Chương 12
Young Richard.
Young Evelyn.
Cardboard boxes.
A bad office.
A company that had not yet become large enough to hurt anyone at scale.
She picked up the photograph.
For months, people had asked how she had missed what Richard was doing.
Reporters.
Directors.
Lawyers.
Shareholders.
Sometimes Noah.
Sometimes herself.
The truthful answer changed depending on the day.
She had trusted him.
She had competed with him.
She had resented him.
She had relied on him.
She had ignored things that looked like ego because ego was common in executive offices.
She had mistaken his hunger for money as ordinary when it had become something else.
She had been busy.
She had been proud.
She had believed knowing someone for decades was the same as continuing to know them.
There was no single answer.
That bothered her.
She preferred single answers.
Her phone rang.
Richard.
For several seconds, she watched the name.
They had not spoken privately since the termination.
His surrender date was three weeks away.
Evelyn answered.
“Hello.”
He exhaled.
“You still answer like it’s 1997.”
“You still call too late.”
“It’s ten-fifteen.”
“Late.”
He laughed.
It sounded older.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Of course.”
She waited.
Richard cleared his throat.
“I’m not calling to apologize.”
“I assumed.”
“I mean, I have apologies. I just don’t think you’d enjoy them.”
“I would not.”
“I figured.”
Silence.
Evelyn looked again at the photograph.
Richard said, “Madison tells me she saw you.”
“She did.”
“She says you’re nicer.”
“She lies.”
He laughed again.
Then neither spoke.
Finally Richard said, “Do you remember the first office?”
“Yes.”
“The radiator made that sound.”
“What sound?”
“Like somebody hitting a pipe with a wrench.”
“That was because someone was hitting the pipe with a wrench.”
“No.”
“Yes. The superintendent. Every morning.”
Richard was quiet.
“I forgot that.”
“I didn’t.”
“I found a picture from there.”
“I have it.”
“Madison gave it to you?”
“Yes.”
“Figures.”
Another pause.
His voice changed.
“I kept thinking I deserved more.”
Evelyn said nothing.
“I don’t know when that became permission.”
Still she said nothing.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
“Still impossible.”
“Richard.”
“I know.”
He breathed in.
“I am sorry.”
She looked at his younger face in the photograph.
“For what?”
He laughed softly.
“Madison asked me the same thing.”
“Smart woman.”
“Sometimes.”
Evelyn waited.
Richard said, “For making you discover that thirty years didn’t mean what you thought it meant.”
Her fingers tightened around the photograph.
“That is not the worst thing you did.”
“No.”
“But it may be the thing you did to me.”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
The apartment was very quiet.
“I was not innocent in our history,” she said.
“I know.”
“That was not permission either.”
“I know.”
“You blamed me for choices you made.”
“I know.”
“You put my son in the middle.”
“I know.”
“You used your daughter.”
His breath caught.
“I know.”
Evelyn opened her eyes.
She was angry.
Still.
Probably always, in some form.
But anger was no longer the whole room.
Richard said, “Do you hate me?”
“No.”
He was quiet.
“That almost feels worse.”
“It may be.”
He laughed once.
Then his voice broke.
“I’m scared.”
Evelyn looked toward the dark window.
Her own reflection stared back.
“I know.”
That was all she gave him.
It was enough for that night.
They ended the call a few minutes later.
Three weeks after that, Richard reported to prison.
Madison drove him to the designated facility with her mother.
The ride took almost two hours.
Her mother complained about traffic twice.
Richard corrected the navigation once and was wrong.
For the last twenty minutes, no one spoke.
At the entrance, Richard removed his watch and handed it to his wife.
Then he looked at Madison.
She expected an apology.
Instead he said, “You should have kept the apartment.”
She stared at him.
Her mother made an exhausted noise.
Richard smiled weakly.
“I’m nervous.”
“I know.”
“I say stupid things when I’m nervous.”
“I also know.”
He looked toward the building.
Then back at her.
“You did the right thing.”
Madison swallowed.
“I know.”
It was the first time she had said those words without needing someone else to agree.
Richard nodded.
He hugged her.
She hugged him back.
Not because everything was repaired.
It wasn’t.
Not because he was about to suffer and therefore deserved absolution.
He didn’t.
She hugged him because he was her father and because love could survive after trust changed shape.
Then she let go.
He walked inside.
Her mother cried in the car.
Madison drove home.
That evening, Noah came over with takeout.
He had been to her new apartment twice before.
The first time, he criticized the location of an electrical outlet.
The second time, he fixed a cabinet door she had been ignoring.
This time, he brought Thai food and a bottle of sparkling water.
“No wine?” she asked.
“You said you have work tomorrow.”
“That has never stopped anyone.”
“It has stopped you lately.”
She took the bag.
“You’re becoming observant.”
“I’ve always been observant.”
“You dated me four years.”
“Fair.”
They ate at the kitchen counter because Madison had not bought a dining table.
Halfway through dinner, Noah asked, “How was it?”
She stared at a piece of broccoli.
“Normal.”
He waited.
“That was the weird part,” she said. “Traffic. My mom complaining. Dad arguing with the GPS. Then we got there and he just walked in.”
Noah nodded.
“He told me I did the right thing.”
“That matters.”
“Yes.”
“Does it help?”
“I don’t know.”
He took a sip of water.
Madison looked at him.
“I still have the ring.”
“I know.”
“Not the replacement.”
“I know.”
“I gave that one to the lawyers months ago.”
“I remember.”
She left the counter.
Noah watched her walk to the bedroom.
She returned holding the dark velvet box.
He put down his fork.
May you like
Madison set the box between them.
“I don’t want to keep it as an artifact.”
