Chương 8
Ethan looked at me.
“You’re making me do all of it.”
“Not all.”
“Most.”
“Yes.”
He gave me an irritated look.
“You said you were going to help.”
“I am helping you avoid becoming a passenger in your own mess.”
“That sounds like something Grandpa would say.”
“Your grandfather would have said, ‘Handle your business,’ then gone outside to inspect a gutter.”
Ethan smiled.
“He hated emotional conversations.”
“He once pretended to fall asleep during an argument with me.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“I turned on the bedroom light.”
Ethan laughed.
A real laugh this time.
It lasted only a few seconds, but when it ended, the kitchen felt less like a bunker.
Then he called Susan.
I watched his shoulders tighten as the phone rang.
She answered immediately.
“Mom.”
Her voice came through faintly, frantic and soft at the same time.
Ethan stood and walked toward the sink.
“No, I’m okay.”
He listened.
“I’m at Grandma’s.”
Another pause.
“No, Lauren left.”
He closed his eyes.
“Mom, the wedding is canceled.”
There was silence on his end of the conversation.
Then Susan must have asked something difficult because he turned away from me.
“It’s both of us.”
He listened.
“No.”
Another pause.
“No, I’m not going back tonight.”
His free hand gripped the edge of the counter.
“I know.”
Then his face tightened.
“Please don’t say that.”
I could hear Susan’s voice rising, though I could not make out the words.
Ethan looked at me.
“She says we should wait until morning to tell people.”
I held out my hand.
He gave me the phone.
“Susan.”
“Margaret, this is becoming chaos.”
“It already became chaos.”
“People are asleep.”
“Then a message will not hurt them.”
“The Whitmores are calling everyone.”
“Then Ethan should speak for himself.”
“He’s emotional.”
“So is everyone.”
“We should protect him.”
“From what?”
“From saying something he regrets.”
I looked at Ethan.
He looked away.
“Then he should tell the truth briefly and stop.”
Susan exhaled.
“You’re pushing him.”
“I am making him participate.”
“He just ended his engagement.”
“Yes.”
“He needs time.”
“He can take time after the essential calls.”
There was another silence.
Then Susan said quietly, “Did Lauren really hit him?”
I looked at Ethan.
He nodded once.
“Yes.”
Susan’s breathing changed.
“More than once?”
“He told me Wednesday.”
“Oh, God.”
“He also told me about the mug and the phone.”
Susan did not answer.
That silence told me something.
“What did you know?”
“Not the mug.”
“And the phone?”
“He said it fell.”
“Did you believe him?”
Another pause.
“No.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“How many people suspected something and decided not to know?”
“That’s unfair.”
“Probably.”
“Margaret.”
“I’m tired.”
“So am I.”
“Then we can be tired and honest.”
Susan began crying softly.
“I thought if I pushed too hard, he’d stop telling me anything.”
That answer was believable enough to hurt.
I looked at Ethan again.
He was staring at the floor.
“He nearly did anyway.”
“I know.”
I handed the phone back.
“Your mother.”
He took it.
“Mom?”
I moved toward the coffee maker.
Then I stopped.
Coffee at one forty in the morning was idiotic.
I made tea instead.
By three, the immediate calls were done.
The venue coordinator had been professional and surprisingly gentle.
The photographer had simply said, “I’m sorry,” before asking where to send the cancellation form.
The officiant, Pastor Reed, had told Ethan he was available later that day if Ethan wanted to talk, and had not asked for details.
The best man, Noah, had driven halfway to my house before Ethan convinced him to turn around and sleep.
Lauren’s maid of honor had sent Ethan one message.
I’m sorry this happened the way it did.
He read it four times.
“What does that mean?”
“It means she knows more than you do.”
“Or less.”
“That too.”
He stared at the screen.
“I want to ask her.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what Lauren told her.”
“Would knowing change what you do before breakfast?”
He looked annoyed.
“No.”
“Then sleep.”
“I won’t sleep.”
“You can fail to sleep in a bed.”
He stayed at the kitchen table another ten minutes.
Then he carried his shoes upstairs to the guest room he had used as a child.
I changed the sheets in that room every two weeks whether anybody slept there or not.
Frank used to call that pointless.
I called it being prepared.
At four twelve, I was still awake.
I lay in bed listening to the house settle.
Every few minutes my mind replayed the slap.
Then Ethan’s face.
Then Denise saying humiliation.
Then Lauren saying she was done pretending.
Anger came and went in waves.
Underneath it was something less satisfying.
Pity.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But pity for a young woman who had learned that shame was something to hide until it turned poisonous.
At six thirty, I gave up on sleep.
I showered, dressed in gray slacks and a blue sweater, and went downstairs.
Ethan appeared fifteen minutes later wearing yesterday’s shirt and no socks.
He looked terrible.
“Coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Orange juice?”
“No pulp.”
“You remain difficult.”
He sat at the counter.
My phone showed sixty-three unread messages.
I turned it facedown.
Ethan watched me.
“Aren’t you going to read them?”
“After coffee.”
“You’re not curious?”
“I am sixty-eight.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have finally learned that most messages become less urgent after caffeine.”
He nodded solemnly.
“That may be the wisest thing you’ve ever said.”
We drank coffee.
A lawn service started somewhere down the block.
The ordinary buzz of machinery on a Saturday morning felt almost offensive.
At seven fourteen, Daniel arrived with a duffel bag.
Ethan met him in the foyer.
For a second neither moved.
Then Daniel dropped the bag and hugged his son.
Ethan stiffened.
Then hugged him back.
Daniel’s face pressed against Ethan’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
May you like
“Yeah.”
“I should’ve asked more.”
