Chương 10
Of course he did.
Children were insufferably literal about honesty right up until they discovered its costs.
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘Not everything all the time.’”
Daniel swallowed.
“And then?”
“I left.”
“You let her use him.”
“Yes.”
“Everybody in this story seems very comfortable saying yes after the damage.”
Richard was silent.
Daniel breathed through his nose.
“Were you going to come downstairs?”
“No.”
“Did you have a suit?”
“Yes.”
Daniel laughed.
“So yes.”
“I packed one.”
“Why?”
“Hope.”
“That sounds nicer than entitlement.”
“Probably.”
Daniel leaned against the counter.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Richard said, “Your mother would’ve hated what I did.”
Daniel went cold.
“Don’t.”
“All right.”
“You don’t get to use her.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re right.”
“Stop agreeing with me.”
Richard made a small sound.
Almost a laugh.
Daniel hated that too because it sounded like him.
“You did that when you were twelve,” Richard said.
Daniel stiffened.
“Did what?”
“Got mad when I agreed after arguing too long.”
Daniel’s throat tightened.
“I’m hanging up.”
“Okay.”
Daniel did.
For the next month, he did not speak to Richard again.
He did speak to Madison.
At first, only about Ethan.
She saw him twice a week for dinner at the house while Daniel worked late or went to the gym. They had no legal arrangement requiring this. She was not Ethan’s parent.
That made every visit a choice.
Daniel hated choices.
Rules would have been easier.
Ethan became happier after the visits began.
That mattered.
Madison never stayed after Daniel came home.
Sometimes they passed in the doorway.
“Homework done,” she would say.
“Thanks.”
“He needs poster board Thursday.”
“Got it.”
“He’s been coughing a little.”
“I know.”
Then she left.
No speeches.
No requests.
Daniel noticed.
In early November, she returned the engagement ring.
She did it at a coffee shop because Daniel had refused to meet at the house.
The ring sat inside a small navy box between them.
He stared at it.
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“I know.”
“Why are you giving it back?”
“Because it makes me act like we’re waiting to resume something.”
Daniel looked at her.
“We might not.”
“I know.”
She wrapped both hands around her coffee.
“It hurts to know that. I think I need to know it anyway.”
Daniel opened the box.
The diamond caught the weak afternoon light.
He closed it again.
“Are you seeing a therapist?”
Madison blinked.
“Yes.”
“Your mother tell you to?”
“No.”
“That sounded rude.”
“A little.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Daniel leaned back.
“I saw one too.”
Madison’s expression shifted.
He immediately regretted telling her.
Not because it was secret.
Because hope appeared too quickly on her face.
“This isn’t me saying—”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She looked down.
“I’m trying.”
Daniel drank his coffee.
It was terrible.
He had chosen the place because it was halfway between their offices and because nobody there knew them.
“I keep wanting you to explain it in a way that makes me understand,” he said.
“I know.”
“And then I get angry because understanding feels like forgiveness.”
Madison nodded.
“My therapist says understanding isn’t absolution.”
Daniel looked at her.
“What did mine say?”
“I don’t know.”
“He said therapists should stop talking like Instagram captions.”
Madison laughed.
Daniel did too.
Then both stopped because laughing together still felt dangerous.
She looked through the window.
Traffic moved slowly outside.
“I miss you.”
Daniel looked at the ring box.
“I miss you too.”
She closed her eyes.
He continued before the words became something they were not.
“That doesn’t solve anything.”
“I know.”
“I’m still angry.”
“I know.”
“I don’t trust you the way I did.”
Her mouth tightened.
“I know.”
“I hate that you keep saying that.”
A small smile appeared.
“I know.”
Daniel rolled his eyes.
For a few seconds they were themselves again.
Then they were not.
Madison looked at the table.
“Richard paid me back five hundred dollars.”
Daniel’s expression changed.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“Did you ask him?”
“No.”
“Are you still speaking to him?”
“No.”
Daniel watched her.
“He mailed a money order.”
“To your house?”
“To my mother’s.”
“With a note?”
“One sentence.”
“What did it say?”
“He said the rest would come when he could.”
Daniel looked away.
“He always says that.”
Madison nodded.
“I believe you.”
Something in her answer made him look back.
Not I believe him.
I believe you.
She had learned the distinction late.
He wished that did not matter.
It did.
In December, Richard sent another five hundred.
In January, two hundred.
Madison told Daniel each time and deposited the money without replying.
Daniel never asked her to return it.
He began therapy mostly because he disliked the version of himself who had started checking Madison’s stories for hidden meanings even when she was not there to defend them.
He became suspicious of harmless things.
A delayed text.
A changed restaurant reservation.
An unfamiliar name.
He hated that.
Trust, once damaged, made ordinary life noisy.
His therapist, Dr. Patel, was a sixty-something man with an office above a dentist and a habit of turning questions back around.
Daniel disliked him for the first three sessions.
This improved their relationship.
“You keep talking about whether Madison deserves another chance,” Dr. Patel said one afternoon.
“Seems relevant.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to know if I can trust her.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Daniel sighed.
“I don’t know.”
“Then there you are.”
“I’m paying you for more than that.”
“You’re paying me to tolerate pauses you avoid everywhere else.”
Daniel looked at the clock.
“Do you charge extra for arrogance?”
“Built into the rate.”
Daniel laughed.
Then the room became quiet again.
“I wanted to marry her,” he said.
“I know.”
“I still picture things that were supposed to happen.”
“Such as?”
“Stupid things.”
“Good. Those are usually the expensive ones.”
Daniel looked down.
May you like
“Her coffee mug in the sink.”
Dr. Patel waited.
