Chương 11
Ethan turned into the paint aisle.
Noah called after him.
“Dad, wait.”
Ethan stopped.
Noah stopped too.
They looked at each other.
A store employee stocking rollers glanced between them, unaware that anything had happened.
Noah’s face reddened.
“I meant Ethan.”
Ethan’s throat tightened.
“You can call me whatever feels right.”
“I know.”
“Okay.”
Noah stared at a display of paint samples.
“Can we go?”
“We need wall anchors.”
“I don’t care about wall anchors.”
“No one does.”
They finished shopping.
Ethan did not mention the word again.
In the car Noah asked, “Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to tell Mom?”
“Probably.”
Noah groaned.
“Why?”
“Because she asks how your day was.”
“You could skip that part.”
“I could.”
“Will you?”
Ethan considered.
“Do you want that moment to be private?”
Noah looked out the window.
“For now.”
“Okay.”
That night Mara called after Noah went to bed.
“How was today?”
“Hardware store. Burgers. Homework.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s most of it.”
She heard something.
“What happened?”
Ethan smiled.
“Nothing bad.”
“Ethan.”
“He asked me not to tell you yet.”
Mara went silent.
“Is he safe?”
“Yes.”
“Then okay.”
That answer told Ethan how far they had come.
Three months earlier she would have demanded the information.
Eight months earlier he would have given it to prove he had nothing to hide.
Now both of them could tolerate a small unknown.
Lorraine remained outside Noah’s life for nearly nine months.
Then Noah asked to see her.
The request came at Mara’s kitchen table.
Ethan had come over to help with a science project involving a model bridge, though Noah mostly wanted access to Ethan’s professional cutting tools and was disappointed to learn they would be using child-safe glue.
Noah said it while painting a wooden support.
“I want Grandma Lorraine at my birthday.”
The brush in Mara’s hand stopped.
Ethan kept his eyes on the bridge.
Mara asked, “Why?”
“Because she’s my grandma.”
“That’s not the same as being trustworthy.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Noah looked offended.
“Yes.”
Mara set the brush down.
“What do you think would happen if she came?”
“She would give me a present.”
Ethan coughed to hide a laugh.
Mara glared at him.
Noah continued.
“And maybe say sorry.”
“She already wrote you.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to forgive her?”
“I don’t know.”
Mara looked at Ethan.
He recognized the expression.
Help.
He did not jump in.
That too was progress.
Noah dipped the brush again.
“I miss her.”
Mara closed her eyes briefly.
Ethan could see what the sentence cost her.
For years Lorraine had been part of the support system Mara thought she had built herself. Someone who brought soup when Noah was sick. Someone who stayed late after fundraising dinners. Someone Mara had trusted with her child.
The betrayal was not only about Ethan.
It was personal.
“I don’t miss her,” Mara said.
Noah looked at her.
“Okay.”
“But your birthday is yours.”
His eyes widened slightly.
“So she can come?”
“I need to think about it.”
Noah groaned.
“Adults always think.”
“We’re trying to improve.”
Ethan smiled.
Mara pointed the paintbrush at him.
“Do not.”
Lorraine came to the birthday party.
There were rules.
Public location.
Two hours.
No taking Noah anywhere alone.
No private conversations about the past unless Noah initiated them.
No pretending everything was normal.
Lorraine agreed to all of it.
The party was held at an indoor climbing gym.
Ethan arrived early with Noah.
Mara came ten minutes later carrying a cake that had shifted during the drive.
“The planet is sliding off,” she said.
The cake featured a solar system.
Saturn had fallen against Jupiter.
“We can fix it.”
“No, we can’t.”
“I build things.”
“You design things. Other people build them.”
“That is unnecessarily accurate.”
They were repositioning a frosting moon when Lorraine entered.
Noah saw her first.
He froze.
Lorraine did too.
For a moment Ethan thought neither would move.
Then Noah walked toward her.
Not ran.
Walked.
Lorraine kept her arms at her sides.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“You got taller.”
“I’m nine.”
“I heard.”
Noah looked at her.
Lorraine’s eyes were already wet, but she did not cry.
Good, Ethan thought, then immediately felt mean for thinking it.
Noah asked, “Did you bring a present?”
Lorraine laughed through her nose.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
The tension broke just enough.
She handed him a wrapped box.
He opened it later.
Not immediately.
That mattered.
The party continued.
Children climbed walls.
Parents complained about the coffee.
Someone’s toddler knocked over a bowl of pretzels.
Ethan found himself beside Lorraine near the shoe rental counter.
For several minutes they watched Noah fail repeatedly at a difficult route.
“He’s stubborn,” Lorraine said.
“Mara says that’s from me.”
Lorraine smiled faintly.
“She’s probably right.”
Ethan folded his arms.
“You doing okay?”
Lorraine looked at him, surprised.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Another pause.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You’ve said that.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to keep saying it.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Then don’t say anything.”
She nodded.
They watched Noah climb.
Halfway up, he slipped.
The harness caught him.
Lorraine inhaled sharply.
Ethan did too.
Noah looked down, annoyed rather than frightened.
The instructor shouted encouragement.
He tried again.
“Mom.”
Lorraine turned.
“Yeah?”
It was the first time Ethan had called her that in months.
He had not planned it.
Her face changed.
He kept looking at the climbing wall.
“I’m not done being angry.”
“I know.”
“I might never be.”
“I know.”
“But I don’t want anger to be the only thing left.”
Lorraine’s mouth trembled.
She looked toward Noah.
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“No.”
The conversation ended there.
It was enough.
Later that afternoon, Noah sat between Ethan and Mara while Lorraine stood across the room talking with another parent.
He opened her gift.
Inside was a wooden box.
Ethan stiffened.
So did Mara.
Noah looked confused.
Then Lorraine approached.
May you like
“The lock doesn’t have a key,” she said.
Noah examined it.
