Chương 13
No phone.
No righteous mental argument.
Just the house settling around him.
At eight-ten, Noah called.
“Dad?”
“Hey.”
“Mom says you’re sad.”
Ethan looked at the ceiling.
“Your mother needs hobbies.”
“She said you’re stressed.”
“That’s more accurate.”
“Are you going to work Monday?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you fired?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Ethan smiled despite himself.
“I’m pretty sure.”
“You say pretty sure when you’re not sure.”
“That is an outrageous amount of observation for one child.”
Noah was quiet.
Then he said, “Can I ask something?”
“Always.”
“If Ryan says sorry, do we have to forgive him?”
Ethan did not answer immediately.
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Why?”
“Grandma said family should forgive.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“When did she say that?”
“At Christmas.”
“About what?”
“Brad ate the pie she was saving.”
Ethan laughed.
Noah laughed too.
Then the boy said, “But if Ryan says sorry?”
“You can decide how you feel.”
“Can I still hate him?”
Ethan leaned forward.
“You feel what you feel.”
“That means yes?”
“It means feelings aren’t homework.”
Noah considered this.
“Do you hate him?”
Ethan stared at the dark window.
“Right now?”
“Yeah.”
He could have said no.
“I think part of me does.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t like that part very much.”
“Why?”
“Because hate makes you want simple answers.”
“What’s wrong with simple answers?”
“Nothing, when they’re true.”
Noah sighed dramatically.
“You talk weird now.”
“I’m under stress.”
“Mom said that.”
“Again, hobbies.”
The following Tuesday, HR asked Ethan to come in.
Janice sat beside the HR director, a man named Paul who wore reading glasses on a cord around his neck and spoke in a voice designed never to reveal surprise.
They had reviewed the original video, the cropped video, and Ethan’s explanation.
Paul said, “At this point, we’re restoring you to your position.”
Ethan breathed out.
“Okay.”
“There will be no disciplinary action related to the incident at this time.”
“At this time?”
Janice gave him a look.
He nodded.
“Sorry.”
Paul continued.
“However, because the edited clip was sent directly to the company and your position involves supervisory authority, we needed to review whether your conduct raised a workplace concern.”
“I understand.”
Paul adjusted his glasses.
“Do you?”
Ethan nearly laughed.
“I’m trying to stop saying that automatically.”
Janice smiled.
Paul did not.
“We are not judging a family dispute. We are evaluating whether off-duty conduct materially affects your ability to perform your job.”
“Right.”
“We spoke with your supervisor and reviewed your record. You have no prior workplace violence or conduct issues.”
“No.”
“You also self-reported the police involvement once asked.”
“Yes.”
Paul closed the folder.
“Go back to work.”
Ethan stood.
At the door, Janice said, “Cole.”
He turned.
“Next time your family has a barbecue, call in sick.”
He laughed.
Paul almost did.
That afternoon, Leah called with another update.
Ryan had amended his position.
He was willing to remove the posts and write that his earlier description of the incident had been incomplete.
“What does incomplete mean?” Ethan asked.
“It means incomplete.”
“No.”
“Ethan.”
“He said he never threatened Noah.”
“I know.”
“Has he listened to his voicemail?”
“His attorney has.”
“So he admitted he said something.”
“Informally.”
“Then he can say what it was.”
Leah sighed.
“You cannot force emotional satisfaction through negotiated language.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“You are a little.”
Ethan walked behind the maintenance office, where cicadas buzzed in the trees beyond the fence.
“What if I pay the whole medical bill?”
Leah went quiet.
“What?”
“If it gets him to tell the truth.”
“You told me three days ago you wouldn’t pay a dollar.”
“I know.”
“Why the change?”
Ethan watched a crew truck pull onto the road.
“Because Noah doesn’t care about Ryan’s wrist.”
“That is generally a healthy instinct for an eight-year-old.”
“He cares whether adults believe what happened.”
Leah was silent.
Ethan continued.
“If I pushed too hard, I can own that.”
“That has been my advice.”
“Don’t sound happy.”
“I am never happy. I’m an attorney.”
He smiled.
“What if the agreement says I acknowledge the shove caused or contributed to his wrist injury, and he acknowledges what he said to Noah and reaching for the poker?”
“That is much closer to something negotiable.”
“He stops calling it a joke.”
“I can ask.”
“He doesn’t need to call himself dangerous. He doesn’t need to post an apology video. He just says what happened.”
“And if he refuses?”
Ethan looked at the sky.
“Then he refuses.”
“You willing to walk away?”
He thought about it.
“Yes.”
That evening, Margaret came to Ethan’s house.
She brought no soup.
Instead, she carried the scorched soccer ball.
Ethan frowned.
“Why do you have that?”
“Noah left it here when you came over Sunday.”
“I thought it was in my garage.”
“That’s another ball.”
He stared at her.
“I have two burned soccer balls?”
“No.”
Margaret looked confused.
They went to the garage.
The object near the door was not Noah’s damaged ball.
It was an old practice ball, dirty and half-deflated, with a black patch of dried mud across one side.
Ethan had been looking at it for days.
He laughed.
Then laughed harder.
Margaret stared.
“What?”
“I thought that was the burned one.”
“You didn’t pick it up?”
“I did.”
“And you couldn’t tell?”
“I was distracted.”
“That is concerning.”
He wiped his eyes.
For the first time in a week, the laughter did not hurt.
Margaret handed him Noah’s actual ball.
The burn mark was worse than he remembered.
One white section had partially collapsed inward.
He set it on the workbench.
“Why did Noah give it to you?”
“He didn’t. It was still in my shed after the police photographed it.”
“Oh.”
Margaret leaned against the workbench.
“I spoke to Ryan.”
Ethan’s laughter vanished.
“You keep doing that.”
“He came to my house again.”
“You need a camera.”
“I have a doorbell camera.”
He blinked.
“You do?”
“You installed it.”
He had.
May you like
Two years earlier.
He rubbed his forehead.
