Chương 4
“Crackers, cookies, bread, whatever she can get.”
“Because you’re restricting her meals?”
“I am not restricting her meals.”
“Desmond says you are.”
“Desmond has decided I am cruel because I expect rules to mean something.”
Julian looked toward the family room.
Wren and Desmond were visible through the wide doorway.
Desmond had picked up the television remote but had not turned it on.
Wren sat pressed against him.
Neither child was talking.
Julian looked back at Corinne.
“Why was she told she couldn’t eat today?”
“She was told she couldn’t have breakfast immediately.”
“That’s not what he said.”
“He exaggerates.”
“She said sorry and promised not to do it again before I even asked what happened.”
Corinne’s eyes flashed.
“Because she knows she broke a rule.”
“Or because she was scared.”
“She is scared because you make every consequence negotiable.”
Julian stared at her.
“You think that bruise is a consequence?”
Corinne’s expression collapsed for half a second.
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Then she looked away.
“No, I don’t.”
The anger left Julian almost as quickly as it had arrived.
What remained was worse.
He had known Corinne for thirteen years.
He knew the way she rubbed the inside of her wrist when she was trying not to cry.
She was doing it now.
He also knew she could be controlling.
He knew she disliked disorder in ways that occasionally became exhausting.
He knew she had once thrown out an entire refrigerator shelf because Desmond had put an open yogurt cup beside uncooked vegetables.
He had teased her about it.
She had laughed.
There had always been a version of her behavior that could be made funny.
Now Julian wondered how much humor had been convenience.
Corinne looked at him.
“I don’t know what happened to me this morning.”
Julian did not answer.
“I was angry.”
“That doesn’t explain the locks.”
“The locks aren’t about this morning.”
“Then explain them.”
She pressed her thumb into her palm.
“Wren has been taking food at night.”
“So you locked it.”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me.”
“You would have said no.”
“That should have told you something.”
“It told me you are never the one dealing with it.”
Julian rubbed his face.
His stubble scraped against his palm.
He was suddenly tired in a way sleep would not fix.
“Why not put food where she can reach it and talk to her pediatrician?”
Corinne’s mouth twisted.
“You think I haven’t tried talking?”
“I said a doctor.”
“She does not need a doctor.”
“Maybe she does.”
“For sneaking cookies?”
“For being hungry enough to hide food.”
Corinne flinched.
Julian saw it.
He slowed down.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not nothing.”
She shook her head.
He waited.
The leaf blower outside stopped.
The quiet that followed seemed almost intimate.
Corinne leaned against the marble island.
“She was gaining weight.”
Julian stared at her.
Corinne kept looking down.
“Not a lot.”
He felt his fingers curl.
“Corinne.”
“Her pediatrician mentioned watching it.”
“When?”
“Last appointment.”
“I was there for the last appointment.”
“You left before the end.”
“For a call.”
“Yes.”
“What exactly did the doctor say?”
Corinne hesitated.
Julian’s chest tightened.
“What did she say?”
“She said Wren had moved up on the curve.”
“That’s it?”
“She said we should pay attention to portions.”
“Did she say lock up food?”
“No.”
“Did she say skip meals?”
“No.”
“Did she say she was overweight?”
Corinne’s silence answered.
Julian looked toward the family room again.
Wren had taken off one shoe.
She sat with one socked foot tucked beneath her, still leaning against Desmond.
He remembered her at three, asleep in a car seat with crackers crushed into the folds of her coat.
He remembered Corinne laughing because Wren had somehow hidden half a banana in her pocket.
At the time, it had been a family story.
Julian turned back.
“How long have you been monitoring what she eats?”
Corinne whispered, “A few months.”
His throat tightened.
“Does she know?”
“She knows we’re trying to make healthier choices.”
“She’s five.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep saying it like I don’t.”
Julian paced two steps and stopped.
He did not trust himself to go farther.
Corinne wiped under one eye with her fingertip.
Her mascara did not smear.
“Do you know what my mother used to do when I gained weight?”
Julian closed his eyes briefly.
There it was.
Not an excuse.
Not absolution.
But a door opening onto something he had never thought to look behind.
Corinne continued.
“She would stand me on the bathroom scale before school.”
Julian said nothing.
“She kept a notebook.”
Her mouth trembled.
“Every pound.”
Julian had met Corinne’s mother only twice before she died.
A small, immaculate woman who corrected waiters politely and made Julian feel as though his shirt collar was somehow morally defective.
Corinne had rarely spoken about her childhood except in jokes that became less funny the longer he knew her.
He said, “And you thought doing this was different.”
Corinne looked at him sharply.
“I am not my mother.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking you know what this feels like from Wren’s side.”
Corinne’s face tightened.
“That is not fair.”
“No.”
Julian’s voice stayed quiet.
“It isn’t.”
She stared at him.
He let the silence sit.
Then he said, “But it’s still true.”
Corinne looked toward the family room.
Wren had put her shoe back on.
Desmond was whispering something to her.
For one strange second, Corinne smiled at whatever she imagined he had said.
The smile vanished almost immediately.
“I never meant for her to be afraid of me.”
Julian’s jaw flexed.
“She is.”
Corinne covered her mouth.
He watched her struggle with the fact rather than the accusation.
That mattered to him, though not enough.
Not yet.
His phone vibrated again.
This time he pulled it out.
His assistant had replied asking whether he needed anything.
May you like
Julian typed two words, then deleted them.
He opened his contacts instead.
