Chương 10
Andrew found her there when he came home.
He opened the passenger door. “What happened?”
“She asked how far the camp walk was.”
He waited.
“That’s all.”
Andrew crouched beside the car.
Jenna covered her face. “She used to walk anywhere.”
“She will again.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
He rested one forearm on the door frame. “I don’t know.”
She lowered her hands.
Andrew’s eyes were wet, though he did not cry.
“We keep wanting the right sentence,” he said. “There isn’t one.”
Jenna slid across the seat to make room. He sat beside her with the door open, both of them facing the garage wall. A rake hung crooked between two hooks.
After a while, Jenna said, “That rake is going to fall.”
“It’s been like that for a year.”
“I know.”
Neither of them fixed it.
Hannah began seeing a child therapist in late August. The therapist, Dr. Patel, did not focus only on the parade. She asked about school, friends, Hannah’s biological father, and what happened in Hannah’s body when she thought adults might leave.
After the third appointment, Dr. Patel met with Jenna and Andrew.
“Hannah believes slowness causes separation,” she said. “Not in those exact words, but that is the pattern. When she needs more time, she becomes afraid the group will choose speed over her.”
Jenna gripped the arms of her chair.
“What do we do?”
“Be predictable. Tell her where you’re going. Keep promises about returning. Let her set the pace sometimes. And notice when your own anxiety makes you overprotective.”
Andrew shifted.
Dr. Patel looked at him. “Carrying her every time she hesitates can communicate that she cannot manage discomfort.”
His face flushed. “I carried her because her foot was injured.”
“At the parade, yes. I mean afterward.”
Jenna thought of the grocery store, the library stairs, the walk from the car to camp. Andrew had lifted Hannah whenever she slowed, often before she asked.
He nodded reluctantly.
“What about her grandmother?” Jenna asked.
“Has Brenda taken responsibility?”
“No.”
“Then contact would likely require Hannah to manage Brenda’s feelings. That is too much.”
The phrase followed Jenna home.
Manage Brenda’s feelings.
The family had organized itself around that work for so long that it had seemed like kindness.
Dennis called in September.
He asked to meet Jenna and Andrew at a coffee shop. He said he did not want to come to the house and risk upsetting Hannah.
They chose a place near the county library on a Sunday morning. Dennis arrived early and sat outside beneath an umbrella, turning a paper cup between his hands. Without Brenda beside him, he looked older.
Andrew did not hug him.
Dennis began with small talk about traffic, then asked whether Hannah’s foot had healed.
“Yes,” Jenna said.
“Good.”
He folded the cardboard sleeve from his cup along one seam.
“Your mother wants to write Hannah a letter.”
“No,” Andrew said.
Dennis kept looking at the cup.
“She says she can explain better without being interrupted.”
“That is exactly why the answer is no,” Jenna said.
“She wants to apologize.”
“Has she apologized to you?” Andrew asked.
Dennis’s mouth tightened.
“That’s different.”
“Has she admitted she saw Hannah and left again?”
“She says she made a judgment call.”
“That isn’t an apology.”
Dennis leaned back. “What would satisfy you?”
Andrew opened his mouth.
Jenna spoke first. “I don’t know.”
Dennis looked at her with surprise.
“I don’t know whether anything would satisfy me,” she said. “That isn’t the standard.”
“Then what is?”
“Whether contact would be safe for Hannah.”
“Brenda is not dangerous.”
“She taught a child that being inconvenient could get her left behind.”
Dennis rubbed the paper sleeve between his fingers until it tore.
“She was angry,” he said.
The table went still.
“At Hannah?” Jenna asked.
Dennis looked toward the library entrance.
“At the whole situation.”
“What situation?”
“Carter’s float. The crowd. Sabrina pressuring everyone. Hannah complaining about the shoes. Your mother had planned the day for weeks.”
Andrew’s voice hardened. “So she was angry at an eight-year-old.”
“She was overwhelmed.”
“And she punished the easiest person.”
Dennis did not answer.
Jenna watched a woman across the patio pour water into a dog’s collapsible bowl. The dog shook its collar and splashed her shoes. She laughed.
“What did Brenda say when she came back from the chairs?” Jenna asked.
Dennis’s fingers stopped moving.
“Dad,” Andrew said.
Dennis looked at his son. “She said, ‘Maybe now she’ll listen the first time.’”
The words were quiet.
Jenna felt them settle into every empty place the family had left for doubt.
Andrew stood.
Dennis lifted both hands. “I told her to go back after the float.”
“You still followed her.”
“I was trying to keep the family together.”
“No,” Andrew said. “You were keeping Mom comfortable.”
He walked away from the table.
Jenna remained seated.
Dennis looked at her. “I am sorry.”
“For what?”
“All of it.”
“That’s broad.”
“I don’t know how to say it right.”
“Try specific.”
He swallowed.
“I’m sorry I saw Brenda leave Hannah and did not go get her. I’m sorry I let you believe I didn’t know. I’m sorry I was more afraid of my wife’s anger than your daughter’s fear.”
Jenna let the silence last.
“Thank you,” she said.
Dennis’s face crumpled briefly, then recovered.
“Can I see Hannah?”
“Not yet.”
He nodded as though he had expected that.
Outside, Andrew stood beside their car with his back to the coffee shop. Jenna joined him.
“What did he say after I left?”
“He apologized.”
Andrew gave a bitter laugh. “Good for him.”
“It was specific.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
“No.”
“Then why do you sound like it does?”
“Because truth changes things even when it doesn’t fix them.”
Andrew looked across the parking lot.
“He stayed,” he said. “That’s what I can’t get past. Mom did what she did, and he stayed beside her.”
Jenna touched his arm.
May you like
“You stayed quiet about things too.”
He looked at her sharply.
