Part 10
Leah was quiet.
Diane cleared her throat.
“I should not have told you that.”
“No.”
“I am becoming my son.”
“Please don’t.”
Diane laughed softly.
Leah folded a onesie on Molly’s kitchen table.
“Is he eating?”
“Mateo brings food.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“He eats some of it.”
Leah placed the folded onesie in a drawer.
“You can tell him I asked.”
“I won’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked about his health, not because you wanted to send a message. Those are different.”
Leah smiled despite herself.
“You are better at this than he is.”
“I have made more mistakes.”
At thirty-six weeks, Leah returned to the house.
Cal had moved out completely except for tools stored in the garage and a row of boots by the back door. The rooms were clean in a way that made his absence visible. He had left her preferred cereal in the pantry and fresh batteries beside the smoke detector he had been meaning to replace.
The crib stood assembled in the second bedroom.
One rail still faced backward.
Leah stared at it, then laughed alone.
Cal had noticed the mistake months ago but refused to fix it until she admitted he had read the instructions correctly. She had refused because she had been the one holding the booklet.
The argument had lasted three days and ended with them agreeing the baby would not care.
She sat on the floor beside the crib.
The baby pressed a heel against her side.
Leah took a photograph of the backward rail and nearly sent it to Cal.
She did not.
Instead, she found the instruction booklet, loosened the bolts, and turned the rail herself. Halfway through, she dropped the small wrench beneath the dresser and had to lie awkwardly on one side to reach it.
She cursed Cal.
She cursed the crib manufacturer.
She cursed Thomas for returning, her mother for dying, and the human body for requiring so many precautions in order to bring one person into the world.
When the rail was fixed, Leah sat back and admired it.
It looked exactly the same.
Thomas called the next evening.
Leah almost let it go to voicemail.
“Hello.”
“Is this a bad time?”
“Yes.”
“I can call another—”
“All times are bad right now.”
Thomas accepted that.
She heard voices in the background and the clatter of dishes.
“Where are you?”
“Dining hall.”
“At the program?”
“Yes.”
“You are supposed to be eating.”
“It’s meat loaf.”
“You used to like meat loaf.”
“I used to drink cough syrup when there was nothing else.”
“That does not make the meat loaf worse.”
Thomas laughed, then coughed carefully.
“How are your ribs?”
“Better.”
“Are you going to counseling?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“So far.”
Leah walked through the quiet house. Cal’s coffee mug remained on the highest shelf because she could not reach it comfortably and refused to use a chair.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“To tell you something before you hear it from Cal.”
Her body tightened.
“What?”
“I asked him for money.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
“How much?”
“Eight hundred.”
“For what?”
“My truck needed a transmission.”
“Did he give it to you?”
“No.”
Relief came so quickly it embarrassed her.
Thomas continued.
“He offered to pay the repair shop directly. I said forget it.”
“Why?”
“Pride.”
“That is not usually cheaper.”
“No.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because you asked if I wanted something.”
“I asked that in the hospital?”
“You looked like you were asking it.”
Leah sat on the sofa.
“Did you write to him because you needed money?”
“No.”
“Did you keep writing because he might help?”
Thomas took time before answering.
“Maybe part of me did.”
She appreciated the hesitation.
“I didn’t start for that reason,” he said. “But when he offered to help with things, I liked it. Made me feel less alone. I told myself it was because he was going to be family.”
“He was not your family.”
“No.”
“He may never be.”
“I know.”
Leah traced a loose thread on the sofa cushion.
“What happened to the truck?”
“Sold it.”
“For how much?”
“Less than I said it was worth.”
“That sounds normal.”
“Guy from the program helped me buy a bus pass.”
The ordinary detail changed something. Thomas on a bus was easier to imagine than Thomas preserved forever as the man who drove away.
“Why did you come to the lodge if Cal told you not to?”
“I thought if I left the box, I could stop thinking about it.”
“You could have given it to him later.”
“I was afraid later would turn into fifteen more years.”
“That was your pattern, not mine.”
“I know.”
She let the silence remain.
In the kitchen, the refrigerator turned on. The sound triggered a memory of Thomas talking about her mother’s house, how every appliance had seemed to imitate the dead.
“I’m not ready to see you,” Leah said.
“All right.”
“I may never be ready in the way you want.”
“I don’t know what way I want.”
“That is probably something to determine before you come near my child.”
Thomas breathed carefully.
“Fair.”
“You do not get to tell people you are her grandfather.”
“I haven’t.”
“You do not get photographs.”
“I understand.”
“You do not contact Cal again.”
Thomas was silent.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Will you do it?”
“Yes.”
She believed he meant the promise.
She did not yet know whether he could keep it.
After the call, Leah sent Cal a message.
Did Thomas ask you for money?
Cal replied several minutes later.
Yes.
Why didn’t you tell me?
Because it was private and I said no.
That answer was reasonable.
She resented him for learning too late.
Did he ask for anything else?
A ride twice. Help reading VA paperwork. Advice on his truck. Information about you.
What information?
Mostly whether you were well.
May you like
What did you tell him?
More than I should have. Less than he wanted.
