Chương 6
“I’m not angry.”
His mother made a dry sound.
“Your father used to say that exactly like that.”
Daniel looked out the window.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Eat.”
“I will.”
“Something with actual food in it.”
“Yes.”
After they disconnected, Daniel opened the refrigerator and found half a container of takeout noodles.
He ate them cold because heating them felt like an unnecessary commitment.
At six twenty his phone displayed a message from Rebecca.
I am not asking you to forgive me. I am asking you to let me explain when you can stand to be in the same room with me.
He read it twice.
Then he placed the phone facedown again.
At seven, Aaron called.
Daniel let it ring.
At seven fifteen, Aaron called again.
Daniel answered.
“What?”
“I deserve that.”
“Don’t start by telling me what you deserve.”
“All right.”
There was background noise on Aaron’s side. A television, maybe. Then Lily laughing faintly at something.
Daniel sat straighter.
“She okay?”
“She’s watching a baking show.”
“Did she eat?”
“Two grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“That’s one more than she usually eats.”
“I know.”
Daniel waited.
Aaron exhaled.
“I need to apologize to you.”
“Not tonight.”
“I need to.”
“No. You need to apologize to your daughter.”
“I did.”
“Do it again tomorrow.”
“I will.”
Daniel picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Rebecca when I introduced you two?”
Aaron was silent.
“You remember that, right?”
“Of course I remember.”
Eight months earlier Daniel and Aaron had met for coffee after nearly two years of barely speaking. Rebecca had joined them for twenty minutes. Aaron had arrived late. When he saw her, he had gone white.
Daniel had noticed.
He had assumed it was resentment about being excluded from the wedding plans.
Rebecca had barely spoken to him.
Daniel had interpreted that as loyalty.
The memory made him feel physically sick.
“You sat across from me,” Daniel said.
“I know.”
“She sat beside me.”
“I know.”
“And neither of you said a word.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Aaron’s answer took long enough that Daniel could hear Lily asking the television whether somebody had forgotten sugar.
“Because I was ashamed.”
“Of marrying her?”
“Of what I was when she was with me.”
Daniel said nothing.
Aaron continued.
“I had been sober from gambling for four years. I’d finally started making things normal for Lily. Then I walk into that coffee place and the woman who knew the worst version of me is sitting next to my brother.”
“You thought I’d judge you.”
“I knew you would.”
Daniel almost argued.
He did not.
Aaron said, “And I thought maybe they’d gotten divorced without me knowing. Or maybe she’d fixed it. It sounds stupid now.”
“It sounded stupid while you were saying it.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you contact her after?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“That night.”
Daniel stood.
“She knew eight months ago?”
“I asked her whether the divorce had been finalized.”
“And?”
“She told me not to contact her.”
“What exactly did she say?”
Aaron paused.
“That our marriage was over and had been over for years. She said if there was paperwork unfinished, we could deal with it without involving you.”
Daniel pressed his fingers to his forehead.
“You agreed.”
“For a while.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want you knowing.”
There was the second complete answer of the day.
Daniel walked to the window.
Below him, traffic moved through the intersection in red and white lines.
“What changed in January?”
“Lily’s assignment.”
“You checked the records.”
“Yeah.”
“And then you contacted Rebecca.”
“Yes.”
“Why not me?”
“Because I thought she’d tell you.”
Daniel laughed quietly.
Aaron did not.
“When did you realize she hadn’t?”
“I asked Lily whether you and Rebecca were still getting married.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“You used Lily again.”
“I asked one question.”
“She is not a scheduling app.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Aaron’s voice sharpened.
“Do you think I feel good about today?”
“I don’t care how you feel about today.”
“You keep acting like I planned for her to walk down that aisle.”
“You gave her the envelope.”
“I made a bad decision.”
“You make a lot of those.”
Silence.
The sentence had arrived from eight years earlier.
Their father’s funeral.
The argument behind the church.
Aaron had been three months behind on payments to their mother, money he had borrowed and lost gambling. Daniel had called him irresponsible. Aaron had called Daniel a smug little bastard who thought being careful made him good.
They had barely spoken for four years afterward.
“Okay,” Aaron said.
Daniel rubbed his face.
“Sorry.”
“No. Don’t.”
“I shouldn’t have said it.”
“But you meant it.”
Daniel sank into a chair.
“Some of it.”
“Then let some of it be true.”
Neither spoke for a while.
Finally Aaron said, “I’m going to send you the documents.”
“Don’t send me screenshots.”
“I have PDFs.”
“Send everything.”
“I will.”
“And do not tell Lily anything else about this.”
“I won’t.”
“Nothing.”
“I heard you.”
Daniel almost ended the call.
Then Aaron said, “Dan?”
Nobody called him Dan anymore.
“What?”
“I wasn’t trying to save you.”
Daniel frowned.
“I was trying to stop her.”
“From what?”
“Doing what I did.”
Daniel looked at the dark window.
“Pretending something was over because I needed it to be over.”
The line remained in his head after the call ended.
At nine thirty, Daniel received an email containing eleven attachments.
He did not open them.
Instead he changed out of his wedding suit.
The gray jacket went on a hanger. The vest followed. He removed the white pocket square and found a faint red mark near one corner from the crimson envelope.
He nearly laughed.
Of all the things from that day, the envelope had stained exactly one object.
He placed the suit in the closet.
Rebecca’s navy travel bag sat on the upper shelf.
They were supposed to leave for Lisbon the next morning.
May you like
Daniel took the bag down.
He did not pack it.
