Chương 5
The question caught her completely unprepared.
“What do you mean?”
“Aunt Vanessa said I made her break it because I held on.”
Claire felt heat rise behind her eyes.
She kept her voice even.
“You’re allowed to hold your own things.”
“But if I let go, the horse wouldn’t have broken.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. That still doesn’t make it your fault.”
He rolled onto his side.
“She said it did.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Claire brushed his hair from his forehead.
“Sometimes people get scared of being blamed, and they try to put the blame somewhere else.”
“Even on kids?”
“Yes.”
“That’s bad.”
“Yes.”
“Do you do that?”
Claire nearly answered no.
The word was ready.
Then she remembered a spilled carton of orange juice two weeks earlier. Ethan had bumped her while she was pouring it. Claire had snapped, Look what you made me do.
A tiny thing.
Nothing like tonight.
Still.
“Sometimes I blame people too quickly,” she said.
Ethan turned toward her.
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“The orange juice.”
His eyes widened with recognition.
“That was mostly you.”
Claire laughed despite herself.
“See? We disagree.”
“You filled it too high.”
“I absolutely did.”
“And I bumped you.”
“Yes.”
“So both.”
“Probably both.”
He considered this.
“Did Aunt Vanessa do both?”
“No.”
The answer came easily.
“She knocked the horse over. You were holding your tablet. Those aren’t the same thing.”
He nodded.
Claire kissed his forehead.
“Try to sleep.”
“Are we going to Grandma’s on Sunday?”
Every Sunday, Helen made lunch.
Claire had not thought that far.
“I don’t know.”
“Will Aunt Vanessa be there?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t want to go if she is.”
Claire felt the weight of that sentence settle between them.
“Okay.”
“Okay I don’t have to?”
“Okay, you don’t have to.”
He seemed surprised.
Then relieved.
“Good night, Mom.”
“Good night.”
Claire stayed in the hallway after his door closed.
The light remained on.
Her phone vibrated again.
This time it was Robert.
Please call me when Ethan is asleep.
Claire went downstairs, made coffee, took one sip, and poured it out because it was after nine-thirty and she knew better.
She called her father.
He answered immediately.
“How is he?”
“He’s in bed.”
“Is he all right?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Robert was quiet.
Claire could hear cabinet doors in the background.
“Your mother is cleaning.”
“She does that.”
“She’s cleaned the same countertop four times.”
Claire leaned against her kitchen sink.
“What’s happening there?”
“Margaret left. Ryan and Vanessa are upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“Ryan said he didn’t think she should drive.”
“That was smart.”
“Yes.”
The word sounded tired.
Robert cleared his throat.
“I saved the recording.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Good.”
“I sent a copy to myself.”
“Good.”
“And to you.”
Her phone chimed.
“Dad, I don’t want Ethan seeing it again.”
“I understand.”
“Don’t send it around the family.”
“I won’t.”
There was a long pause.
Then Robert said, “She wants me to delete it.”
Claire opened her eyes.
“What?”
“Vanessa.”
“Of course she does.”
“She says once everyone has seen what happened, there’s no reason to keep it.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No.”
Claire waited.
Her father was not a man who liked uncertainty. He had spent a career requiring documents for things other people considered obvious.
“She lied very quickly,” he said.
Claire looked toward the staircase.
“Yes.”
“Did she do that when you were children?”
There it was.
Not apology.
Not yet.
A question.
Claire sat down.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
She almost said no.
Some injuries become embarrassing after enough time passes. You begin to feel childish for preserving them. A lamp. A dented fender. A missing sweater. A lie about who had called whom a name.
But her father had asked.
“Yes,” Claire said. “She did.”
Robert did not defend Vanessa.
That made talking harder.
Claire told him about the lamp.
She had been thirteen. Vanessa nineteen and home from college. Their parents had gone to dinner. Vanessa had thrown a pillow during an argument, knocking over a ceramic lamp in the living room.
When Robert and Helen came home, Vanessa said Claire had broken it while playing.
Claire had denied it.
Vanessa had cried.
Claire had been grounded.
Robert was silent for so long that Claire checked whether the call had disconnected.
“I remember that lamp.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t remember grounding you.”
“I do.”
“Claire—”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“I’m not telling you so you can apologize for every bad thing that happened when I was thirteen.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Because you asked whether she did this before.”
Another silence.
“Yes,” Robert said. “I did.”
“There were other times.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“That many?”
“No. I just stopped counting.”
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
Claire lowered her voice.
“Dad, this isn’t about me.”
“It may be partly about you.”
“It’s about Ethan now.”
“I know.”
“No, I need you to really know that. I can deal with whatever version of Vanessa you want to have in your life. I’m not asking you to choose between daughters. But Ethan will not be around her until I believe she understands what she did.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“An apology?”
“No.”
Robert sighed.
“What then?”
“I said I don’t know.”
Claire hated the sharpness in her own voice.
Her father absorbed it without answering.
She rubbed her forehead.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize for sounding angry while you’re angry.”
That sentence was so unexpected that Claire almost smiled.
“Mom tell you that?”
“No.”
“Margaret?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“I’m capable of an original thought occasionally.”
Claire did smile then.
Briefly.
The smile hurt.
Robert continued.
“Your mother wants everyone here tomorrow.”
“No.”
“I told her that.”
“Good.”
“She thinks if we talk while it’s fresh—”
“No.”
“I know.”
“Ethan is not coming back there tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“And I’m not sitting around the dining table discussing whether Vanessa technically intended to hit him.”
“I know.”
May you like
Claire leaned back.
“Dad?”
