Chương 8
At the gate, Daniel caught up with her.
“Can we walk?”
“Reporters.”
“There’s a cemetery path behind the chapel.”
“I’m in heels.”
“My father spent half a million dollars maintaining that path. It should tolerate heels.”
She glanced at him.
“That sounded awful.”
“Yes.”
“I keep doing that.”
“Yes.”
They walked anyway.
The path curved behind a row of cedar trees. Wet gravel pressed into the narrow points of Maya’s shoes. Daniel kept his hands in his coat pockets.
“I’m meeting a family-law attorney,” he said.
Maya stopped.
“Not to fight you.”
“That is what attorneys do.”
“Some of them help people avoid fighting.”
“Mr. Hayes would be offended.”
“I want a gradual visitation plan. Whatever a child specialist recommends. Supervised if you want.”
“You haven’t met Noah for ten full minutes.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know whether you want to be his father. You know you don’t want to look like a man who abandoned his son.”
His face changed.
Maya regretted the sentence before it finished. It was possible to be truthful and still unfair.
Daniel looked past her toward the chapel roof. “I don’t know what being his father feels like.”
“Exactly.”
“But I know what not calling feels like.”
“That’s guilt.”
“Yes.”
“Guilt gets bored.”
He looked at her again. “Then don’t let me rely on it.”
Rain gathered in his hair.
Maya studied the scratched watch on his wrist.
“Where did you find it?”
“In my father’s desk. There was a note.”
“What did it say?”
Daniel swallowed. “You always arrive after the difficult part.”
Neither of them spoke for several steps.
“That was cruel,” Maya said.
“It was accurate.”
“Those aren’t opposites.”
“No.”
They reached a stone bench slick with rain. Daniel wiped it with his hand, then seemed to realize neither of them planned to sit.
“I was supposed to visit him Tuesday,” he said. “He wanted to tell me the test result in person. I canceled.”
“Why?”
“My mother said he was using Noah to punish me.”
“Was he?”
“Probably.”
The answer surprised her.
Daniel rubbed rainwater from the face of the watch. “My father could do the right thing for the wrong reason and then expect gratitude for the result.”
Maya thought of the trust.
“Did you know about the debt?” she asked.
“Not the full amount.”
“You’re on the board.”
“I missed three meetings.”
“Why?”
“I hated them.”
She stared.
“I know how that sounds.”
“It sounds like six hundred forty-eight people should be thrilled you’re not inheriting.”
He looked down.
Again, she had gone too far. Again, the truth remained.
“I worked on design projects,” he said. “Restaurants. Renovations. The parts where I could make choices without sitting across from my parents.”
“And when the numbers arrived?”
“I let Evelyn handle them.”
“Your mother.”
“Yes.”
“You call her Evelyn when you’re angry.”
He gave a brief, startled smile. “You remembered.”
“I remember inconvenient things.”
A chapel bell sounded once.
Daniel’s expression settled. “Let me meet Noah for thirty minutes. Somewhere public. You stay the whole time.”
“No gifts.”
“Okay.”
“No photographers.”
“Of course.”
“No promises.”
He nodded.
“Saturday,” she said. “Ten o’clock. Harbor Street Library.”
He exhaled.
“Don’t thank me.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were.”
“Yes.”
Saturday morning, Daniel arrived twenty-three minutes early and brought a wooden train.
Maya saw it through the library window and nearly left.
When she entered the children’s room, he was sitting at a miniature table in beige trousers and a navy sweater, turning the train over in his hands. The wheel had been repaired.
“You said no gifts,” Maya said.
He stood too quickly and struck his knee against the table.
Three children looked over.
Daniel lowered his voice. “It’s his train.”
Maya stared.
“My father had someone take it from the fundraiser.”
“What?”
“He said the stuck wheel bothered him. He had it repaired and forgot to return it.”
“You stole my son’s toy and brought it back as an inheritance?”
“That is apparently our family’s emotional range.”
She did laugh then, once.
Noah hid behind her leg.
Daniel placed the train on the floor and backed away.
Noah looked at it, then at him. “Mine.”
“Yes,” Daniel said. “I’m sorry it took so long.”
Noah crouched and spun the repaired wheel.
For thirty minutes, Daniel followed Maya’s instructions with visible effort. He did not touch Noah without permission. He answered questions about ceiling fans. He allowed Noah to place three board books on his lap and then walk away without explanation. When Noah threw a wooden block, Daniel picked it up but did not turn the moment into a lesson.
At twenty-eight minutes, he checked his watch.
Maya noticed.
“So did I,” she said.
“I didn’t want to overstay.”
Noah pushed the train beneath Daniel’s chair.
Daniel looked at Maya.
“He wants you to move,” she said.
Daniel stood. Noah retrieved the train.
When the thirty minutes ended, Daniel put on his coat.
“Bye, Noah.”
Noah did not answer.
Daniel’s face held steady, though disappointment moved through it.
As he reached the door, Noah called, “Man.”
Daniel turned.
Noah held up the train.
“Wheel,” he said.
“It works now.”
Noah considered this. “Okay.”
Outside, Daniel stood beneath the library awning while Maya buckled Noah into the car.
“That went well,” he said.
“It went thirty minutes.”
“Right.”
She closed the rear door.
He placed both hands in his pockets. “There’s something you should know before the board meeting.”
“What?”
“My mother offered me the chief executive position last year.”
“And you refused?”
“I said I needed time.”
“That means you refused without accepting responsibility for refusing.”
“Yes.”
“Why does it matter now?”
“Because she may offer it again in exchange for supporting her trust challenge.”
Maya looked at him. “Will you take it?”
“I don’t know.”
She opened the driver’s door.
“That’s not the answer you wanted,” he said.
May you like
“It’s the first honest answer you’ve given before someone proved you wrong.”
The board meeting took place in a hotel conference room overlooking the river.
