Chương 5
Margaret picked up her purse. “My attorney will contact yours.”
“For what?”
“To discuss a formal visitation schedule. Noah’s calls at midnight, the unsecured medication upstairs, your travel, an employee sleeping with him—none of this suggests stability.”
“There was no unsecured medication.”
“There was an unsecured phone. A locked room he entered. An entire household you assume runs because you pay it to.”
Adrian’s voice dropped. “Do not threaten me with my son.”
“I am threatening you with attention.”
She left without saying goodbye to Noah.
Elena had already gone by the time Adrian reached the staff floor. Her uniform hung from the wardrobe door in her small room, freshly pressed, as though she expected to return. On the desk, beside a bowl holding two pearl earrings, lay a community college catalog opened to a certificate program in early-childhood education.
The fish tank glowed in the corner. One orange fish circled a plastic castle while another remained motionless beneath the filter. Noah had taped a drawing to the glass: three figures beside a large house. The smallest held hands with a woman in a black dress. A tall man stood several inches away, his arms straight at his sides.
Adrian touched the paper and immediately felt ashamed of entering her room without permission.
Beatrice appeared behind him.
“She left through the kitchen.”
“Did she say when she’d return?”
“Tomorrow, according to schedule.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Most of the first floor did.”
“I was trying to stop Margaret from turning it into something else.”
“You used Elena as the easiest person to blame.”
Adrian removed his hand from the drawing. “Thank you, Beatrice.”
“You say that when you mean go away.”
“Yes.”
She went away.
That night, Adrian moved a chair into Noah’s bedroom and announced he would stay until the boy fell asleep. Noah accepted this without enthusiasm. He arranged three stuffed animals beneath the blanket, placed the red scarf beside his pillow, and turned his back.
Adrian opened a book about a rabbit who resented bedtime. Halfway through the first page, his phone vibrated. He ignored it. On the fourth vibration, Noah said, “You can answer.”
“I don’t need to.”
“You keep looking at it.”
Adrian placed the phone facedown.
“Does it make you mad?” Noah asked.
“What?”
“Staying.”
“No.”
“You look mad.”
“I’m tired.”
“Elena looked tired, but she didn’t look mad.”
Adrian closed the book. “Elena should not have stayed all night.”
Noah turned over. “You said thank you.”
“I was grateful.”
“Then why was she bad?”
“She wasn’t bad. Adults can do something kind and still need to handle it differently.”
“Why?”
“Because there are rules.”
“Did Mommy have rules?”
“Yes.”
“Did she have a rule that she had to come get you?”
Adrian’s throat tightened.
“No.”
“Then why did she?”
“She loved me.”
Noah considered this. “Was that a bad rule?”
Adrian set the book on the table. “Your mother made her own choices.”
“Did she choose to die?”
“No.”
“Then choices don’t work.”
The boy rolled away again.
Adrian sat in the chair until nearly midnight. When Noah’s breathing deepened, he stood. The floorboard near the door creaked, and Noah’s eyes opened.
“You said you’d stay.”
“Until you fell asleep.”
“I did.”
“Yes.”
“Now I’m awake.”
Adrian returned to the chair.
At one-thirty, his head tipped forward and woke him. At two, he answered a message from his chief operating officer beneath the blanket so the screen would not show. At two-fifteen, Noah sat up and asked for water. At three, he cried without warning, not loudly, with tears running toward his ears as he stared at the ceiling.
Adrian reached for him. Noah flinched.
“What is it?”
“I forgot her voice.”
“You haven’t.”
“I did.”
Adrian opened Claire’s phone and searched through the photographs. There were short videos: Claire laughing while Noah tried to stack blocks, Claire complaining about a burnt pie, Claire singing half of a birthday song before the camera tilted toward the ceiling.
He played one.
Noah covered his ears.
“Turn it off.”
“I thought you wanted—”
“It’s not her.”
“It is her voice.”
“It’s the phone.”
Adrian stopped the video.
Noah curled around the scarf. “Get Elena.”
“It’s three in the morning.”
“She came before.”
“She is not here.”
“Call her.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Noah.”
“Please.”
Adrian’s control broke along a narrow seam. “I said no.”
The boy went silent.
Adrian stood beside the bed, hearing the volume of his own voice continue after the sound had ended. Noah closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. His breathing became deliberately even.
Adrian returned to the chair but did not touch him.
In the morning, Noah had wet the bed.
He stared at the damp sheets with a face emptied of expression. Adrian reached for the duvet, and the boy shoved his hand away.
“I can clean it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Elena says accidents are private.”
“She’s right.”
“You yelled.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re saying it now because I peed.”
“I’m saying it because I yelled.”
Noah climbed out and pulled his pajama shirt down as far as it would go. “Don’t tell Elena.”
“I won’t.”
“Or Grandma.”
“I won’t.”
“Or Mrs. Kent.”
“We need clean sheets.”
“You do it.”
Adrian stripped the bed. He had not fitted a sheet in years. The corners snapped loose twice. Noah watched from the rug with his arms crossed. When Adrian finally managed it, the fabric ran diagonally across the mattress.
“That’s wrong,” Noah said.
“I’m aware.”
For the first time that morning, the boy smiled.
It disappeared quickly, but Adrian had seen it.
Elena returned at eight wearing her uniform and a composed expression. She went directly to Beatrice’s office, where she remained for twenty minutes. Adrian waited in the corridor pretending to read a message.
When she emerged, she held a folded document.
“What is that?” he asked.
“My two weeks’ notice.”
The words seemed both inevitable and impossible.
“Come into the study.”
May you like
“I have work to do.”
“Beatrice can reassign it.”
