Chương 2
From herself.
Years earlier, when Thomas was alive, she had used different words to avoid admitting when something in the house was wrong.
She had called problems misunderstandings.
She had called pain a phase.
She had called silence peace.
"I am not trying to make you the villain," Mara said.
"Then why are you sitting here with him like I am?"
Eli looked down.
Mara noticed his shoulders fold inward.
A child should not know how to disappear in a room.
"He needs someone to listen," Mara said.
Claire laughed once, without humor.
"You always think listening fixes everything."
"No."
Mara looked at her daughter.
"Sometimes it only tells you what needs fixing."
Claire opened her mouth, but the words did not come immediately.
That hesitation bothered Mara more than anger would have.
"Ask him what happened," Mara said.
"I already know."
"Then ask him again."
Claire looked away.
The small movement was enough.
Mara saw it.
She saw the discomfort.
She saw the fear of an answer she might not want.
The front window reflected the three of them standing there, separated by only a few feet but carrying years between them.
Finally Claire said, "You don't understand what you're walking into."
Mara's hand tightened around the edge of the couch.
"Then explain it."
Claire picked up her laptop bag again.
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
"Why?"
"Because you always decide before you have all the information."
Mara almost responded.
Almost listed every time she had stayed quiet to give Claire the benefit of the doubt.
Almost reminded her that she had paid the overdue electric bill last winter without telling anyone.
Almost said she had rearranged her own life to help because she still believed mothers were supposed to be a place their children could return to.
Instead, she watched Claire walk toward the stairs.
"Where are you going?"
"Upstairs."
"Claire."
Her daughter stopped.
"If this was just a game, why was he afraid to tell me?"
Claire did not turn around.
For several seconds, neither of them moved.
Then Claire said something so softly Mara almost thought she imagined it.
"Because he knows what happens when people misunderstand things."
Claire went upstairs.
Mara stayed in the living room with Eli.
The boy was still holding the broken dinosaur.
"Did she mean that?" Mara asked.
Eli rubbed the plastic tail with his thumb.
"I don't know."
"Has this happened before?"
He did not answer.
Mara waited.
She had learned that children often filled silence when adults did not rush to take it away.
Finally Eli whispered, "There were three rounds."
Mara felt the air leave her lungs.
"Three rounds of what?"
"The game."
"What happened in each round?"
Eli looked toward the staircase.
"Can I tell you tomorrow?"
Mara wanted to say yes.
She wanted to protect him from whatever memory was sitting behind that question.
But she also knew tomorrow was where many difficult conversations went to disappear.
"Tell me one thing tonight," she said.
Eli nodded.
"Who made the rules?"
The boy's fingers stopped moving.
"It was Aunt Rachel."
Mara knew the name.
Claire's older sister.
The one who always smiled at family gatherings and always seemed to know exactly what everyone had done wrong.
"The rules were her idea?"
Eli nodded.
"But Mom said it was to help me become honest."
Mara looked toward the staircase again.
A small sound came from upstairs.
A door closing.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just firmly.
Mara stood and walked to the hallway table where she kept her old house keys, spare batteries, and the little notebook where she wrote down appointments because she no longer trusted herself to remember everything.
She opened the notebook.
On the last page, written three days earlier, was a sentence she had almost forgotten.
Claire asked me not to interfere.
Mara stared at the words.
She could not remember exactly why she had written them.
That bothered her more than the sentence itself.
She turned the page.
There was another note underneath.
Ask why Eli stopped sleeping with his bedroom door open.
Mara closed the notebook slowly.
For the first time that evening, the fear she felt was not only for her grandson.
It was for the possibility that she had been standing outside a locked door for much longer than she realized.
Mara closed the notebook slowly.
For the first time that evening, the fear she felt was not only for her grandson.
It was for the possibility that she had been standing outside a locked door for much longer than she realized.
She carried the notebook upstairs after Eli went to bed, although she had promised herself she would not interfere without understanding what was happening.
Promises became complicated when they were made by people who had not seen the whole truth.
At the top of the stairs, she stopped outside Claire's bedroom.
The light beneath the door was on.
A few years earlier, Mara would have knocked immediately.
She would have entered with a cup of tea and a concerned expression, and Claire would have rolled her eyes but let her in.
Now Mara stood there listening to the quiet movement inside and wondered when her daughter had started becoming someone she was afraid to approach.
She knocked once.
No answer.
She knocked again.
"What?"
Claire's voice sounded tired rather than angry.
Mara opened the door slightly.
Claire sat at the edge of the bed with her laptop open, but the screen had gone dark.
Her coat was still on.
"Why is Eli afraid of the games?"
Claire looked away.
"I don't know what he told you."
"That isn't an answer."
"No."
Claire rubbed her forehead.
"It isn't."
Mara stepped inside but did not sit.
She had learned over the years that sitting down during difficult conversations could make people feel trapped.
"I am trying to understand."
Claire gave a small laugh.
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"You always say that right before you decide you already understand."
The words hurt because they contained a piece of truth.
