Chương 10
“That seems inconvenient.”
“It is.”
“Take the afternoon.”
“No.”
“I’m not asking.”
“You literally are.”
Dean sighed.
“Fine. I’m telling.”
Maya closed the laptop at eleven forty-three and spent the next two hours furious at him for being kind.
Then she cried in the shower.
Then she ate cereal.
Then she watched a video about repairing a garbage disposal despite having no broken garbage disposal.
Recovery, she discovered, contained an insulting amount of nonsense.
Ethan went back to the office before she did.
His colleagues knew only that there had been a family emergency.
One asked if everything was okay.
Ethan said, “Getting there.”
It was a lie, but a socially acceptable one.
At lunch, he sat in his car and listened to a voicemail from Gloria without answering it.
She had respected the no-contact request with Maya.
She had not quite respected his uncertainty.
“Just wanted to tell you the hydrangeas finally bloomed. I know that’s stupid. Your dad would’ve been happy. You don’t have to call back.”
He listened twice.
Then deleted it.
Then hated himself and checked the deleted-messages folder to make sure he could restore it.
He did not restore it.
That evening, he told Maya.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why tell me you deleted a voicemail about flowers?”
“I don’t know.”
Maya looked at him.
“Do you want permission to miss her?”
His expression changed.
She put down her fork.
“You’re allowed.”
“She hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“She’s trying to change the story.”
“Yes.”
“I’m angry at her.”
“I know.”
“I still miss her.”
“I know.”
He stared at the plate between his hands.
Maya reached across the table.
This time, he took her hand.
Two weeks after the fall, Ethan received a formal request to preserve the original security recordings and account information associated with them.
He read it twice.
Then immediately panicked about whether removing Gloria’s shared access could be interpreted as altering evidence.
He called the investigator.
The investigator told him to preserve what he had and not to modify or delete relevant material going forward.
Ethan wrote the instruction down as though preparing for an exam.
Maya watched from the kitchen doorway.
“You love rules when somebody gives them to you.”
He covered the phone.
“Not now.”
“You do.”
He pointed at her.
She smiled.
The investigator asked whether anyone else had accessed or copied the footage.
Ethan told him about Gloria’s screen recording and Claire’s copy.
After the call, he sat at the table.
Maya saw his face.
“What?”
“He wants Claire’s original message thread with your mom if she’ll give it.”
“Will she?”
“I don’t know.”
Claire did not answer his first call.
Or his second.
That night, she finally sent:
STOP MAKING ME PICK A SIDE.
Ethan stared at the message.
Maya read it over his shoulder.
“Don’t answer yet.”
“Why?”
“Because your first answer will be righteous.”
He looked offended.
She waited.
“Fine.”
Ten minutes later he typed:
I’M NOT ASKING YOU TO PICK BETWEEN PEOPLE. I’M ASKING IF YOU’LL PRESERVE WHAT MOM SENT YOU.
He showed Maya.
She tilted her head.
“Less righteous.”
“Thank you.”
“Still a little.”
He sent it.
Claire responded the next morning.
She agreed.
But only after telling Ethan she hated him for putting her in the position.
Ethan replied:
THAT’S FAIR.
Maya read it.
“No defense?”
“I’m experimenting.”
“With maturity?”
“Don’t ruin it.”
The full message thread complicated Gloria’s position.
She had sent the shortened recording to Claire with the text:
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED. MAYA PULLED AWAY AND LOST HER FOOTING. I SHOULD NOT HAVE TOUCHED HER BUT I DID NOT SHOVE HER.
Three minutes later:
PLEASE TALK TO ETHAN BEFORE SHE DESTROYS THIS FAMILY.
Claire had replied:
DID YOU GRAB HER BEFORE THIS?
Gloria:
SHE WAS WALKING AWAY WHILE I WAS TALKING.
Claire:
THAT IS NOT WHAT I ASKED.
Gloria did not answer for eleven minutes.
Then:
YES. I TOUCHED HER ARM.
The investigator did not tell Ethan what the messages meant legally.
He thanked Claire for preserving them.
That was all.
Claire called Ethan afterward.
Her voice sounded tired.
“I feel like I betrayed her.”
“You gave them messages she wrote.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t invent anything.”
“I know.”
“Then—”
“Stop fixing it.”
Ethan stopped.
Claire sniffed.
“She’s our mother.”
“I know.”
“What are we supposed to do with that?”
Ethan sat on the back steps.
The grass needed cutting.
A squirrel climbed the fence, stopped when it saw him, and changed direction as if reconsidering the entire neighborhood.
“I don’t know.”
Claire laughed softly.
“That might be the first useful thing you’ve said.”
They sat on the phone without speaking.
For once, nobody translated Gloria.
Nobody translated Maya.
Nobody explained themselves.
It was strangely intimate.
Three weeks after the fall, Gloria’s attorney contacted Ethan through a formal letter asking that future discussion of the incident go through counsel.
Two days later, Gloria mailed a handwritten birthday card to Ethan even though his birthday was four months away.
Inside, she had written only:
I found this in a drawer and realized I never sent it last year. I don’t know why. I’m sorry for more things than fit here.
Ethan showed Maya.
She read it once.
“What do you want to do with it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Keep it.”
“Why?”
“Because wanting to keep a card from your mother doesn’t mean you approve of assault.”
He looked at her.
“You don’t have to make everything a loyalty test.”
He gave a short laugh.
“That sounds like something a therapist would say.”
“It does. I hate it.”
“You still said it.”
“I contain contradictions.”
He kept the card.
Maya’s pregnancy progressed.
Every appointment carried a private echo of the fall, even when the doctor gave them no new reason for alarm. Ethan attended them all until Maya finally told him he could miss one.
“You have a board meeting.”
“I can reschedule.”
“You’ve rescheduled everything.”
“I want to be there.”
“I know.”
May you like
“Then why are we arguing?”
“Because I need you to go do normal things.”
