Chương 8
“The original envelope was.”
Emily looked toward the copies she had brought.
“You readdressed it.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After your wedding.”
“Why?”
“I couldn’t give it to you.”
“So you changed the envelope.”
“I put his letter inside a new one.”
“And wrote Noah’s name.”
“Yes.”
Emily’s skin crawled.
“You turned his letter into something it wasn’t.”
“I thought one day Noah might need it.”
“You were controlling both sides.”
Margaret nodded.
“Yes.”
“Did Michael know?”
“No.”
“Did he think I read it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
Margaret looked at her.
“He probably did.”
Emily pressed both palms against the table.
For years Michael may have believed she had received an explanation and chosen silence.
For years she had believed he had never returned.
Two people had made decisions based on realities Margaret constructed between them.
“Give me his number.”
“I don’t have it.”
“His last number.”
“It won’t work.”
“Give it to me.”
Margaret wrote it on the back of a grocery receipt.
Emily looked at the digits.
“You remember it.”
Margaret said nothing.
“You don’t have it, but you remember it.”
“I remember numbers.”
Emily folded the receipt.
“Have you spoken to him recently?”
“No.”
“How recently is recently?”
“Four years.”
Emily studied her.
Margaret met her gaze.
Four years.
Emily believed her.
That did not make anything better.
Michael’s old number was disconnected.
Emily found his workplace through the public profile she had seen the night before.
She did not call.
Not immediately.
For two days she carried the number in her phone.
Daniel said little.
Their house became carefully functional.
Lunches were packed.
Laundry was washed.
Noah attended soccer practice.
Emily and Daniel stood beside each other on the sideline Thursday evening while seven-year-olds chased a ball with no tactical discipline whatsoever.
Noah missed an easy kick and threw both hands in the air.
Daniel yelled, “Shake it off, buddy!”
Noah shouted back, “I did!”
Then he immediately tripped over another child.
Emily laughed.
Daniel did too.
For a moment nothing was wrong.
Then Daniel said, “I don’t want to lose him.”
Emily kept watching the field.
“You won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“He’s your son.”
“So was he Michael’s.”
Emily turned.
Daniel stared ahead.
“Biologically,” she said.
“That isn’t nothing.”
“No.”
“I hate that it isn’t nothing.”
Emily slipped her hands into her sweater pockets.
“You’re allowed.”
Daniel looked at her.
“I feel like a bad person.”
“You’re allowed that too.”
“That wasn’t comforting.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
He nodded.
A whistle sounded.
Noah ran off the field for water.
When he reached them, Daniel held out the bottle.
Noah drank, spilling some down his hoodie.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“If I meet Michael, do you come?”
Daniel’s face changed.
“If you want me there.”
“I do.”
Daniel nodded.
“Then I come.”
Noah ran back onto the field.
Emily watched Daniel blink hard.
She touched his wrist.
He turned his hand and held hers.
That night Emily called Michael.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
His voice was older.
That was the first thing she noticed.
Not familiar.
Older.
“Michael?”
Silence.
Then, “Emily?”
Her knees weakened.
She sat on the edge of the bed.
Daniel stood in the doorway but did not enter.
“How did you know?”
“I don’t know.”
Michael breathed into the phone.
“I guess nobody else says my name like they’re filing charges.”
Emily almost laughed.
It made her angry that he could still do that.
“Did you write a letter?”
A long pause.
“Yes.”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
“I got it yesterday.”
Another silence.
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“I thought Margaret gave it to you years ago.”
“She didn’t.”
Michael swore quietly.
Emily closed her eyes.
“Did you meet Noah?”
“Yes.”
“Twice?”
“Yes.”
“Did my mother tell you not to contact me?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell you she would accuse you of using drugs if you tried to establish paternity?”
Michael did not answer.
“Michael.”
“Yes.”
Emily pressed her fingers against her forehead.
“Why didn’t you call me anyway?”
“I tried once.”
“When?”
“Before he was born.”
“She intercepted that.”
“I figured.”
“No. Why after?”
“Because I was a coward.”
The answer stopped her.
Michael continued.
“And because I had no idea what you would do.”
“You could have asked.”
“I could have.”
“You always had choices.”
“I know.”
“You left me pregnant.”
“I know.”
“You disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“I called you fourteen times.”
He was quiet.
“I remember.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you changed your number.”
“I did.”
Emily closed her eyes.
“Why?”
“I was using. I owed people money. I was sleeping in my truck half the time. Every time your name came up, I wanted to call you, and every time I wanted to call you, I knew you’d hear what I was.”
“You should have let me decide.”
“Yes.”
The same answer her mother gave.
The same theft disguised as protection.
Emily laughed bitterly.
“You and my mother have more in common than either of you would enjoy.”
“I can imagine.”
She looked toward Daniel.
He remained in the doorway, arms folded.
“Are you sober?”
“Eight years, three months.”
“Your profile says eight.”
“You found the profile.”
“Yes.”
“That’s unsettling.”
“Get used to it.”
“Fair.”
She heard a door close on his end.
“Where are you?”
“Outside my apartment.”
“Why?”
“My neighbor’s kid is practicing trumpet.”
Emily heard faint, terrible music through the phone.
She laughed before she could stop herself.
Michael laughed too.
The sound sent a strange grief through her.
Not romantic grief.
Something older.
Grief for the person she had been when his laugh still meant safety.
She stood.
“Noah knows you exist.”
Michael went silent.
“Because of the suitcase.”
“What suitcase?”
Emily closed her eyes.
Of course he did not know.
She explained only enough.
When she finished, Michael said, “Is he okay?”
“He’s confused.”
“Does he hate me?”
“He’s seven.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“No. He doesn’t hate you.”
Michael breathed out.
“Does he want to meet me?”
“He asked.”
May you like
“Jesus.”
“Don’t make this about what you want.”
