Chương 14
They went to dinner without him.
Had their first serious argument as a couple over money.
Their second over Ethan leaving wet towels on furniture.
Their third over Lorraine.
That one lasted four days.
Lorraine had asked whether she could attend Thanksgiving.
Mara said she was not ready to have her in the house for a family holiday.
Ethan said he understood, then spent the evening sulking.
Mara called him out.
He denied sulking.
She laughed.
“You have been aggressively loading the dishwasher for twenty minutes.”
“I’m cleaning.”
“You put a cast-iron pan in there.”
He looked down.
“Damn it.”
“You’re angry.”
“I’m disappointed.”
“Same family.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“That maybe after three years she’s earned a chair at dinner.”
Mara crossed her arms.
“In your house, sure.”
“Noah wants her here.”
“This is my house.”
“He lives here too.”
Her face changed.
Ethan knew he had gone too far.
“This is exactly what I mean.”
“What?”
“You wait until you have a moral argument, then you walk past the boundary.”
“I’m not walking past anything.”
“You just turned my discomfort into a failure to consider my son.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Ethan turned away.
He opened the dishwasher.
Removed the cast-iron pan.
Set it in the sink.
Ordinary movements helped.
“I want one holiday where I don’t have to look at the person who lied to me for years.”
“That’s fair.”
“I know it is.”
“I also want my mother at Thanksgiving.”
“Also fair.”
They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen.
There was no perfect answer.
That was becoming familiar.
Finally Mara said, “What if we split the day?”
Ethan looked at her.
“Noah has lunch with Lorraine. Dinner here.”
“You’d be okay with that?”
“No.”
He almost smiled.
“But I can survive being uncomfortable.”
“So can I.”
“Good.”
He walked around the counter.
Mara held up one finger.
“I’m still mad.”
“I know.”
“Do not use affection to end an argument.”
“I was going to get water.”
“Liar.”
“A little.”
They split Thanksgiving.
Nobody died.
That became a family joke.
By Noah’s twelfth birthday, the family tree from the café had become difficult to find.
Mara thought it was in a closet.
Ethan thought Lorraine had it.
Lorraine insisted she had returned it.
Noah did not care.
Then his middle-school social studies teacher assigned a project about family history.
The irony was so obvious that even Noah groaned.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
They were at Ethan’s apartment.
Mara was there for dinner.
Lorraine had stopped by with a birthday card she had forgotten to mail.
Four people stood around Ethan’s dining table.
The same table, technically, where he had once kept the cream folder for weeks because he did not know what else to do with it.
Noah read the assignment sheet.
“Interview relatives about a family event that changed your family.”
Lorraine sat down.
“No.”
Mara laughed.
Ethan pointed at Noah.
“Pick something else.”
“I could do Grandpa dying.”
Ethan’s smile faded.
Noah noticed.
“Sorry.”
“No. You can.”
“I don’t remember him.”
“You never met him.”
“Exactly.”
Mara said, “You could interview Frank about moving to Arizona.”
“That’s boring.”
“My father would be offended.”
“He moved because taxes were lower.”
“That is, unfortunately, the whole story.”
Lorraine folded her hands.
“You could do the café.”
Three heads turned toward her.
She winced.
“Bad suggestion.”
Noah looked interested.
“What café?”
Ethan stared.
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember a café.”
Mara sat slowly.
Noah looked between them.
“Wait.”
Then he grinned.
“The folder.”
Lorraine covered her face.
“Oh, God.”
Noah laughed.
“I forgot about that.”
Ethan could not believe it.
“That moment permanently altered my nervous system.”
“I was eight.”
“You hit the table like a prosecutor.”
“I was mad.”
“You rattled my coffee.”
“Good.”
Mara smiled.
“You rehearsed that line.”
“What line?”
“From Grandma’s locked box.”
Noah frowned.
“I did?”
“You practiced in the car.”
“I don’t remember.”
Ethan looked at Mara.
“You let him rehearse?”
“He insisted.”
“I thought he was terrifyingly composed.”
“He asked me three times whether he should point at you.”
Noah groaned.
“Stop.”
Lorraine laughed.
The sound made everyone quiet for half a second.
Not because it was forbidden.
Because there had once been a time when laughter among the four of them would have been impossible.
Noah noticed.
He looked at Lorraine.
Then at Ethan.
Then at Mara.
“What happened to the folder?”
Nobody knew.
That bothered Ethan.
Not because the object mattered.
Because once, it had seemed like the most important thing he owned.
They searched Mara’s house the following weekend.
Noah quit after ten minutes.
Ethan kept looking.
Mara found him in the hall closet moving boxes.
“You know we can just make a new one.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Of course not.”
He pulled down an old plastic bin.
Inside were tax records, kindergarten art, receipts, a broken lamp cord and three single gloves.
“Why do you have three gloves?”
“Life happens.”
“None match.”
“I’m optimistic.”
He smiled.
At the bottom of the bin lay a cream folder.
Ethan stopped.
Mara saw it.
Neither moved for a moment.
Then Ethan lifted it out.
The cover was bent.
MY FAMILY had faded.
Inside, the family-tree page still held his photograph.
The glue had yellowed around the edges.
ETHAN COLE? remained underneath.
Question mark and all.
Mara touched the paper.
“He wrote that himself.”
“I know.”
“I told him the spelling.”
Ethan looked at her.
“You knew my last name.”
She gave him a tired look.
“We settled this years ago.”
“I know.”
“You still hate that sentence.”
“A little.”
She smiled.
They carried the folder downstairs.
Noah was sprawled on the couch.
Lorraine sat in an armchair reading something on her phone.
Ethan handed Noah the folder.
He opened it.
For several seconds he said nothing.
Then:
“My handwriting was awful.”
Mara laughed.
“That’s what you notice?”
“It’s bad.”
May you like
“You were eight.”
“I spelled Grandpa wrong.”
