Chương 9
“Who taught you that?”
“Madison.”
Of course.
Later, after Ethan slept, Daniel sat alone at the kitchen table.
The house was full of Madison without containing her.
Her coffee beans were in the freezer because she believed that preserved them.
Her running shoes were by the mudroom door.
A ceramic bowl she hated but kept because Ethan had painted it at summer camp held three lemons on the counter.
Daniel opened a drawer and found twelve hair ties, none of which had ever belonged to him.
He closed it.
The absence was not clean.
That annoyed him too.
He wanted betrayal to simplify love.
Instead it made love inconvenient.
On Thursday, Richard called.
Daniel let it go to voicemail.
No message.
Friday, he called again.
No message.
Sunday afternoon, Daniel drove to a hardware store because a drawer in the kitchen had been sticking for months.
He bought new slides.
At home he removed the drawer, sat on the floor, and spent forty minutes discovering the cabinet was slightly out of square.
Ethan wandered in eating apple slices.
“What are you doing?”
“Losing an argument with furniture.”
“Can I help?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I enjoy suffering privately.”
Ethan sat beside him anyway.
After a while he said, “Is your dad bad?”
Daniel stopped turning the screwdriver.
“What makes you ask that?”
“The man.”
Daniel looked at his son.
Ethan ate another apple slice.
“Madison said he was your dad.”
Daniel set the screwdriver down.
“When?”
“That night.”
“In her room?”
“Yeah.”
Daniel felt anger stir, then controlled it.
“What exactly did she say?”
“She said, ‘This is Richard. He’s your dad’s dad.’”
“Anything else?”
“She said it was complicated.”
Ethan pronounced the word carefully.
Daniel nodded.
“It is.”
“So is he bad?”
Daniel looked at the open cabinet.
He could have answered yes.
A part of him wanted to.
Instead he said, “He did bad things.”
“Like lying?”
“Yes.”
“Like Madison?”
Daniel looked at him.
“Some lying is bigger than other lying.”
“Why?”
“Because of what it does to people.”
Ethan thought about that.
“Did he hurt you?”
Daniel breathed in.
“Yes.”
“With punching?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
Daniel looked at his son’s small face.
“He left when I needed him.”
Ethan became very still.
“Like forever?”
“Pretty much.”
“Did he come back?”
“Sometimes.”
“But then he left again?”
“Yes.”
Ethan stared at his apple.
“That’s mean.”
Daniel nodded.
“Yes.”
“Do you have to see him?”
The question hit harder than anything Madison had asked in months.
Daniel looked away.
“No.”
“Okay.”
Ethan stood.
He took three steps toward the door, then turned.
“I won’t make you.”
Daniel looked at him.
“Make me what?”
“See him.”
The boy shrugged.
“Because you said no.”
He left.
Daniel sat on the floor for a long time afterward.
The drawer remained broken.
That night he called Richard.
The number rang four times.
“Hello?”
The voice was older.
Still unmistakable.
Daniel said nothing.
On the other end, Richard inhaled.
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Daniel’s hand tightened around the phone.
Richard spoke first.
“I’m not going to ask where you are.”
“Good.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d call.”
“I wasn’t either.”
Another pause.
Richard’s voice had changed from what Daniel remembered. Softer, perhaps because age did that to voices. The old rhythm remained. The slight hesitation before difficult sentences. The habit of clearing his throat when he wanted more time.
Daniel hated recognizing it.
“I read your letter.”
“All right.”
“You asked Madison for money.”
Richard was quiet.
“Yes.”
“So the sentence about not wanting financial help was technically creative.”
“I didn’t ask you.”
“You used my fiancée.”
“I asked her for a loan.”
“Why?”
“I was behind.”
“Are you still?”
“No.”
“How?”
“I moved.”
Daniel walked to the kitchen window.
“Did you plan to repay her?”
“Yes.”
“Have you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I have forty-eight dollars until Friday.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
There it was.
The same humiliating arithmetic from childhood.
Not enough money.
Another promise.
Friday.
Always Friday.
“You haven’t changed.”
Richard did not answer immediately.
“No,” he said finally. “Not in every way.”
Daniel had expected denial.
The absence of it destabilized him.
“You came to my wedding.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Madison asked.”
“You knew I didn’t want you there.”
“Yes.”
“And you came.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Richard exhaled.
“Because I wanted something.”
Daniel laughed.
“Finally.”
“I wanted to see you.”
“That isn’t noble.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You let her turn my wedding into an ambush.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought it was the only chance I’d get.”
Daniel looked out at the dark yard.
“So your need mattered more.”
“Yes.”
The answer landed harder than an excuse would have.
Daniel rubbed his face.
“Did Madison tell you I had forbidden contact with Ethan?”
“Not in those words.”
“What words?”
“She said you didn’t want me around him.”
“And you met him.”
“He walked into the room.”
“You could have left.”
“Yes.”
“You asked his name.”
“Yes.”
“You told him he looked like me.”
Richard’s voice changed.
“I shouldn’t have.”
“No.”
“I know.”
Daniel nearly hung up.
Instead he asked, “Why did Madison tell Ethan to hide the key?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were there.”
“She found the card on the table after I left her room. I’d dropped it. The boy had come back in because he left some toy.”
“What toy?”
“A little plastic dinosaur.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
A green triceratops Ethan carried in his pocket for three weeks.
Richard continued.
“I was already in the hallway. I heard her tell him to put the card in his pocket.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t want you to see it.”
“You heard that?”
“Yes.”
“And the part about me never knowing your name?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Daniel gripped the counter.
“What exactly did she say?”
Richard hesitated.
“Daniel.”
“What did she say?”
“She told him, ‘Dad can’t know Richard’s name yet. It would ruin the surprise.’”
Daniel stared at the dark glass.
May you like
Richard added quietly, “The boy said, ‘Dad should know everything.’”
Daniel shut his eyes.
