Chương 4
Léa frowned.
“That means yes.”
Thomas made a small sound that might have been a laugh.
Claire brushed Léa’s hair away from her forehead.
“What Grandma did was not okay.”
“Will she hit you again?”
“No.”
Claire answered before thinking.
Thomas looked at her.
She held Léa closer.
“No, sweetheart.”
“How do you know?”
“Because we won’t let that happen.”
Léa accepted this more easily than Claire did.
She crawled back under the blanket and demanded that Thomas check the closet for monsters.
Thomas opened the closet.
“Nothing.”
“Look behind the dresses.”
He looked.
“One sock.”
“Is it a monster sock?”
“Possibly.”
Léa smiled.
By the time they left the room, her breathing had slowed again.
Thomas closed the door almost completely but left the hallway light on.
At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped.
“I never thought she’d hit you.”
Claire looked at him.
“I know.”
“I knew she didn’t like you.”
“That was not exactly classified information.”
“I told myself it was personality.”
Claire folded her arms.
“She once told me my laugh sounded cheap.”
Thomas winced.
“She said that?”
“At your cousin’s wedding.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
He stared.
“You told me she was stressed because she hated weddings.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“Jesus.”
Claire immediately regretted saying it.
Not because it was untrue.
Because she could see the memory returning to him.
He had defended Marie automatically.
Not viciously.
Almost lazily.
The way people defended weather.
“She trained you,” Claire said quietly.
His eyes opened.
“Don’t excuse me.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
The answer came too sharply.
Claire’s shoulders stiffened.
Thomas noticed.
“Sorry.”
She shook her head.
“No, you’re allowed to be angry.”
“At myself.”
“That part is useful only up to a point.”
He leaned against the wall.
“You sound like a therapist.”
“I sound like someone who doesn’t want to spend Christmas watching you hate yourself.”
“It’s not Christmas anymore.”
Claire checked the clock.
It was 11:47.
“Technically, you still have thirteen minutes.”
Thomas looked at her.
“That was terrible.”
“I’m concussed.”
“You’re not concussed.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“No, but I’m married to someone who weaponizes minor injuries.”
Claire smiled despite herself.
Then the doorbell rang.
Both of them froze.
Thomas checked the time.
The bell rang again.
Claire felt the skin between her shoulders tighten.
“Your mother?”
“She’s forty minutes away.”
“That has never stopped her from driving.”
Thomas moved toward the front window and lifted the curtain slightly.
His expression changed.
“It’s Dad.”
Claire stared.
“Your father is here?”
Paul stood on the porch holding a brown leather folder under one arm.
Thomas opened the door but did not step aside.
Paul looked older than he had three hours earlier.
His tie was gone.
His coat was buttoned incorrectly.
“I know I should have called.”
“You did call.”
“I mean before showing up.”
Thomas looked past him toward the street.
“Is Mom with you?”
“No.”
“Does she know where you are?”
Paul hesitated.
“That is not the same question.”
Thomas exhaled.
Claire came closer.
Paul saw her cheek and went pale.
“Oh.”
It was such a small sound that Claire almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Paul looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
Claire waited.
He swallowed.
“I should have stopped her.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
Thomas finally stepped aside.
Paul entered the house.
He carried the cold in with him.
For several awkward seconds, the three of them stood in the entryway as though nobody remembered how houses worked.
Then Claire pointed toward the kitchen.
“Sit.”
Paul obeyed.
He placed the leather folder on the table.
Thomas stayed standing.
“What is that?”
“Everything I could find.”
“You had all this?”
“Not all of it.”
Paul removed several printed bank statements, a stack of photocopies, and what looked like old mortgage documents.
“I went through the filing cabinet after you left.”
Thomas stared at him.
“At Christmas dinner.”
“Your mother was screaming at Chloé.”
Claire pulled out a chair.
“About what?”
Paul looked at her.
“The money.”
Thomas moved closer.
“What money specifically?”
“The transfer to Chloé.”
Paul rubbed his forehead.
“Marie found out I knew about it.”
“How?”
“I asked her.”
“You asked her tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Paul looked embarrassed.
“Because after you left, she said you were ungrateful and that she had spent years keeping this family together with practically nothing.”
Thomas’s mouth twisted.
“And you finally did the math.”
“I finally stopped avoiding the math.”
Nobody spoke.
Paul opened the folder.
“There’s something else.”
Thomas gave a bitter laugh.
“Of course there is.”
Paul pushed one document across the table.
It was a loan agreement.
Thomas picked it up.
Claire watched his eyes move down the page.
His expression did not change until he reached the signature line.
Then he stopped breathing for a second.
“That’s my name.”
Paul nodded.
“I know.”
Thomas turned the page toward Claire.
At the bottom, beneath a date from three years earlier, was a signature resembling Thomas’s.
Claire had seen his signature on birthday cards, tax forms, school paperwork, and the receipt for their refrigerator.
This one was close.
Too close.
But it was wrong.
The T was too narrow.
The final stroke ended upward instead of down.
“I didn’t sign this.”
Paul looked at his son.
“I didn’t think you did.”
Thomas read the first page again.
“How much?”
Paul did not answer immediately.
Thomas looked up.
“How much, Dad?”
“One hundred and eighty thousand.”
Claire lowered herself into the nearest chair.
Thomas remained standing.
“What was it for?”
“The apartment.”
“The one for Chloé?”
Paul nodded.
Thomas laughed once.
This time there was nothing humorous in it.
“She used my money for the deposit and forged my signature for the rest?”
Paul rubbed both hands over his face.
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
“I found the papers tonight.”
“You live with her.”
“I know.”
“You’re married to her.”
“I know.”
May you like
“And you don’t know whether she took out a hundred-and-eighty-thousand-euro loan in my name?”
Paul looked at the table.
