Chương 10
Could he attend her pediatric appointments?
Yes, if Sophie was comfortable.
Could he contribute financially?
Rachel refused at first.
Nathan became offended.
Rachel became more offended.
“You don’t get to retroactively pay child support as penance.”
“I’m not.”
“You offered to cover seven years.”
“Because I should have.”
“You didn’t know.”
“That doesn’t mean you paid less.”
“I’m not taking a check for guilt.”
“It’s not guilt.”
“It is partly guilt.”
Nathan stopped.
She was right.
They eventually agreed he would contribute going forward to specific expenses, and any larger legal financial arrangement would be discussed with attorneys rather than decided during arguments in Rachel’s kitchen.
Nathan met Tom and Carol Miller at a diner in Lakewood.
Mark’s parents arrived early.
Tom did not shake his hand.
Carol did.
She looked as if she had not slept.
Nathan ordered coffee.
Nobody drank much of anything.
Tom began without greeting.
“You planning to change her last name?”
“No.”
“You planning to put yours on the birth certificate?”
“I’m discussing legal options.”
Tom’s jaw tightened.
“That means yes.”
“It means I’m discussing legal options.”
Carol touched Tom’s arm.
He pulled away.
Nathan let him.
Tom looked older than Nathan remembered from Mark’s funeral.
His anger did not make him look strong.
It made him look frightened.
“You have money,” Tom said.
Nathan glanced at Carol.
“So?”
“So don’t pretend that doesn’t matter.”
“I’m not.”
“You could bury Rachel in lawyers.”
“I’m not going to.”
“You say that now.”
Nathan’s temper rose.
He felt it and nearly surrendered to it.
Then he thought of Sophie asking whether she could still call Mark Dad.
Nathan put both hands flat on the table.
“I am not here to replace your son.”
Tom laughed bitterly.
“You can’t.”
“I know.”
That stopped him.
Nathan continued.
“I was at his funeral.”
Tom looked away.
“I loved Mark.”
“You slept with his wife.”
“They were separated.”
Tom’s eyes snapped back.
Nathan immediately regretted defending himself that way.
Technically true.
Emotionally useless.
Carol spoke.
“Please.”
Nathan looked at her.
She wiped at one eye.
“I don’t care whose fault it was eight years ago.”
Tom muttered, “I do.”
Carol ignored him.
“I care what Sophie thinks happens now.”
Nathan nodded.
“So do I.”
“She has Mark’s pictures beside her bed.”
“They stay.”
“She visits us every other weekend.”
“That stays if Rachel wants it and Sophie wants it.”
Tom stared at him.
“You mean that?”
“Yes.”
“Even if you get legal rights?”
Nathan took a breath.
“Yes.”
Tom looked skeptical.
Nathan did not blame him.
Trust would have been suspicious if it came too quickly.
Carol asked, “Does she call you Dad?”
“No.”
“Do you want her to?”
Nathan thought about the answer.
“Yes.”
Carol’s face tightened.
He continued before she could speak.
“But wanting something doesn’t make me entitled to it.”
Tom looked down.
For the first time, his anger lost some force.
Nathan said, “I missed seven years. I’m angry about that. I’m probably going to stay angry about parts of it for a long time.”
Carol nodded.
“But Sophie doesn’t owe me compensation for years she didn’t take from me.”
Nobody spoke.
A waitress refilled Nathan’s coffee.
Tom asked for more cream.
For twenty seconds, the conversation became about whether there were enough creamers on the table.
It helped.
Then Carol reached into her purse.
She placed a small photograph on the table.
Mark holding Sophie when she was two.
They were both wearing ridiculous paper birthday hats.
“He loved her,” Carol said.
Nathan picked up the picture.
“I know.”
Carol’s voice shook.
“I need you to know.”
Nathan met her eyes.
“I know.”
He slid the photograph back.
Carol pushed it toward him again.
“You keep it.”
Nathan hesitated.
Then he did.
Three months later, Nathan’s attorney helped draft an agreement with Rachel.
It did not solve everything.
It gave structure to uncertainty.
Nathan gained formal recognition and agreed parenting responsibilities. Rachel remained Sophie’s primary residential parent. They created a schedule slowly rather than dropping Sophie into alternating households overnight.
Nathan’s first overnight weekend was a disaster.
He bought the wrong toothpaste.
Sophie refused dinner because he had put sauce on the pasta.
He had forgotten that she liked sauce beside the pasta, not on it.
At nine forty, she announced that his guest room smelled “like towels.”
Nathan did not understand what that meant.
At ten fifteen, she wanted Rachel.
Nathan called her.
Rachel talked Sophie through the bedtime routine on speakerphone.
Afterward, Sophie lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
Nathan sat in the doorway.
“Do you want me to take you home?”
She shook her head.
“Would it feel better?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Five minutes passed.
Then Sophie said, “Daddy used to snore.”
Nathan looked at her.
“Mark?”
She nodded.
“He said he didn’t.”
“Most people who snore deny it.”
“Do you snore?”
“I’ve been accused.”
“By Victoria?”
Nathan’s chest tightened.
“Yes.”
Sophie rolled onto her side.
“Do you miss her?”
Children had no respect for conversational warning signs.
Nathan considered lying.
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t you marry her?”
He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.
“Because missing someone and trusting someone aren’t the same thing.”
Sophie thought about that.
“Could you trust her later?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom says adults say I don’t know when they know but don’t like the answer.”
Nathan smiled.
“Your mom says a lot of things.”
“That means yes.”
“No. That one actually means I don’t know.”
Sophie was quiet.
Then she said, “I miss Daddy.”
Nathan swallowed.
“I know.”
“And I like you.”
“Those can both be true.”
“I know.”
Nathan waited.
She pulled the blanket higher.
“Good night, Uncle Nathan.”
He smiled.
“Good night, Soph.”
At two in the morning she woke him because she had dreamed Mark was standing outside in snow without a coat.
Nathan sat beside her until she fell asleep again.
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He did not tell Rachel about the dream until the next morning.
Rachel cried in the kitchen while Sophie watched cartoons.
