Chương 9
I put the plate down.
“I’m leaving.”
She stopped scrubbing.
I expected satisfaction.
Instead she looked sad.
“Okay.”
“That’s all?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Cheer?”
“No.”
“Throw his clothes on the lawn?”
“No.”
“Good, because it might rain.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then my eyes filled.
Claire turned off the faucet.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I’m not sorry about him.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry because you loved him.”
That landed in a place anger had not reached.
I gripped the edge of the counter.
“I still do, a little.”
“I know.”
“I hate that.”
“I know.”
“I keep seeing him carry Liam asleep from the courthouse.”
Claire dried her hands on a towel.
“People can be tender in one moment and cruel in another.”
I stared at the water spots on the plate.
“That would be easier if he had always been awful.”
“Probably.”
Liam looked up from the living room.
“Mom?”
I wiped my face before turning.
“Yeah?”
“Did Brandon know I was alone?”
The kitchen went completely still.
I walked into the living room and sat on the floor across from him.
His Lego car rested between us.
“Why are you asking?”
“Because Aunt Claire said he lied.”
Claire closed her eyes behind him.
I did not rescue her.
She had said it.
Now we had to live with it.
“He knew there wasn’t an adult staying at the house,” I said.
Liam pushed one Lego wheel with his thumb.
“Did he forget?”
“No.”
“Did Tyler forget?”
“Tyler didn’t know he was supposed to take care of you.”
His face tightened.
“But Brandon said Tyler might come.”
“I know.”
He was silent for a long time.
Then he asked, “Did Lucas and Alyssa know?”
“I don’t know.”
He stared at the little car.
“I don’t want them to get in trouble.”
“They’re not in trouble.”
“They went without me.”
“They’re children.”
He nodded, but not like he believed me.
I reached for his hand.
He let me hold it.
At 9:08, Brandon called again.
I did not answer.
At 9:11, he called Claire.
She declined it.
At 9:14, a message appeared on my phone.
We land tomorrow.
I am coming home.
Do not lock me out of my own house.
I read it to Claire.
She looked toward Liam.
“What are you going to do?”
I opened Marlene Fox’s email from earlier.
Attached was a draft petition she intended to file Monday morning and a set of instructions for the weekend.
Document.
Do not threaten.
Do not destroy property.
Do not block lawful access without understanding ownership rights.
Call police if you fear violence or intimidation.
Keep the child away from confrontation.
I read that last line twice.
Then I called Mrs. Patel.
“Can Liam stay with you tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yes.”
She answered so quickly that I almost cried again.
“I don’t know exactly when Brandon will get here.”
“Then Liam stays as long as needed.”
“Thank you.”
“You do not thank people for doing what neighbors are supposed to do.”
After we hung up, I told Liam he would spend part of the next day with the Patels.
His mouth tightened.
“Because Brandon’s coming?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to yell?”
“I’m going to try not to.”
“Is he?”
“I don’t know.”
He considered that.
Then he picked up the Lego car.
“Can I leave this here?”
“At the house?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“So I know we’re coming back.”
I looked at him.
He was eight years old and already negotiating with uncertainty through objects.
“Yes,” I said.
“We’re coming back.”
I hoped it was not another promise made by an adult who did not yet know what it would cost to keep it.
The next morning, I woke before Liam and spent ten minutes listening to him breathe from the other hotel bed.
He had kicked off the blanket during the night and one foot hung over the mattress.
Claire was asleep in the armchair with her neck bent at an angle that was going to punish her for several days.
For a while, nobody moved.
The room smelled faintly of air-conditioning and the coffee I had made badly in the little plastic machine near the bathroom sink.
I stood at the window and watched traffic start to thicken along the highway.
Brandon’s flight landed at 3:20.
By noon, I had begun measuring the day against that time.
At 11:07, I checked the airline app.
At 11:19, I checked again.
At 11:44, Claire woke and told me I was behaving like a person waiting for a tornado to make a reservation.
“I need to know whether the flight is delayed.”
“You have checked seven times.”
“Five.”
“Seven.”
“You were asleep.”
“I was pretending.”
She rubbed the side of her neck and winced.
“Terrible chair.”
“You chose it.”
“I chose loyalty.”
“You chose the chair because Liam took your bed.”
“That too.”
Liam woke a few minutes later and asked whether hotels always had waffles downstairs.
When I said usually, he immediately wanted one.
The normality of that request made the morning easier.
We went down together.
A family in matching soccer shirts occupied two tables near the television.
An elderly man was arguing quietly with the waffle machine.
A toddler had dropped a banana and was grinding it into the carpet with one shoe while his father tried to pour orange juice.
Liam stood beside me holding a paper plate.
“Can I have two?”
“Two waffles?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
He looked suspicious.
“You’re saying yes to everything.”
Claire snorted into her coffee.
I glanced at her.
“Helpful.”
Liam poured batter into the machine.
“Yesterday you let me have soda at dinner.”
“You were having a bad day.”
“So bad days are good for snacks?”
“No.”
Claire leaned toward him.
“Never ask follow-up questions when adults make favorable policy decisions.”
He grinned.
I wanted to bottle that sound and hide it somewhere Brandon could never touch.
May you like
At 12:31, Detective Harris called.
“Your husband’s flight appears to be on schedule.”
