Chương 9
“I don’t.”
“Why would this be about me?”
Another pause.
Richard said, “Because the second letter wasn’t sent to your mother.”
Elaine stared at the phone.
“What?”
“It was addressed to Mara.”
Mara felt a chill move over her arms.
Elaine shook her head.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Yes.”
“You told me it came for me.”
“I opened it before you saw the envelope.”
Elaine sat down heavily.
Mara’s voice came out quieter than she intended.
“Why was somebody sending me a picture of you holding a baby before I even knew there was a baby?”
“I’ve been trying to answer that for three months.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the photograph is not what your mother thinks it is.”
Elaine stood again.
“What does that mean?”
Richard exhaled.
“The baby in that picture wasn’t ours.”
Mara looked from the phone to her mother.
Elaine’s lips parted.
“You told me you didn’t know whose baby it was.”
“I didn’t then.”
“Then?”
Richard went silent.
Mara felt impatience sharpen into fear.
“Dad, whose baby were you holding?”
A garage door rumbled in the background.
“I have to go.”
“No.”
“Mara.”
“Whose baby?”
“I’ll explain when I get back.”
“Back from where?”
Richard disconnected.
Mara called again.
Straight to voicemail.
Elaine was already reaching for her purse.
“We’re going to your house.”
They left through the side door without bothering about the camera.
Elaine drove because Mara no longer trusted herself to.
She drove too fast, braking late and gripping the wheel with both hands.
Halfway there, Mara’s phone buzzed with a message from Daniel.
He left.
Another followed.
Took the envelope with him.
Mara typed, Where?
Daniel replied, Wouldn’t say.
Then, after several seconds, another message appeared.
But he asked me something before he left.
Mara typed, What?
The answer came as Elaine turned onto Mara’s street.
He asked whether Noah still lives in Philadelphia.
Mara stared at the screen.
Noah had lived in Philadelphia for eleven years.
He taught high school history, complained about rent, dated women their mother disliked, and came home for Thanksgiving with expensive wine he could not afford.
Mara called him.
The call rang once and went to voicemail.
She called again.
Voicemail.
“Try his school,” Elaine said.
“It’s eight thirty in the morning.”
“He’ll be there.”
Mara searched the school number, but before she could call, Noah’s name appeared on her screen.
She answered.
“Where are you?”
“Good morning to you too.”
Relief came so sharply she almost became angry with him for causing it.
“Noah, listen to me.”
“I am listening.”
“Has Dad contacted you?”
Silence.
“Noah?”
“What happened?”
“Answer me.”
“Not today.”
“Recently.”
Another silence.
Elaine glanced toward her.
“When?”
Mara asked.
“Last week.”
“What did he want?”
“He wanted me to stop looking into something.”
Mara closed her eyes.
“The hospital.”
Noah said nothing.
She heard traffic on his end.
Not a classroom.
Not a hallway.
“Where are you?”
“In my car.”
“Where?”
“Mara, what the hell is going on?”
“Mom got letters saying the baby she lost before me might have lived.”
Noah did not react.
That was the reaction.
Mara sat straighter.
“You knew.”
Elaine turned toward her so abruptly the car drifted across the center line.
A horn blared.
She corrected.
“Noah,” Mara said, “you knew about the baby.”
His voice became careful.
“I knew there had been one.”
“How?”
“Dad told me.”
“When?”
“Twelve years ago.”
Elaine made a small sound beside her.
Mara stared through the windshield.
“Why?”
“Because I found something.”
“What?”
Noah was quiet long enough that Mara heard a turn signal clicking on his end.
“An amended birth certificate.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
Elaine hit the brakes at a red light.
Mara gripped the dashboard.
“What was amended?”
“My date of birth.”
The light seemed to stay red forever.
Mara’s mouth went dry.
“By how much?”
Noah answered so quietly she almost missed it.
“Eleven months.”
Elaine whispered, “No.”
Noah heard her.
“Mom’s with you?”
Mara did not answer.
Noah continued.
“That’s why Dad wanted me to stop digging.”
Elaine shook her head harder.
“Noah was born in March.”
Mara repeated it.
“I know what my birthday is.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
Elaine’s voice broke.
“My first son was born in April.”
No one spoke.
The light turned green.
A car behind them honked.
Elaine did not move.
Mara looked at her mother, then at Noah’s name glowing on the phone.
The age difference was eleven months.
Not enough to prove anything.
Enough to make the inside of the car feel airless.
“Noah,” Mara said carefully, “where are you right now?”
He breathed in.
“About twenty minutes outside Easton.”
Mara’s heart began pounding.
“Maryland?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Another turn signal clicked.
Then Noah said, “Because Thomas Bell called me last night.”
Mara looked at Elaine.
Her mother’s face had gone blank in the particular way it did when emotion exceeded what she was willing to show.
“What did Thomas want with you?” Mara asked.
Noah hesitated.
“He said he had information about my birth.”
“You didn’t think that was worth mentioning?”
“To who?”
“To me.”
“You and I talk twice a month, Mara, and one of those calls is usually you asking whether I remembered Mom’s birthday.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s completely fair.”
Elaine reached toward the phone.
“Put him on speaker.”
“No.”
“Mara.”
“No.”
Noah heard them anyway.
“Hi, Mom.”
Elaine flinched.
“Turn around.”
“No.”
“Whatever Thomas told you, you come home before you do anything else.”
“I’m thirty-five.”
“You’re my son.”
“Apparently that’s the part we’re trying to establish.”
Elaine’s hand dropped.
Mara closed her eyes.
“Noah, don’t.”
“What?”
“You know what.”
“I’ve spent twelve years pretending I didn’t find a government document saying I was born almost a year before the day we celebrate my birthday.”
His voice was controlled, which made it more painful.
“I think I’ve earned one bad sentence.”
Elaine pulled into a grocery store parking lot and stopped crookedly across two spaces.
May you like
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“I tried.”
