Chương 6
Grace looked away.
The coffee Caleb had brought remained on the windowsill, untouched and cold.
“I feel stupid.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone else is acting like this reveals something. My sister hated him for years. Ethan never trusted him. A nurse needed twelve minutes to decide he shouldn’t be in my room. I had nine years.”
“Knowing someone is not a test you pass or fail.”
“It feels like one.”
Denise waited.
Grace rubbed the edge of her hospital wristband. “I keep trying to remember clues. Trips. Calls. Bank statements. Every time he said work ran late. I’m building a version of my marriage where I should have known.”
“And if you find enough clues?”
“Then at least I wasn’t blind.”
“Or you blame yourself for his choices.”
Grace disliked Denise a little for saying it so plainly.
That helped more than kindness would have.
Rebecca drove Grace to her townhouse, where she had already moved a guest-room lamp and a stack of pregnancy pillows into place. She had also purchased three kinds of yogurt, all of which Grace disliked.
“You’ve known me thirty-four years,” Grace said, holding up a strawberry container.
“I panicked in dairy.”
Caleb waited in a dark SUV across the street.
Rebecca saw him first.
“Keep walking.”
“He knows where you live.”
“That does not mean he gets to sit outside like a disappointed detective.”
Grace stopped on the walkway.
Caleb stepped out of the vehicle. He had changed clothes but not shaved. His gray shirt was wrinkled at the elbows. He carried no bag.
Rebecca moved between them.
“I need five minutes,” he said.
“You need a lawyer,” Rebecca answered.
“Becca.”
“No. You do not get to use the nickname.”
Grace touched her sister’s arm.
“I’ll talk to him outside.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’m not going anywhere with him.”
Rebecca looked at Caleb, then at the houses on both sides of the street. Two neighbors were pretending to check mail.
“Five minutes,” she said. “I will be six feet away and unpleasant.”
They sat on the front steps. Rebecca stood near the door with her arms crossed.
Caleb looked at Grace’s belly before looking at her face.
“How is she?”
“Stable.”
“And you?”
“Not stable.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I am sorry.”
“For which part?”
“All of it.”
“That’s not useful.”
He rubbed his palms together. “I should have told you about Mason before we got married.”
“Yes.”
“I thought Nora wanted me out of his life.”
“Did she?”
“At first. I wasn’t reliable then.”
Grace remembered stories about Caleb’s twenties: business failures, drinking, a year he described as mostly lost. He had made them funny over time. A broken lease became an adventure. A totaled car became evidence that he had once been reckless rather than still capable of it.
“Did you pay child support?”
“Not through court.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Yes. I sent money.”
“From where?”
“My consulting account.”
The account Grace never managed because Caleb said its taxes were complicated.
“How often did you see him?”
“Birthdays sometimes. A few weekends when he was little. Nora moved twice. Then she called when he got sick.”
“And you started visiting.”
“Yes.”
“While telling me you were traveling for work.”
“Yes.”
“Did your mother know?”
Caleb hesitated.
Grace laughed, though nothing was funny.
“Your mother knew.”
“She met him twice.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca made a sound behind them.
Grace turned. “Please.”
Rebecca pressed her lips together.
Grace faced Caleb again. “Your whole family helped you hide a child from me.”
“They thought I would tell you.”
“When?”
“I kept waiting for a moment that wouldn’t destroy everything.”
“There was no such moment.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
Caleb looked across the street. “Maybe.”
The honesty surprised her more than another excuse would have.
Grace folded her hands over her stomach. “Why did you suddenly want a baby?”
His expression changed.
For months after their second miscarriage, Caleb had refused to discuss trying again. Then, almost overnight, he had begun researching specialists, supplements, and insurance coverage. He brought home brochures. He scheduled appointments. He told her he had realized fear should not decide their future.
Mason had been diagnosed fourteen months ago.
Grace was thirty weeks pregnant.
“Caleb.”
He leaned forward, forearms on his knees.
“I wanted a child with you before Mason got sick.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I did.”
“Did you think our baby could save him before I got pregnant?”
He looked at her.
Rebecca stopped shifting behind them.
Caleb’s voice dropped. “It crossed my mind.”
“Before?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
“It wasn’t the only reason.”
Grace felt a pressure behind her ribs that had nothing to do with the baby.
“Was it the reason you changed your mind?”
“No.”
“Was it part of the reason?”
Caleb looked down at the concrete step.
“Yes.”
A car passed slowly. The driver glanced toward them and then away.
Grace had imagined many versions of becoming a mother. None included discovering that her husband had looked at conception as a treatment possibility for a child she had never been told existed.
“Did you talk to a doctor about this before we tried?”
“I asked Mason’s team general questions.”
“Did they know I didn’t know about him?”
“No.”
“Did you tell our fertility clinic?”
“We conceived naturally.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“I didn’t ask them to do anything.”
“Did you use any of my tests for Mason?”
“No.”
“Did you have the baby tested without my consent?”
“No.”
“Do you know whether she’s a match?”
“No.”
Grace believed that answer. It did not help.
Caleb reached toward her knee and stopped before touching it.
“I love our daughter.”
“You don’t know her.”
“She’s my child.”
“So is Mason, and you hid him.”
“I was trying to protect both parts of my life.”
“You were protecting the part where no one could judge you.”
His face tightened.
“I was ashamed.”
“You were comfortable.”
May you like
“That’s not fair.”
“You had dinner every night with a woman who thought she knew who she married. You watched me inject hormones. You watched me grieve. You listened while I talked about whether I could be a good mother, and somewhere across town you already had proof of what kind of father you were.”
