete that for one second she doubted the shape of the last two years.
Daniel kept going.
“You know we’re trying to save.”
“You know rent around here is ridiculous.”
“You told us we could stay.”
“I did.”
“And now the second Tara does something you don’t like, suddenly we’re supposed to remember you own the place.”
“The second?”
He looked away.
Evelyn moved toward the dresser.
She opened the top drawer but did not remove the envelope.
Not yet.
“When did you think you were leaving?”
Daniel frowned.
“What?”
“When you moved in, you said six months.”
“Things changed.”
“Yes.”
“Work changed.”
“Your salary went up.”
His eyes flashed.
“So you’ve been tracking my salary?”
“You told me about the promotion.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It seems relevant.”
“We’ve been saving.”
“For what?”
“A house.”
Evelyn nodded slowly.
“Show me.”
Daniel stared.
“Show you what?”
“The savings.”
He laughed in disbelief.
“That’s none of your business.”
“You’re living without rent in my home because you say you’re saving to leave it.”
“We buy groceries.”
“Sometimes.”
“We pay utilities.”
“You pay the internet.”
“We contribute.”
“Then tell me how close you are.”
His face reddened.
“We’re not doing this.”
Evelyn saw it then.
Not a number.
Not proof.
A gap.
May you like
A place in the story Daniel did not want examined.
“How much have you saved?”
