Chương 8
Emma appeared in the hallway.
“Are you getting divorced?”
Claire closed her eyes.
Children heard everything except the things adults wished they would hear.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
Emma’s eyes widened.
Claire pulled out a chair.
“Come here.”
Emma sat.
Claire crouched in front of her.
“I’m not planning to get divorced.”
“Then why did you say no?”
“Because you asked if I’m sure, and I don’t want to lie to you today.”
Emma absorbed that.
“Is Dad bad?”
“No.”
“Is Grandma bad?”
Claire hesitated.
“No.”
Emma frowned.
“She hurt me.”
“Yes.”
“Bad people hurt people.”
“Sometimes.”
“Then?”
Claire sat on the floor.
This was not a conversation she had expected to have before lunch on a Tuesday.
“People can do bad things without being only one thing forever.”
“Grandma did a really bad thing.”
“Yes.”
“Do I have to forgive her?”
“No.”
That answer came easily.
“Ever?”
“No.”
Emma looked relieved.
Claire added, “You can change your mind someday too. Or not.”
“Will you forgive her?”
Claire thought of the braid.
“I don’t know.”
“Will Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
Emma touched the cap.
“Can I have pancakes?”
Claire laughed despite herself.
“Yes.”
“With chocolate chips?”
“It’s eleven thirty.”
“So?”
“Good point.”
They made pancakes.
Daniel came downstairs while the second batch was cooking.
He looked embarrassed.
Claire handed him a plate.
He took it.
“I’m sorry I walked away.”
“I’m sorry I pushed you into a corner.”
“I might belong in a corner for a while.”
“That sounds uncomfortable.”
“Probably.”
It was not reconciliation.
It was enough to eat pancakes.
At one thirty, a child protective services investigator called.
Her name was Denise Carter. She explained that she needed to interview Emma and both parents, review the living arrangement, and understand whether Margaret had regular caregiving access.
Claire answered questions.
Daniel answered too.
When Denise asked who normally watched Emma, Claire said, “Mostly us. Sometimes my sister. Sometimes Margaret.”
“How often is sometimes?”
Claire looked at Daniel.
He answered.
“Two or three times a month.”
Claire frowned.
“More during summer.”
Daniel nodded.
Denise asked, “Has Emma ever expressed reluctance about being alone with her grandmother?”
Neither answered immediately.
That silence became an accusation all its own.
Claire thought of Saturday mornings when Emma suddenly developed stomachaches before Margaret picked her up.
Of the Christmas shopping trip Emma had refused without explaining why.
Of one evening three months earlier when Claire found Emma changing shirts after Margaret left and asked what she was doing.
Grandma said the other one makes my stomach look big.
Claire had called Margaret and argued with her for twenty minutes.
Daniel had said afterward, “You know how she is.”
Claire sat down.
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at her.
Claire continued.
“There were signs.”
“What kind?”
Claire described them.
Daniel looked progressively worse.
Denise did not react visibly.
“Did either of you reduce contact?”
“We stopped letting her comment on clothes,” Claire said.
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
Daniel said, “No.”
After the call, neither spoke for several minutes.
Finally Daniel said, “You never told me about the shirt.”
Claire looked at him.
“I did.”
“No.”
“I did. That night.”
He searched his face for the memory.
“You said Mom made a comment.”
“I told you exactly what she said.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“I do.”
Daniel sat heavily.
“What did I say?”
Claire hated that she remembered.
“You said, ‘Can we not do this tonight?’”
He stared at the floor.
There were moments when victory became disgusting.
Claire had wanted him to understand how often he had dismissed her.
Now he did.
She wished he did not have to learn through Emma’s shaved head.
“I was tired,” he said.
“I know.”
“I had a presentation the next morning.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“No.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I keep finding these little places where I could have stopped something.”
Claire looked at him.
“That’s not useful if it turns into you hating yourself.”
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Learn.”
He gave her a humorless smile.
“You sound like a motivational poster.”
“I know. I hate it.”
That made him laugh once.
It was the wrong time.
They both knew it.
Somehow that helped.
By Wednesday, the story had escaped the family.
Margaret told Daniel’s older sister, Rebecca.
Rebecca called at seven fifteen in the morning.
Daniel put the call on speaker without being asked.
“Tell me Mom is lying,” Rebecca said.
Daniel looked at Claire.
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
“She shaved Emma’s head.”
Silence.
Then Rebecca said, “Why?”
“Because she thought Emma was becoming vain.”
“That sounds like Mom.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Rebecca continued quickly.
“I don’t mean it sounds okay. I mean it sounds like something she would say.”
“She told Emma I paid her.”
“What?”
“I gave Mom two hundred for her porch last week. She used it to convince Emma I wanted her hair shaved.”
Rebecca cursed.
Daniel looked toward the living room.
“Keep your voice down.”
“Sorry. Where’s Emma?”
“Home.”
“Is she okay?”
“No.”
Another silence.
Then Rebecca asked, “What did Claire do?”
Claire looked at Daniel.
There it was.
Margaret’s version had traveled faster.
Daniel said, “Claire cut a strip of Mom’s hair with the clippers.”
Rebecca inhaled.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I know.”
“Did she attack her?”
Claire spoke.
“I caught her wrist when she tried to grab the clippers. Then I cut her hair intentionally.”
Rebecca went quiet.
“Claire, that was…”
“Wrong.”
“I was going to say insane.”
Daniel stiffened.
Claire held up a hand.
“She’s allowed.”
Rebecca exhaled.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”
“No, you should. It was wrong.”
“That doesn’t make what Mom did okay.”
“I know.”
Rebecca’s voice softened.
“She called me crying.”
Claire almost said Margaret had not cried when Emma did.
She stopped herself.
Rebecca continued.
“She said you’ve been trying to isolate Daniel from the family for years.”
Daniel looked at the ceiling.
“She’s been saying that since we got married.”
May you like
“I know.”
“Do you believe her?”
