Chương 6
“You’re right.”
Eli began rebuilding.
Noah had fallen asleep against Rosa’s side, his mouth open, one hand still clutching the locket.
Everett sat carefully at the opposite end of the sofa.
Rosa looked at him over the child’s head.
“Claire used to say you couldn’t admit when you were wrong.”
“She was correct about many things.”
“That’s not admitting it.”
“No,” he said. “I suppose it isn’t.”
Rosa adjusted the collar of Noah’s sweater. “She didn’t tell the boys you abandoned them.”
“What did she tell them?”
“That you didn’t know.”
“Why?”
“Because children don’t need adult hatred in their breakfast.”
Everett watched Noah breathe.
“Did she hate me?”
“Sometimes.”
He nodded.
“That answer disappoints you?”
“It is honest.”
“She loved you sometimes too. That made her angrier.”
Everett looked at Eli, who had balanced a fifth cup on the tower.
“What did she need money for last year?”
Rosa’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you she needed money?”
“My mother claims Claire contacted me.”
“She didn’t ask you.”
“That was not the question.”
Rosa shifted Noah’s weight. “The surgery. Insurance covered most of it, not everything. Claire cut hours when she started getting dizzy. She sold her camera equipment.”
“She was still working as a photographer?”
“School portraits, weddings, real estate listings. Whatever kept food in the apartment.”
“Why didn’t she contact me?”
“Would you have believed her?”
“Yes.”
“You believed she miscarried.”
The answer struck harder because Rosa did not raise her voice.
Everett looked down at his hands.
Claire had called him from a train platform five years earlier. He remembered the metallic announcements behind her voice and the way she kept saying his name as if she were trying to reach him through a bad connection.
She had told him she had lost the baby.
He had asked which hospital.
She had said she did not want him there.
He had called Eleanor afterward because he had not known what else to do. Eleanor had come to his apartment, poured him two fingers of whiskey, and told him grief did not excuse weakness.
He had never checked the hospital records. Never driven to Claire’s apartment. Never asked why her voice sounded frightened instead of broken.
He had sent one letter, then another, then allowed returned envelopes to become proof that there was nothing left to pursue.
“I should have gone to her,” he said.
Rosa did not comfort him.
“Yes.”
The surgeon came out shortly after one.
He was a broad-shouldered man with red marks across his nose from a mask. He explained that Claire’s valve had been repaired and that the arrhythmia was under control. There had been bleeding. They had managed it. She was being moved to intensive care and would remain sedated for several hours.
Rosa began to cry silently.
Eli stared at the surgeon. “Is she fixed?”
The surgeon crouched to his level.
“She’s still sick, but her heart is working better.”
“Can she come home?”
“Not today.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Not tomorrow either.”
Eli’s face tightened. “How many sleeps?”
“I don’t know yet.”
The boy turned away and kicked the leg of a chair.
Rosa caught him before he did it again. “Hey.”
“I hate this place.”
“I know.”
“I hate doctors.”
The surgeon stood, accepting the accusation without defensiveness.
Noah had awakened but remained wrapped around Rosa’s arm.
“Can they see her?” Everett asked.
“Briefly, one at a time, after the ICU team settles her. It may be frightening. There will be tubes and monitors.”
“I’ll take them,” Rosa said.
The surgeon looked at Everett. “Are you family?”
The question had a procedural flatness.
Everett glanced at the twins.
“I’m their father.”
Eli looked up at him.
The surgeon nodded as if making a note, not granting absolution. “The social worker will need to speak with all of you.”
Claire lay beneath white blankets, her skin waxy under the hospital lights. Tubes surrounded her. Machines counted what her body was doing while she could not speak for it.
Eli entered first with Rosa.
Everett watched through the glass.
The boy stopped at the foot of the bed. He did not approach until Rosa put a hand between his shoulder blades. Then he climbed onto the chair and touched Claire’s toes through the blanket.
Noah refused to enter.
He stood in the hall holding the locket and breathing too quickly.
Everett lowered himself beside him.
“You don’t have to go in.”
Noah shook his head.
“We can stay here.”
The boy looked through the glass at Claire’s unmoving body.
“Is she dead?”
“No.”
“She looks dead.”
“I know.”
Noah stared at Everett.
“Are you scared?”
Everett nearly said no. The answer came from habit, from boardrooms, from childhood dinners where fear had been treated as a defect people could smell.
“Yes.”
Noah’s breathing slowed a little.
Everett sat on the floor beside him until Eli came out.
The hospital social worker was named Miriam Patel. She met them in a consultation room with forms arranged in precise stacks. She explained that Rosa was Claire’s designated temporary caregiver for the children while Claire lacked capacity. Everett had no legal parental status yet, regardless of what Claire had written or said.
“We can arrange voluntary genetic testing,” Miriam said. “Establishing legal parentage is a separate process. Claire’s attorney can advise when she is able to participate.”
“I have counsel,” Everett said.
Miriam looked at Daniel. “Corporate counsel?”
“Unfortunately,” Daniel said.
“I recommend a family lawyer whose first responsibility is not a company.”
“So do I,” Daniel added.
Everett glanced at him.
Daniel did not apologize.
Miriam continued. “The immediate priority is the boys’ stability. They should remain with the caregiver they know tonight.”
Everett’s first reaction was resistance. He could arrange security, private nursing, bedrooms, anything they needed.
Then Noah leaned against Rosa’s knee.
“Agreed,” he said.
May you like
Rosa’s shoulders lowered by a fraction.
“You may visit if Rosa consents,” Miriam said. “Given the allegations involving your mother, we will also need a safety plan. Has Eleanor Lawson had direct contact with the children before today?”
