Chương 11
At one-fifteen, he poured the coffee out because he did not want it.
At one-thirty, his phone buzzed with messages from people he had not heard from in years.
Saw something weird online. You good?
Hey man is that you?
Bro what happened?
He answered none of them.
At two, Ryan posted again.
Ethan had promised Lauren he would not look.
He looked.
Ryan’s post was long.
He wrote that he had been “physically attacked during a private family disagreement” and that “certain relatives were now falsely portraying a sarcastic comment as a serious threat toward a child.”
He admitted placing the soccer ball on the grill.
He called it “a stupid joke.”
He denied threatening to hurt Noah.
That was the lie Ethan could not tolerate.
Not the claim about the shove.
Not the wrist.
Not even the insinuation that Ethan was unstable.
He denied the words.
Ethan opened the comment box.
Typed:
You looked an eight-year-old in the face and said—
He stopped.
Lauren’s voice appeared in his mind with irritating clarity.
You will respond.
He deleted it.
Then Ryan posted a photograph.
His wrist in a brace.
The caption:
For everyone saying nothing happened.
Ethan threw his phone onto the couch.
It bounced onto the floor.
He stood over it.
The screen was not broken.
He wished it were.
The doorbell rang.
Margaret stood outside holding a grocery bag.
“I brought soup.”
“It’s ninety degrees.”
“You can refrigerate soup.”
“I know how soup works.”
“Good. I was worried.”
She walked past him.
He almost told her he was not hungry.
Then he smelled chicken and rice.
His stomach betrayed him.
They ate at the kitchen island.
Margaret did not mention the internet.
For ten minutes she discussed the price of tomatoes.
Then she said, “Ryan called me.”
Ethan put down his spoon.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Why are you still answering?”
“I didn’t know it was him. He called from Kendra’s phone.”
Ethan frowned.
“She gave him her phone?”
“No. He was at her apartment.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom.”
“She told him to leave.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
Margaret pushed rice around her bowl.
“He wanted me to tell everyone he never threatened Noah.”
Ethan laughed.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I heard exactly what he said.”
“And?”
“He told me I was remembering it wrong because Ethan had upset everybody.”
Ethan stared at her.
“He said my name like I wasn’t there,” Margaret continued. “As if you had infected the afternoon somehow.”
“What did you do?”
“I hung up.”
He leaned back.
“Good.”
She nodded.
Then her face changed.
“What?”
“I hated him for about five minutes.”
Ethan said nothing.
Margaret’s eyes filled, but she did not cry.
“I have loved that boy since he was born. Susan handed him to me when he was ten minutes old because she was shaking too badly to hold him.”
Ethan looked at the counter.
“She would be furious with me.”
“At you?”
“For letting this go as long as I did.”
“You didn’t make him do it.”
“No.”
She smiled sadly.
“But I helped him avoid smaller consequences. Sometimes that’s how people arrive at bigger ones.”
Ethan thought about Noah.
The soccer ball.
The frightened question about jail.
He said, “I did that with Dad.”
Margaret looked at him.
He had not planned to say it.
“When?”
“All the time.”
“Your father?”
“I made excuses.”
“You were a child.”
“Not always.”
Margaret waited.
Ethan stared into the soup.
“When he got angry at that Little League coach, I told everybody the guy swore at him first.”
“I remember.”
“He didn’t.”
Margaret said nothing.
“I knew he didn’t. I just thought if Dad looked bad, then somehow I looked bad too.”
Margaret reached for his hand.
He pulled it away before she could touch him.
Not because he was angry.
Because he needed to finish.
“When I was nineteen and he shoved Uncle Mike at Thanksgiving, I told you Mike pushed him first.”
“You were trying to keep the peace.”
“I was lying.”
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
She did not soften it.
That helped.
Ethan said, “I keep thinking if I can prove Ryan was worse, then I don’t have to look at what I did.”
Margaret nodded.
“He was worse.”
“I know.”
She smiled despite herself.
Ethan laughed.
Then they both did.
Only for a second.
It felt good and terrible.
Noah had a soccer game Saturday morning.
He did not want to go.
Ethan found out when Lauren called at seven.
“He says his stomach hurts.”
“Does it?”
“No fever.”
“Could still hurt.”
“Ethan.”
“What?”
“He won’t put his uniform on.”
Ethan sat up in bed.
“I’ll come over.”
When he arrived, Noah was sitting on the stairs in pajama pants.
His uniform lay folded beside him.
Lauren stood in the kitchen.
“I’m not making him go.”
“Neither am I.”
Noah looked at Ethan.
“Coach said I have to.”
“Coach doesn’t live here.”
“He said if we miss games without being sick, we can’t start next game.”
“That’s probably true.”
“So I have to.”
“No.”
Noah frowned.
Ethan sat two steps below him.
“You want to tell me why you don’t want to go?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Lauren leaned against the kitchen counter.
Nobody spoke.
After nearly a minute, Noah said, “There are cars.”
Ethan looked at him.
“At the field?”
“In the parking lot.”
“Yeah.”
“What if the ball goes there?”
“It might.”
Noah swallowed.
“What if somebody gets mad?”
Ethan rested his forearms on his knees.
“Somebody might get mad.”
Lauren looked at him sharply.
He continued.
“People get mad sometimes.”
Noah stared at the floor.
“But normal people don’t put your ball on a grill because it rolls near a car.”
“What if they do?”
“Then we leave.”
“What if they have a poker?”
Lauren closed her eyes.
Ethan felt a sudden urge to lie.
No pokers at soccer games.
May you like
Everything will be fine.
Nothing bad will happen.
