Chương 6
“Then tomorrow will be uncomfortable.”
“Tomorrow is already uncomfortable.”
“It can become worse.”
Rebecca asked whether Celeste belonged to an agency. She did: Commonwealth Household Staffing, a Boston firm whose website featured discreet professionals for discerning families. Adrian had chosen them because the phrase discreet professionals appealed to him after Lena’s death, when pity had begun arriving in casseroles and handwritten cards.
Rebecca told him to send a factual notice suspending Celeste’s access to the property and children pending investigation. She would contact the agency in the morning.
“Adrian,” she said before ending the call, “do not ask the kids to reassure you that you’re a good father.”
His hand tightened around the phone.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
Upstairs, Henry had fallen asleep across Oliver’s legs. Sophie sat near the window, twisting the blanket fringe. Mrs. Alvarez had brought grilled cheese sandwiches, but only Nora had eaten half of one.
Adrian removed his suit jacket and sat beside Oliver.
“I found the paper,” he said.
Oliver’s eyes remained on Henry. “The one with the red line?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Rowe wrote that.”
“I know.”
“She said it proved you wanted me gone.”
“It did not.”
“It said a sleeping place.”
“It said that might be considered if you were unsafe and other kinds of help did not work.”
“Was I unsafe?”
Adrian looked at Henry’s sleeping face. “Celeste told me about the fireplace poker.”
Oliver’s cheeks reddened.
“Did you say you would break the windows?”
“I didn’t.”
“Did you hold the poker?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
Oliver swallowed. “I said if the window broke, you’d come home.”
Sophie turned from the glass. “That’s what he said.”
Adrian leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
Oliver’s expression hardened in a way that belonged to someone much older. “You didn’t come home.”
There was no argument available.
Nora stood. “I’m going to make tea.”
No one wanted tea. She left anyway, giving them the room.
Adrian looked at his three children. Lena had been dead for seventeen months. In that time he had hired specialists, changed schools, renovated bedrooms, arranged schedules, and filled every practical need he could identify. He had mistaken administration for presence.
“I was afraid,” he said.
Oliver looked suspicious.
“After Mom died, everything in this house reminded me that I couldn’t fix what happened. When you got angry, I thought I had to find the right person to handle it. When Sophie stopped talking, I thought I needed a better therapist. When Henry woke up, I thought we needed better routines.”
“You needed Mrs. Rowe,” Sophie said.
“I thought I did.”
“She said crying makes Henry sick.”
Henry slept on, one hand curled near his mouth.
“Did she stop him from crying?”
“She made him sit in the laundry room because the noise woke Oliver.”
Oliver said, “I told her it was okay.”
“When was this?”
“Lots.”
The word had no edges. Adrian could not measure it.
“Did she ever hit any of you?”
All three children shook their heads.
“Did she ever touch you in a way that hurt?”
Oliver looked at Sophie. Sophie looked at Henry.
“She squeezed my chin,” Sophie said. “When I wouldn’t swallow peas.”
“How hard?”
Sophie demonstrated with two fingers beneath her own jaw.
Adrian’s stomach turned.
“Anything else?”
“She locked the music room,” Oliver said.
“With you inside?”
“Outside. She locked the door so I couldn’t play Mom’s piano.”
“Why?”
“She said I used it to upset everyone.”
That was possible. Oliver sometimes struck the keys with both forearms until the sound filled the house. Adrian had heard about the behavior and approved restricting access for a week.
He had not asked what restricting access meant.
“What was on the paper you took?” he asked.
Oliver glanced toward the bedroom door. “I hid it.”
“Where?”
“I’m not telling.”
Adrian felt the old impulse to command. His voice nearly took the shape Celeste’s might have taken.
He stopped.
“All right.”
Oliver frowned. “You’re not mad?”
“I’m afraid the paper might matter. I would like you to give it to me. But you’re not in trouble.”
“What if it proves you lied?”
“Then we need it.”
Oliver studied him, searching for the condition hidden inside the promise.
Finally he slid out from beneath Henry, careful not to wake him, and went to the bookcase. From behind a row of adventure novels, he removed a folded sheet.
It was not the email from Dr. Feld.
It was a printed message from Adrian to Rebecca Sloan, dated twelve days earlier.
Need to discuss guardianship contingencies if travel increases. Children cannot continue without a stable adult presence. Explore options before March board vote.
Adrian read it twice.
“Are we getting another dad?” Sophie asked.
“No.”
“Mrs. Rowe said guardianship means you give us to someone.”
“It can mean many things.”
“Does it mean that?”
“It can.”
Oliver’s face closed.
Adrian set the paper on his knee. The message had been part of a conversation about his company’s expansion. Rebecca had advised him to update emergency guardianship documents before increased international travel. He had written carelessly, using the language of risk management for the lives of his children.
“I was talking about who would care for you if something happened to me,” he said.
“It says travel,” Oliver replied.
“Yes. I was also considering more travel.”
“So you were leaving.”
“I was considering it.”
“Why does everything bad start with considering?”
Adrian almost smiled. It was the kind of question Lena would have repeated later in the kitchen, admiring its precision.
He did not smile because Oliver was not joking.
“I have spent a long time considering how to be your father,” Adrian said. “I should have been doing it.”
No one answered.
Henry stirred and whispered, “Is Dad here?”
Oliver touched his hair. “Yeah.”
“For tonight?”
Adrian had not known a person could feel shame in the palms of his hands.
May you like
“For tonight,” he said, “and tomorrow morning.”
Henry’s eyes opened.
