Chương 3
Daniel’s face went pale.
“I did stand up.”
“Three seconds.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Lily began rubbing the edge of Daniel’s collar between two fingers.
Natalie saw the movement and stopped.
This was not the argument she wanted her daughter remembering.
She reached for Lily.
Daniel gave her over immediately.
Too immediately.
Natalie felt his embarrassment in the speed of it.
She settled Lily against her hip.
“We’re leaving for a little while,” she said.
Richard’s mouth tightened with satisfaction.
Natalie looked directly at him.
“You’re not staying here alone. Elaine can stay. Daniel can stay if he wants. You have until I come back to decide whether you’re packing yourself or I’m calling the attorney who handled the closing and the property manager.”
Richard stared at her.
“You hired a property manager?”
“I planned to renovate.”
“You planned to what?”
Natalie turned away.
“Come on, Lily.”
Daniel stepped into her path, not blocking her exactly, just close enough that she had to stop.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“This is home.”
She looked around the dining room.
The chandelier was still lit. Warm daylight leaned through the tall windows behind the cream curtains. White cabinetry in the open kitchen reflected the amber light. The table was broad enough for twelve and had been set for five.
It looked like a magazine photograph of an American family who had never once raised their voices.
Natalie looked at the cake on the floor.
“No,” she said. “It’s property.”
Daniel flinched.
She regretted the sentence immediately.
Not enough to take it back.
Their apartment was twenty minutes away without traffic.
Natalie drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting near Lily’s knee. Lily sat silently in the back seat, turquoise skirt gathered around her booster. She had not cried yet.
That worried Natalie.
Four-year-olds cried over socks that felt wrong and bananas that broke in half. Silence took more work.
At the second red light, Natalie looked in the mirror.
“Do you want to talk?”
Lily shook her head.
“Okay.”
Another light.
A city bus moved beside them, its windows throwing rectangles of reflected sun across the car.
“Was Grandpa Richard mad because I touched the frosting?”
Natalie tightened her fingers around the steering wheel.
“No.”
“I touched it two times.”
“I know.”
“You said wait.”
“You did not do anything wrong.”
“Then why?”
There were answers Natalie could give.
Because he is cruel.
Because he thinks family means blood when it benefits him.
Because he has been angry since Daniel married me.
Because some adults are more frightened of losing control than they are ashamed of hurting children.
None belonged in a four-year-old’s head.
“He made a bad choice,” Natalie said. “A very bad one.”
“Is he still Grandpa?”
Natalie looked at the road.
The light changed.
She drove through the intersection before answering.
“I don’t know.”
Lily seemed to accept that.
A minute later she said, “My cake was pretty.”
Natalie swallowed.
“Yeah.”
“Grandma Elaine got it.”
“She did.”
“I didn’t have any.”
“I know.”
At the apartment, Lily asked to wear pajamas before six.
Natalie let her.
She wiped the tiny bit of turquoise frosting from the hem of the party dress and put it in the laundry sink instead of the hamper. The stain did not look serious, but she stood over it longer than necessary, rubbing dish soap into the fabric with her thumb.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Daniel.
She let it ring.
A minute later a text appeared.
Can we talk without Dad here?
Natalie stared at it.
Then another.
He’s packing.
Then:
Mom is crying.
Natalie put the phone face down.
From Lily’s room came the sound of a wooden block hitting the floor.
Natalie went in.
Lily sat cross-legged in pink pajamas building a narrow tower from mismatched blocks. She had changed the turquoise bows to her wrists like bracelets.
“Need help?”
“No.”
Natalie sat against the wall anyway.
Lily placed another block on the tower.
It fell.
She looked at it.
Then she rebuilt the bottom.
Five minutes passed.
“Mommy?”
“Mm-hm?”
“If we have the big house, can my room be upstairs?”
Natalie looked at her.
“How do you know we have the house?”
“You said it.”
Natalie almost smiled.
Of course she had.
Adults imagined children missed things simply because children did not understand the paperwork.
“Maybe,” she said.
“Can I have yellow?”
“Yellow what?”
“Walls.”
“You hate yellow.”
“I like light yellow.”
“Since when?”
Lily shrugged.
“Today.”
Natalie laughed before she could stop herself.
It came out soft and tired.
Lily smiled.
That was the first normal thing to happen since the cake hit the floor.
The apartment door opened at seven twenty-three.
Daniel still used his key.
Natalie was in the kitchen scraping untouched pasta into a container when he stepped inside carrying an overnight bag.
He looked exhausted.
His navy sweater was wrinkled at one elbow. A pale line crossed his forehead where he had apparently been pressing his hand.
“Is she asleep?”
“Almost.”
“Can I see her?”
Natalie closed the container.
“She asked if you were mad at her.”
Daniel shut his eyes.
“Why would she think that?”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“I did say something.”
“Eventually.”
He put the bag down.
“You keep saying that like I stood there for ten minutes.”
“You stood there long enough for her to notice.”
“I was shocked.”
“So was she.”
He looked toward the hallway.
“I’m sorry.”
Natalie opened the refrigerator.
“For which part?”
He leaned both hands on the counter.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“That’s probably a good sign.”
His eyes moved to her.
There was anger there now.
Not much.
Enough.
“You bought my parents’ house.”
“Yes.”
“With what money?”
“The down payment came from the sale of my Brightline shares.”
His mouth opened.
“You sold those?”
“In February.”
“You told me you were waiting.”
“I changed my mind.”
“And didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
May you like
Daniel looked away.
The refrigerator hummed between them.
