Chương 10
“It was in Claire’s possession.”
“Which helps. But prepare yourself. Evidence does not prevent people from lying. It gives lies less room.”
Vivian Cross called Everett that night.
He was sitting on the floor of his penthouse, attempting to assemble a wooden train station he had bought despite Claire’s instructions. It was not a gift, he had told himself. It would remain at his home in case the boys ever visited.
The distinction was weak.
His phone showed an unknown Wisconsin number.
“Everett?” Vivian’s voice sounded older but unmistakable.
“Yes.”
“I heard about the children.”
He set down the tiny screwdriver.
“Daniel said you would not speak to outside counsel.”
“I won’t speak to people I don’t know.”
“You know me.”
“That is why I called.”
“Did you create the letter Claire received?”
Silence gathered on the line.
“I printed it,” Vivian said.
“Who wrote it?”
“Your mother dictated most of it.”
“Most?”
“I changed a sentence.”
“Which sentence?”
“She wanted it to say you would seek sole custody if Claire named you. I thought that was cruel, so I changed it to say you would deny responsibility.”
Everett closed his eyes.
Vivian’s voice trembled. “I believed the babies were not yours.”
“Why?”
“Mrs. Lawson showed me a report.”
“What report?”
“A laboratory result. It said another man was the father.”
“No test was performed.”
“I know that now.”
“You applied my signature.”
“Your mother said you had approved the message from London.”
“You logged into my account from her office.”
“She had your passwords in the emergency book.”
Everett remembered the leather notebook Eleanor had insisted he maintain after his father suffered a stroke. Bank contacts, passwords, account recovery codes. He had handed it to her without thinking.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Vivian began to cry, not loudly, but with the embarrassed breathlessness of someone who had spent years considering tears a failure.
“My grandson saw the boys on television. He said the quiet one looked like you when you were little.”
Everett said nothing.
“I used to pick you up from school when your mother was traveling,” she continued. “You would sit in the back seat and pretend you weren’t crying because the other boys called you a robot.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“I do.”
The screwdriver had left a crescent in Everett’s palm.
“Will you give a statement?”
“I’ll tell the truth.”
“That is not the same answer.”
“I know.”
“Will you give a statement?”
A long pause.
“Yes.”
When the call ended, Everett remained on the floor beside the half-built station.
The penthouse was silent except for the city’s distant movement below. He looked at the wooden pieces spread across the rug. One roof panel had been packaged backward. He tried to force it into place, stopped, and turned it around.
Claire was discharged after twelve days.
She returned to her apartment with medication, lifting restrictions, and a schedule of cardiac rehabilitation appointments. Everett offered a private nurse. Claire declined. He offered to pay for any nurse she chose. She told him they would discuss expenses through attorneys.
“You don’t have to make everything adversarial,” he said.
They were standing in her narrow kitchen while Rosa helped the boys unpack overnight bags.
“I have to make everything clear.”
“I am not trying to control you.”
“You sent a car before I agreed to leave the hospital.”
“The car was available.”
“With a driver holding a sign with my name.”
“I canceled it.”
“After Tasha threatened to make him leave.”
Everett rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Claire opened the refrigerator. It contained milk, eggs, mustard, and four labeled containers Rosa had prepared.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“Quiet.”
“I mean practically.”
“I know what you mean.”
He watched her grip the refrigerator door for balance.
“You’re dizzy.”
“I stood up too quickly.”
“You should sit.”
Claire gave him a tired look.
He stepped back.
“Sorry.”
She sat anyway.
The apartment carried signs of the life he had missed: finger paintings taped to a wall, a laundry basket overflowing with tiny socks, camera lenses arranged beside overdue utility notices, two pairs of rain boots beneath a bench. On the refrigerator was a photograph of the twins at two years old, each holding one end of a birthday cake knife while Claire tried to keep them from stabbing the frosting.
Everett stared at it.
“They had a dinosaur cake,” Claire said.
“I can see that.”
“Eli wanted green. Noah wanted blue. Rosa made both and complained for a week.”
“I didn’t know their birthday.”
“I know.”
The guilt in the room had begun to feel like a third adult, always present and never useful.
Claire rubbed one hand over her face.
“The attorneys sent a proposed schedule.”
“I received it.”
“You didn’t respond.”
“It gives me supervised visits twice a week.”
“For one month.”
“I have seen them almost every day.”
“At Rosa’s home, while I was hospitalized. This is different.”
“How?”
“You will be alone with them eventually. They need time.”
“I am their father.”
“You are a man they met twelve days ago.”
Everett’s voice hardened. “A man they were prevented from meeting.”
“By your mother and by me. Not by them. They don’t owe you accelerated trust because adults failed.”
He looked toward the living room.
Eli was telling Rosa that one sock belonged to Noah because it felt sad. Noah sat beside Claire’s camera bag, tracing the worn fabric with one finger.
“What are you afraid I’ll do?” Everett asked.
Claire was quiet for so long that he thought she might refuse to answer.
“I’m afraid you’ll love them as an idea,” she said. “Lost sons. Heirs. Proof that your mother wronged you. Then they’ll be loud or difficult or ordinary, and you’ll discover fatherhood doesn’t feel like getting something back.”
“I would never abandon them.”
“You don’t have to leave to abandon someone.”
He looked at her.
May you like
She looked back without triumph.
The first supervised visit took place at a family services center near Lincoln Park. The room had washable furniture, a shelf of toys, and a camera in one corner for staff observation.
