Chương 14
“So perhaps neither of you should pretend.”
She rubbed beneath one eye.
“That might be the smartest thing you’ve ever said.”
“Unlikely.”
“It’s a low bar.”
They sat together until the cold pushed them inside.
The legal consequences arrived slowly.
Benton was indicted on financial crimes, conspiracy, obstruction, and charges related to the attack on Margaret after additional evidence connected intermediaries to the vehicle that forced her car from the road.
Julian Moss cooperated.
Philip Dane’s estate became entangled in civil litigation.
Richard Cole’s death was ruled a suicide. His note and records showed Benton had pressured him after learning Ethan’s placement with Arthur had become permanent enough to threaten exposure.
Cole had helped manipulate the original DNA samples using stored genetic material from Margaret’s medical records because he feared Arthur might reject Ethan before Vanessa could position the boy near him.
The irony was almost unbearable.
Ethan had truly been Arthur’s grandson.
They had committed fraud to prove something that was already true.
Vanessa eventually pleaded guilty to custodial interference, child endangerment, fraud, and related offenses.
Her cooperation reduced her sentence but did not erase it.
Arthur never visited her.
Ethan asked once whether he could.
Arthur wanted to say no.
Margaret said, “That should be his decision later.”
Arthur disliked the answer.
Which was one reason he accepted it.
They postponed the visit.
Months passed.
The newspapers lost interest.
The house did not.
Margaret moved into a rented place fifteen minutes from Arthur’s Boston home rather than living with him.
Arthur offered to buy it.
She refused.
He offered to improve the security.
She allowed two cameras and rejected the rest.
He hired a driver for Ethan.
Margaret fired the driver on day three because Ethan wanted to ride the school bus.
Arthur called.
Margaret answered.
“What?”
“You fired Dennis.”
“He’s lovely.”
“Then why?”
“Because Ethan is six, not Secretary of State.”
“There are security concerns.”
“There are always security concerns with you.”
“His kidnapping occurred four months ago.”
“I know. I was informed.”
Arthur went quiet.
Margaret softened.
“We talked to the security consultant and the school. The bus route is controlled. An adult meets him at both ends. He wants to ride with his friends.”
Arthur looked at the framed photograph on his desk.
Margaret at nineteen.
Orange cap.
“You already decided.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are we talking?”
“Because you’re his grandfather.”
The sentence mattered.
Arthur sat back.
“What time does the bus arrive?”
“Three twelve.”
“It was three sixteen yesterday.”
Margaret groaned.
“Dad.”
“I happened to notice.”
“Of course you did.”
Ethan loved school.
Not every day.
Some mornings he complained that socks were invented by bad people.
Some afternoons he refused to discuss anything.
He became obsessed with a boy named Noah who could whistle through his teeth.
He disliked handwriting.
Loved science.
Once lied about finishing homework and spent twenty minutes insisting the missing worksheet had been stolen by a criminal.
Margaret asked what kind of criminal stole first-grade spelling.
Ethan said, “A spelling criminal.”
Arthur had to leave the room because he laughed too hard.
The ordinary life Margaret had wanted for him did not arrive as a reward.
It arrived as work.
Therapy appointments.
Custody hearings.
School forms requiring Ethan to explain why he had a mother who had recently returned from presumed death.
Nightmares.
Questions.
Anger.
Ethan sometimes refused to speak to Margaret for hours.
Sometimes he followed her everywhere.
Once he screamed at her because she went to the grocery store without telling him.
Margaret sat on the kitchen floor after he went upstairs.
Arthur found her there.
“I ruined him.”
“No.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” Arthur said. “I know you didn’t do it alone.”
She looked at him.
“That is a terrible pep talk.”
“I’m improving.”
“Slowly.”
He sat on the floor beside her.
His knees objected immediately.
Margaret noticed.
“You need help?”
“No.”
“You’re sixty-nine.”
“I am aware.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
They sat against the cabinets.
After a while Arthur said, “When you were eight, I missed your school play.”
Margaret frowned.
“Why are we doing this?”
“I told you I had a board meeting.”
“You did.”
“There was no board meeting.”
She stared.
“I was in Philadelphia dealing with a financing crisis. I could have left. I didn’t.”
Margaret looked down.
“Why tell me now?”
“Because I spent years pretending my failures were accidents.”
She was quiet.
Arthur continued.
“I thought providing enough would eventually excuse absence.”
Margaret rubbed her thumb along a grout line.
“Did it?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
He looked at her.
“That’s all?”
She smiled faintly.
“I’m still mad.”
Arthur laughed.
“Apparently that runs in the family.”
Ethan came downstairs.
He stopped when he saw them on the floor.
“Why are you sitting there?”
Margaret said, “Grandpa fell.”
Arthur looked at her.
Ethan’s eyes widened.
“I did not.”
Margaret started laughing.
Ethan did too.
Arthur stood without assistance purely out of spite.
That evening they ate pizza.
Arthur complained it was too greasy.
Margaret and Ethan ignored him.
Six months after the mountain terminal, Ethan asked about Vanessa.
They were in Arthur’s garden.
Ethan had been trying to build a small shelter for worms using sticks, which Arthur did not understand but had been ordered not to improve.
“Is she bad?”
Arthur looked up from his newspaper.
“Vanessa?”
Ethan nodded.
Arthur folded the paper.
“She did bad things.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Arthur sighed.
The child had inherited too much precision.
“I don’t know if people are only one thing.”
Ethan pushed a stick into the soil.
“She made pancakes.”
Arthur waited.
“She burned them sometimes.”
“I burn pancakes.”
“You don’t make pancakes.”
“Exactly.”
Ethan smiled.
Then became serious.
“She was mean.”
“Yes.”
“She also read to me.”
Arthur said nothing.
“Can both be true?”
“Yes.”
Ethan looked relieved and unhappy at the same time.
Arthur understood.
“Do I have to hate her?”
“No.”
“Mom does.”
“Your mother has reasons.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
May you like
“Do you hate her?”
Arthur looked toward the roses.
