Chương 11
She set down the microphone.
The silence afterward was terrible.
Then one person clapped.
Fiona winced.
“Please don’t.”
The clapping stopped.
Someone laughed nervously.
Fiona did too.
It was the most human moment of the entire night.
She stepped off the patio.
Donovan moved toward her.
Not into an embrace.
Just closer.
That was all she got.
For now, it seemed enough.
Arthur picked up his bourbon and walked into the house alone.
I found Arthur ten minutes later in the kitchen, standing in front of the open refrigerator with a glass in his hand and no apparent reason for being there.
The refrigerator alarm chirped.
He ignored it.
I reached past him and closed the door.
“You’re wasting cold air.”
He stared at me.
“That’s what you’ve got?”
“It seemed safe.”
He looked down at his bourbon.
The ice had already melted into amber water.
From the backyard came the low murmur of guests deciding how long politeness required them to stay.
“You happy?”
Arthur asked.
“No.”
“You got what you wanted.”
“I wanted her to stop lying.”
“She did.”
“That doesn’t make me happy.”
He gave a tired laugh.
“You always wanted her knocked down a peg.”
I leaned against the counter.
“Sometimes.”
He looked surprised by the answer.
I was too tired to protect myself with better ones.
“I wanted you to see me.”
Arthur’s face tightened.
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything.”
“You were never ignored.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“You had everything you needed.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The practical version.”
He set his glass down too hard.
“You had a roof, school, a car when you turned seventeen, college help, a job connection.”
“I know.”
“So what exactly did I fail to provide?”
I looked at him.
He genuinely wanted an itemized answer.
That was the sad part.
“I don’t think you can inventory it.”
His mouth twisted.
“Cute.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
Someone entered the hallway, saw us, and reversed direction.
Arthur noticed and lowered his voice.
“Your sister might lose her career.”
“Yes.”
“Does that bother you at all?”
“Of course it does.”
“You don’t act like it.”
“How am I supposed to act?”
“Like family.”
I folded my arms.
“Meaning what?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“No.”
“You could help.”
“By interfering?”
“By explaining the context.”
“I can explain what I actually know.”
“You could explain that she was treated unfairly.”
“I don’t know that.”
“You heard her.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Arthur grabbed his glass again.
“You’d rather trust paperwork than your own sister.”
“I’d rather not pretend confidence is evidence.”
He took a drink.
For once, he had no immediate comeback.
The kitchen smelled like frosting, coffee, and the lemon cleaner Arthur used on every surface regardless of what it was made from.
A stack of disposable plates leaned beside the sink.
One had a smear of blue icing on its edge.
I thought of my mother complaining that colored frosting stained everyone’s teeth.
It was exactly the sort of observation she would have made tonight.
Not about badges.
Not about careers.
About teeth.
Arthur followed my eyes toward the plates.
“She would’ve hated those balloons.”
I looked at him.
He smiled faintly.
“Said they look like intestines when they deflate.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
He did too.
For three seconds, we were only two people who missed the same woman.
Then his expression closed.
“You think I failed Fiona.”
“I think you made it hard for her to fail.”
“That sounds like a good thing.”
“It isn’t.”
His jaw shifted.
“I wanted her confident.”
“You made failure feel like humiliation.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I taught both of you to push.”
“You taught her to win.”
“And you?”
I hesitated.
“You taught me to be useful.”
He frowned.
“That’s not fair.”
“I know.”
The answer stopped him.
I looked down at my hands.
“You loved me.”
Arthur opened his mouth, but I continued.
“I know you did.”
He watched me.
“You still do.”
“Of course I do.”
“I’m not saying you didn’t.”
His shoulders loosened slightly.
“But being loved and being known aren’t the same.”
He picked up his glass, then put it back down without drinking.
“That sounds like something your mother would say.”
“It probably is.”
He looked toward the dark window over the sink.
“She made everything complicated.”
“No.”
“She did.”
“She noticed complexity.”
“Same damn thing.”
I smiled.
He almost did.
Then Donovan walked through the doorway.
He stopped when he saw us.
“Sorry.”
Arthur’s expression hardened immediately.
“What?”
“I was looking for water.”
“Help yourself.”
The words were polite in structure only.
Donovan opened a cabinet, took a glass, and filled it at the sink.
He drank half of it without speaking.
Arthur watched him.
“So what now?”
Donovan lowered the glass.
“With what?”
“You and Fiona.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“Dad.”
“No, I want to know.”
Donovan set the glass on the counter.
“I haven’t decided.”
Arthur bristled.
“She made one mistake.”
Donovan looked at him.
“No.”
“One situation.”
“No.”
“What the hell do you want from her?”
“The truth.”
“She gave you the truth.”
“After she was cornered.”
Arthur stepped closer.
“And now you punish her for admitting it?”
Donovan’s face remained calm.
“I’m not punishing her.”
“Sure looks like it.”
“I’m trying not to make a marriage decision while I’m angry.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“It’s actually miserable.”
Arthur paused.
Donovan leaned back against the sink.
“I love her.”
Arthur’s expression changed.
“So stay.”
“That isn’t enough.”
“It should be.”
“No.”
The certainty of it made Arthur stare.
Donovan continued.
“I work with people every week who love each other and still lie, manipulate, hide money, cover addictions, make decisions for each other, whatever.”
Arthur frowned.
“What does your hospital have to do with this?”
“Nothing.”
Donovan rubbed his forehead.
“I’m saying love doesn’t automatically make people safe for each other.”
Arthur’s mouth tightened.
May you like
“You calling my daughter unsafe?”
“I’m saying I don’t know what else she’s been afraid to tell me.”
