Chương 4
“With them.”
“Don't.”
“I meant it.”
“You have no standing to evaluate my parenting.”
His shoulders dropped.
It was the first unguarded thing he had done.
“All right.”
The simplicity of his answer unsettled me.
I preferred him defensive.
Defense was familiar terrain.
He held out the photograph.
I took it.
His thumb had left a faint crescent of moisture along one corner.
“Did you know before the divorce was final?” he asked.
“That there were twins?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
His eyes closed.
Only briefly.
“You still didn't tell me.”
“I tried.”
“After the ultrasound.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“My attorney sent updated medical information to yours.”
“I never saw it.”
“That was not my responsibility anymore.”
His mouth tightened.
“No, I suppose it wasn't.”
The absence of argument made me angrier.
I had prepared for thirteen years to defeat excuses.
I had not prepared for him to accept one fact at a time.
“You signed the papers,” I said.
“I know.”
“You declined parental contact.”
“I thought there was one baby.”
My voice dropped.
“You declined one child, Julian.”
He looked away.
That sentence finally reached somewhere useful.
The auditorium had nearly emptied.
Workers were gathering cables near the stage.
A janitor pushed a wide trash bin along the back wall.
On the giant screen, the tournament logo had replaced my sons' faces.
Julian rubbed his forehead.
“I was thirty-one.”
“So was I.”
“I was stupid.”
“So was I.”
“I thought Victoria could give me something.”
“She did.”
His eyes moved toward the doors where his wife had disappeared.
“Yes.”
There was no triumph in that answer.
I suddenly did not want to know what he meant.
My phone vibrated.
Marissa had sent one message.
Wheels up in sixty-eight minutes.
I put the phone away.
Julian noticed.
“You're really going to Washington tonight?”
“Yes.”
“What do you do?”
“Work.”
“Elena.”
I looked at him.
He gave a tired, almost embarrassed laugh.
“I deserve that one.”
“You deserve most of them.”
“What kind of general are you?”
“The employed kind.”
He smiled before he could stop himself.
That was worse than the anger.
For one dangerous instant, I saw the man who used to make terrible coffee and dance badly in the kitchen because our apartment had no furniture yet.
Memory is an animal with no loyalty.
I folded the wedding photograph and put it inside my uniform pocket.
“I lead strategic logistics planning.”
His expression changed.
“That sounds important.”
“It sounds boring.”
“Is it?”
“Almost never.”
He glanced toward the greenroom doors.
“Can I see them?”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“Not today.”
“They know who I am.”
“Knowing a name is not the same as agreeing to a relationship.”
“They're my sons.”
“Biologically.”
His face tightened again.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing.”
“That can't be true.”
“It is true tonight.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“The day after that.”
“I don't know.”
He stepped closer.
“Then tell me what I can do.”
I studied him.
Thirteen years earlier, I had begged him to tell me what I could do to make him stay.
I remembered standing in our kitchen while the refrigerator motor rattled behind us.
I had offered counseling.
More space.
Less pressure.
A transfer.
Anything.
He had already rented an apartment with Victoria.
I had been negotiating after the decision.
Now Julian stood in front of me wearing the same helplessness I once carried.
I did not enjoy it as much as I had imagined.
“You can go home,” I said.
His face hardened.
“That's it?”
“For tonight.”
“I've missed thirteen years.”
“You didn't misplace them.”
He looked as though I had struck him.
Good.
Then the satisfaction came, small and ugly.
I disliked myself for it and did not take the sentence back.
He nodded slowly.
“Fair.”
“Stop agreeing with me.”
“What?”
“It is irritating.”
That surprised a laugh out of him.
He covered it with his hand.
I hated that I nearly smiled.
“I don't know how to do this,” he said.
“You don't get to do anything yet.”
“All right.”
“And stop saying all right.”
“Would you prefer I argue?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Why?”
“Because you're better at it.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“You're scared.”
My body went cold.
“Do not analyze me.”
“You rub your finger when you're scared.”
I looked down.
My thumb was moving against my index finger.
I stopped it.
Julian's face softened.
“You still do that.”
“Apparently.”
“I used to know when you were lying because of it.”
“You used to think you knew.”
He nodded.
“That's probably more accurate.”
The stage doors opened.
Ethan emerged first, carrying both backpacks.
Leo followed with his medal stuffed into one of his pockets.
That hurt.
He had spent months preparing for this day.
Now the best moment of his young life had become tangled with a man who had never earned a place in it.
Marissa appeared behind them.
“Ma'am.”
Her tone told me time had run out.
I turned to my sons.
“We need to go.”
Leo nodded without looking at Julian.
Ethan handed me my overnight bag.
“You forgot this.”
“I was wondering why my shoulder felt unusually free.”
“You'd lose your head if it wasn't attached.”
“That is anatomically inaccurate.”
“It is a saying.”
“I know.”
Julian watched the exchange with something close to hunger.
He stepped aside as we passed.
“Leo.”
My son stopped.
Every muscle in my back tightened.
Julian swallowed.
“Congratulations.”
Leo looked at him.
No one spoke.
Then Leo pulled the medal from his pocket.
For a second, I thought he might show it to Julian.
Instead, he fastened it properly around his neck.
“Thanks.”
It was not forgiveness.
It was barely courtesy.
But Julian reacted as though somebody had opened a window in a burning room.
Ethan shifted his backpack higher.
“You can congratulate me too.”
Leo stared at him.
“What?”
Ethan shrugged.
“I also won.”
Julian blinked.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
“Congratulations, Ethan.”
“Thanks.”
May you like
Ethan nodded once.
Then he added, “You still suck.”
