Part 8
He had spent years believing the worst thing he could do to his daughters was let grief swallow the family. He had remarried quickly because routine felt like rescue. Celeste made breakfast appear. She arranged holidays. She replaced silence with schedules.
He had mistaken organization for care.
His phone rang.
Victor.
Daniel almost declined it again. Then he answered.
“Tell me you’re alive,” Victor said.
“I’m alive.”
“What happened? We have the Singapore team holding a final document, and you vanished after telling the pilot to turn around.”
“Family emergency.”
“Is someone sick?”
“No.”
A pause.
Victor’s voice lowered. “What do you need?”
Daniel sat on the edge of the bed. They had built Mercer North together over twelve years, first from a cramped office above a dental practice, then through three acquisitions and a public offering that had made both men richer than either knew how to behave about. Victor had covered for Daniel during Claire’s illness. He had attended the funeral, stood beside Mara when she dropped a fistful of dirt onto the coffin, and taken Daniel’s phone away for three days.
“I’m not coming in this week,” Daniel said.
“This week?”
“Maybe longer.”
“The vote is Monday.”
“I know.”
“If you miss the board review, Halpern will move to delay.”
“Then he delays.”
“The sellers can walk.”
“Then they walk.”
Victor went quiet.
Daniel could hear airport announcements behind him.
“What happened?” Victor asked again.
Daniel looked at the photograph in his hand. “Celeste hurt the girls.”
The background noise seemed to disappear.
“How badly?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Are they safe?”
“They’re with me.”
“Do you need me to come?”
Daniel closed his eyes.
His first impulse was yes. Victor solved problems. Victor found rooms in full hotels, replaced executives without alarming markets, remembered the names of people’s spouses. Daniel wanted someone else to enter the house and take hold of the machinery.
“No,” he said.
“All right.”
“I need you to handle the board.”
“I can handle the board. I can’t cast your vote.”
“Use my proxy where you can.”
“We may lose the deal.”
“I heard you.”
Victor exhaled. “You’ve spent eighteen months on this.”
Daniel looked toward the hallway, where one of Sophie’s socks lay near the door. It was inside out.
“I’ve spent longer on the wrong things.”
Victor did not offer reassurance.
“Call me tomorrow,” he said. “Not about work. Just call.”
That evening, Daniel made boxed macaroni and cheese in the cottage kitchen because it was the only food he could find that the girls recognized.
He burned it.
Mara watched him scrape black pasta from the bottom of the pan.
“You’re supposed to stir,” she said.
“I did stir.”
“Not enough.”
“That seems clear now.”
Sophie sat at the small table wearing one of Daniel’s undershirts over her pajamas because she had spilled water on herself. She pushed a noodle across her plate.
“Celeste says macaroni is baby food.”
Daniel set the ruined pan in the sink. “Celeste isn’t here.”
The girls looked at each other.
He wished he had phrased it differently. Every mention of her became a test of whether absence was temporary.
“We can eat it,” he added. “Or we can order something.”
“Pizza,” Sophie said.
Mara shook her head. “It’s too late.”
“It’s six thirty.”
“Pizza makes Sophie hyper.”
“I don’t get hyper.”
“You jump on beds.”
“That’s not hyper. That’s jumping.”
Daniel found himself smiling.
The smile felt disloyal to the day, but he let it stay.
They ordered pizza. Sophie ate only the cheese. Mara folded her slice in half because she had seen Daniel do it in New York, though the crust was too thick and tomato sauce ran down her wrist.
For several minutes, the cottage felt almost ordinary.
Then a car drove along the road above the property.
Sophie dropped her pizza.
“Is that her?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
Daniel checked the window. “It’s the security patrol.”
“Could she be in it?”
“No.”
“You didn’t even see.”
Mara stood and went to the window herself.
Daniel wiped Sophie’s hands. “The doors are locked.”
“Does she have a key?” Mara asked.
“The locks were changed.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“On the big house too?”
“Yes.”
“Could she get another key?”
“No.”
Naomi had warned him not to speak in absolutes. He could not stop.
Mara checked the window latch.
At bedtime, neither girl wanted the second bedroom.
They all slept in the first one. Sophie lay between Daniel and Mara, turning for nearly an hour before exhaustion took her. Mara remained on her side, eyes open.
Daniel watched the digital clock change from 10:47 to 10:48.
“Can’t sleep?” he whispered.
Mara shook her head.
“Do you want the light on?”
Another shake.
He waited.
“Did Mom know Celeste?” she asked.
The question startled him.
“No.”
“Would she like her?”
Daniel stared into the dark.
He could have offered the answer Mara wanted. He could have protected Claire’s memory by making her wise after death, a mother who would have seen through Celeste immediately.
But Claire had trusted people too. She had ignored pain because she disliked doctors. She had once let a contractor work on their roof for three months after Daniel knew he was overcharging them because she felt sorry for his wife.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Mara’s voice was small. “I don’t think she would.”
“No.”
“Mom didn’t like mean people.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Why did you?”
Daniel inhaled.
Mara did not soften the question. Children rarely did when adults deserved it.
“I didn’t know she was mean to you.”
“She was nice when you were home.”
“I should have noticed.”
“You were gone.”
“Yes.”
The clock changed to 10:49.
“Why?”
“Why was I gone?”
She nodded.
“For work.”
“I know. Why did you have to do that much work?”
May you like
He looked at the ceiling.
There were answers involving responsibility, employees, shareholders, the debt attached to acquisitions, the fear of losing control of a company with his name on it. They sounded ridiculous in the dark beside a seven-year-old.
