Chương 11
At lunch, he watched a girl trade half a sandwich for two cookies.
In math, he stared at the teacher's handwriting and suddenly wondered whether Rebecca was good at algebra.
He texted her that afternoon.
Are you good at math?
Her reply came five minutes later.
No.
Then:
If this is genetic, I apologize.
He smiled at his phone.
Laura saw.
She did not ask.
That restraint was new.
Rebecca did not text constantly.
Sometimes she waited hours.
Sometimes she answered with one sentence.
She never asked Ethan to keep their messages secret.
After three days, she texted:
Does Laura know we're talking this much?
Ethan wrote:
She can see my phone whenever she wants.
Rebecca replied:
I was not asking about surveillance.
Ethan showed Laura.
Laura laughed.
Then she became quiet.
“She's right.”
“You do look at my phone.”
“I am your mother.”
“That sentence again.”
“It has excellent mileage.”
The first serious argument came on a Thursday.
Ethan wanted to visit Rebecca's apartment.
Laura said no.
“Why?”
“Because I don't know her home.”
“You knew her for years.”
“Thirteen years ago.”
“So?”
“So adults change.”
“So do kids.”
“That is not an argument for letting you go to a stranger's apartment.”
“She isn't a stranger.”
Laura looked at him.
“She is partly a stranger.”
Ethan hated that because it was true.
“I can go with Grandpa.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Henry would let you ride on the roof if you said it helped your emotional development.”
From the living room, Henry said, “That is an unfair characterization.”
Laura shouted, “You hid adoption letters under a railway station.”
Henry considered.
“Fair.”
Ethan crossed his arms.
“So when can I go?”
Laura sighed.
“After I do.”
“What?”
“I want to see where she lives.”
“That is invasive.”
“It is parenting.”
“Controlling.”
“Also parenting sometimes.”
Ethan looked at Henry.
“Help.”
Henry held up a newspaper.
“I have learned.”
The visit happened Saturday.
Rebecca lived in a second-floor apartment above a dental office.
The building was ordinary.
Ethan had somehow expected clues.
There were none.
Her couch was gray. Her kitchen was small. She had too many plants and three unmatched coffee mugs drying beside the sink.
On a shelf in the living room sat a wooden train.
Ethan stopped.
Rebecca followed his eyes.
“Oh.”
“The first birthday letter.”
Rebecca nodded.
“You kept it.”
“I did.”
Ethan picked it up.
One wheel was slightly crooked.
“You never sent it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I thought your father might throw it away.”
Laura stood in the doorway.
“That sounds like him.”
Rebecca looked at her.
Laura's expression was sad.
“He hated wooden toys.”
“Why?”
“Said they were smug.”
Ethan stared.
Rebecca laughed.
“I forgot that.”
For a while they talked about nothing important.
Rebecca made coffee for Laura and hot chocolate for Ethan.
Her neighbor upstairs dropped something heavy.
Rebecca shouted, “You alive, Mr. Kim?”
A man's voice called through the ceiling, “Unfortunately.”
Ethan laughed.
Rebecca said, “He's eighty-six.”
They looked through photographs.
Not baby photographs of Ethan.
Rebecca's life.
A younger Rebecca at the Grand Canyon.
Rebecca beside Walter.
Rebecca wearing a cheap paper crown at an office birthday party.
Rebecca and Henry standing outside the terminal years before Ethan was born.
Ethan picked that one up.
“You knew Grandpa before Dad?”
“No. I knew him because of Danny.”
“What was Dad like?”
Rebecca glanced at Laura.
Laura said, “Careful.”
“I was going to say irritating.”
“Accurate.”
Ethan smiled.
Rebecca looked at the picture.
“He was funny when he wasn't trying.”
“He thought he was funny all the time.”
“No.”
Laura leaned against the counter.
“He thought other people didn't understand his timing.”
Rebecca laughed.
“That is exactly what he thought.”
Ethan felt something uncomfortable.
These two women shared memories of his father that existed before him.
He was used to Laura having them.
Rebecca having them felt like somebody had discovered a room inside his own house.
“Did you love him?”
Rebecca's smile faded.
“For a while.”
Laura looked at her.
Ethan's chest tightened.
“Did he love you?”
Rebecca looked uncomfortable.
“I think so.”
Laura crossed her arms.
“He did.”
Rebecca glanced at her.
Laura continued.
“That wasn't our problem.”
Ethan looked between them.
“What was?”
Laura walked to the window.
“Timing. Pride. Me. Her. Him. About twelve other things.”
Rebecca said, “Your parents were separated when Danny and I started seeing each other.”
Ethan stiffened.
“Started?”
“Yes.”
“So Dad cheated?”
“No,” Laura said.
“But you were married.”
“We were separated.”
“That sounds like cheating with paperwork.”
Rebecca winced.
Laura almost smiled.
“We had been living apart eight months.”
“Why?”
Laura looked toward Rebecca's kitchen.
“Your father threw a chair.”
Ethan stared.
“At you?”
“No.”
“Then why did you leave?”
“Because I was tired of living with somebody who got angry enough to throw furniture.”
Ethan had never seen Daniel throw anything larger than a remote.
“He never did that with us.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because after you were born, he changed some things.”
“Because of me?”
“In part.”
Rebecca stood very still.
Laura continued.
“He went to counseling. He stopped drinking for almost two years. We learned how to argue without trying to win.”
Ethan looked at Rebecca.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“He could be mean,” Rebecca added. “So could I.”
Ethan felt disappointed again by the lack of a clean monster.
Rebecca noticed.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“That none of this is simple.”
He looked at the wooden train.
“I think I wanted it to be.”
“Of course.”
They found the central contradiction by accident.
Rebecca was showing Ethan a box of old paperwork when Laura picked up a postcard.
Her expression changed.
“What's this?”
Rebecca looked.
“Oh.”
The postcard showed the terminal before closure.
On the back, Henry had written:
Danny says wait until fourteen. I said absolutely not. E turns thirteen in June. I still have everything. H.
It was postmarked February.
Four months before Ethan's birthday.
Ethan stared.
“Fourteen?”
May you like
Laura looked at Rebecca.
Rebecca looked confused.
