Chương 6
“I don’t know.”
“You do that thing where you say technically true stuff.”
“I have been accused of that before.”
“By me.”
“And by your grandmother.”
That silenced her for a moment.
Then she said, “Mom called Dad a liar.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Sophie, listen to me.”
“I am.”
“Whatever your parents are dealing with tonight is not your job to solve.”
“I know.”
“Knowing and doing are different.”
She made a small sound.
“Mom threw a glass.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did she throw it at anyone?”
“No.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Is anyone hurt?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to come get you?”
The answer came too fast.
“Yes.”
I was already reaching for my keys.
“Pack a bag for one night.”
“Can I tell them?”
“Yes.”
“What if they say no?”
I stopped.
Logan and Chelsea were her parents.
I had no right to remove her from their home because of an argument unless they agreed or she was unsafe.
“Tell them I’m coming over,” I said.
“Okay.”
“And stay in your room until I get there.”
“Grandpa?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t make it worse.”
That sentence stayed with me all the way to their house.
When I pulled into the driveway, the porch light was on even though sunset was still fading behind the roofs.
One of the living room blinds hung crooked.
I had repaired that blind twice.
Chelsea opened the door before I knocked.
She looked nothing like the woman who had hosted the dinner party three weeks earlier.
Her hair was pulled into a loose knot.
She wore sweatpants and an old college T-shirt.
Her eyes were swollen.
“You talked to Sophie.”
“Yes.”
“She had no business calling you.”
“She was scared.”
“She’s fifteen.”
“That does not make fear imaginary.”
Chelsea folded her arms.
“You don’t get to show up here pretending to be the calm one after what you did.”
“I’m here for Sophie.”
“No, you’re here because you want to see the damage.”
I looked past her.
Logan stood near the dining table, one hand braced against a chair.
Broken glass glittered beside the kitchen island.
Nobody had cleaned it up.
“Sophie wants to stay with me tonight,” I said.
Chelsea laughed once.
“Of course she does.”
Logan finally spoke.
“Let her go.”
Chelsea turned on him.
“You don’t get to decide that by yourself.”
“She’s upset.”
“So am I.”
“She’s not responsible for that.”
Chelsea stared at him.
Something passed between them that had nothing to do with me.
Then she stepped away from the door.
“Fine.”
Sophie appeared at the top of the stairs with a backpack already on her shoulders.
She came down slowly.
Halfway, she looked toward the broken glass.
“Shoes,” Chelsea said automatically.
Sophie stopped.
“I have shoes on.”
Chelsea looked at her feet and seemed almost embarrassed.
“Right.”
For one second, I saw the family they had been before everything became a negotiation.
Then Sophie reached me.
I put a hand lightly on her shoulder.
“Go wait in the car.”
She looked at Logan.
He nodded.
Chelsea did not.
Sophie left anyway.
The front door closed behind her.
I expected Chelsea to start shouting.
Instead she picked up a dish towel from the counter and began gathering pieces of glass with it.
“Don’t use that,” I said.
She looked at me.
“You’ll cut your hand.”
Her mouth twisted.
“Still fixing things.”
I said nothing.
Logan disappeared into the pantry and returned with a broom.
He swept while Chelsea held the dustpan.
The domestic normality of it was unbearable.
I had watched them clean a hundred small messes together.
Cereal.
Dog hair back when they still had a dog.
Christmas needles.
Sophie’s glitter projects.
Now they avoided each other’s hands.
When the floor was clean, Chelsea dropped the towel into the sink.
“Did Fiona tell you?”
“Yes.”
“That signature is not mine.”
Logan’s broom stopped moving.
“I told you what happened.”
“You told me what you want me to believe.”
I looked at him.
“What happened?”
His face went pale.
Chelsea laughed again.
“Go ahead.”
“Not in front of Dad.”
“Why?”
“Because this is between us.”
“No, apparently it’s between all of us, because your father’s name is on half our financial life.”
I felt the accusation, but I let it pass.
“Logan,” I said.
He rubbed both palms over his face.
“It wasn’t supposed to matter.”
Chelsea stared at him.
The sentence seemed to shock her even though she had already guessed most of the truth.
“What wasn’t supposed to matter?”
He looked at me, then at her.
“You had already agreed.”
“I agreed to what?”
“To asking him for more time.”
“I said we should talk about asking him.”
“You said we needed breathing room.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“You were going to sign.”
Chelsea stepped closer to him.
“You signed my name.”
He did not answer.
She went completely still.
“You signed my name.”
“I knew you’d agree.”
“You forged my signature.”
“Chelsea, stop saying it like—”
“Like what?”
He flinched.
She pointed toward me.
“Did he know?”
“No.”
“Did anyone know?”
“No.”
Her voice lowered.
“How many times?”
Logan looked away.
My stomach dropped.
Chelsea saw it too.
“How many times?”
“One.”
“Don’t lie to me again.”
“It was one document.”
“That is not what I asked.”
He sat down hard in the dining chair.
I had never seen my son look smaller.
Chelsea stood over him, breathing through her nose.
Then she looked at me.
“You see?”
I did not know what she wanted me to see.
Her innocence.
His guilt.
My own blindness.
Maybe all three.
“Did you sign anything else for her?” I asked.
Logan shook his head.
“Answer me.”
“No.”
Chelsea folded her arms tighter.
“What about the business?”
His eyes moved toward her.
“What about it?”
She laughed without humor.
“Tell him.”
“Chelsea.”
“Tell him why you keep asking me for statements.”
I looked between them.
“What statements?”
May you like
Logan’s face hardened.
“Not now.”
