Chương 10
“Why?”
“Because Richard thought fear would make me sign.”
Claire pressed her hand against her mouth.
Ethan came closer.
She held up one finger.
“Did Dad touch you?”
“No.”
“Did Steven?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
Laura’s voice tightened.
“Enough.”
Claire let the silence remain.
After a moment Laura said, “I hit him. I should have left immediately. Instead I sat on the bathroom floor for maybe fifteen minutes while Daniel cleaned blood off the carpet.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel always cleaned things.”
“Did Marcus know?”
“No.”
“Did Dad pay him afterward?”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“Daniel told me.”
Claire looked at Ethan.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“Did you fake your death?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Ethan’s eyes widened.
Claire turned farther away.
“Why didn’t you take me?”
Laura made a small sound.
“I tried.”
Claire felt all the muscles in her face go still.
“What?”
“I came to your school.”
“When?”
“The day before the bridge.”
“You came to school?”
“I sat across the street for almost an hour.”
“Why didn’t you come in?”
“Because Richard had filed an emergency custody petition that morning claiming I was suicidal and abusing alcohol.”
Claire could barely speak.
“Were you?”
“I was drinking again.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No. I was not suicidal.”
“Could you prove that?”
“No.”
“Could he prove you were?”
“He had photographs. Messages. A therapist’s letter saying I had expressed hopelessness.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
Claire shut her eyes.
Nothing stayed clean.
Not her father’s guilt.
Not her mother’s innocence.
Laura said, “I convinced myself I would leave, get sober, gather evidence, and come back for you.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I was ashamed.”
Claire laughed.
The sound frightened Ethan.
“Ashamed?”
“Yes.”
“Nine years?”
“At first I thought a month. Then six months. Then I missed your birthday.”
Claire’s hand trembled.
Laura continued, voice breaking despite her effort.
“And after I missed your birthday, coming back meant explaining why I had missed it. Every day I stayed away made the next day harder. Then Richard had me declared dead. I saw the notice online. And I thought—”
“What?”
“I thought maybe you were better without me.”
Claire stood completely still.
There were things she could forgive.
Things she could understand.
That sentence was not one of them.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I know.”
“No, stop saying you know.”
“All right.”
“You don’t know what it was like.”
“No.”
“I waited by the window for weeks because I thought the police might bring you home.”
Laura did not speak.
“I slept with your scarf.”
Claire heard Ethan move behind her.
“I got angry at you for dying.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop.”
“Okay.”
“I spent years feeling guilty because sometimes I was relieved you were dead.”
Laura inhaled.
Claire kept going because if she stopped she might collapse.
“You were sad all the time. Dad was angry. You two fought. I used to sit in my room with headphones on because I was tired of hearing you. After you disappeared, the house got quiet. And sometimes I liked the quiet. Do you understand what that does to a kid when everyone keeps telling her she lost the most important person in her life and part of her feels relieved?”
Laura whispered, “Claire.”
“No.”
Claire pressed her palm flat on the table.
“You don’t get to say my name like that yet.”
The silence lasted a long time.
Then Laura said, “Fair.”
The word was almost absurd.
Claire’s anger faltered just enough for exhaustion to enter.
“Where are you?”
“I’m not ready.”
Claire laughed again.
“You called me.”
“I know.”
“You came to Chicago.”
“Yes.”
“You put a suitcase in an elevator.”
“Yes.”
“That was you?”
“Yes.”
“How did you get into the garage?”
“Daniel gave me an old staff access card.”
“Why the suitcase?”
“I needed you to recognize it.”
Claire looked at Ethan.
The red suitcase.
Her mother had known she would remember.
“Why didn’t you stay?”
“Because Richard arrived.”
“He wasn’t there yet.”
“I saw his car enter the upper level.”
Claire thought about the security cameras.
The wet pavement.
The elevator.
“You were in the garage.”
“Yes.”
“Did you see Ethan?”
“No.”
“Daniel?”
“From a distance.”
“Why didn’t you come to us?”
Laura said nothing.
There it was again.
The old failure dressed in new circumstances.
Claire said, “You’re still doing it.”
“What?”
“Leaving.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“Then stop.”
Laura breathed.
“I’m afraid.”
“So am I.”
The answer came out smaller than Claire intended.
For the first time, neither woman had anything useful to say.
Then Ethan walked over.
“Can I talk to her?”
Claire turned.
He held out his hand.
She covered the phone.
“You’re sure?”
“No.”
That answer sounded sane.
She handed him the phone.
Ethan put it to his ear.
“Hi.”
Laura said something Claire could not hear.
Ethan looked at the floor.
“I don’t remember you.”
A pause.
“I know.”
Another pause.
“Dad said you liked lemon candy.”
Ethan listened.
Then, “That’s gross.”
A tiny smile appeared.
He listened again.
“No. Claire likes sour stuff.”
He looked at Claire.
“Do you want to meet us?”
Claire’s heart stopped.
Ethan listened.
His smile disappeared.
“Okay.”
He handed back the phone.
“She said no.”
Claire put it to her ear.
“Mom.”
“I need a little time.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“No. You’ve had nine years.”
“I am trying to do this without making things worse.”
“You don’t know how.”
Laura went quiet.
Claire softened despite herself.
“Neither do I.”
She heard Laura cry again.
One breath.
Nothing dramatic.
Just a mother Claire had buried trying not to make noise on the other end of a phone.
“Where?” Laura asked.
Claire chose a place their father did not own.
A public library branch near the river.
Second-floor reading room.
Five o’clock.
Laura arrived at five-twelve.
Claire saw her before Ethan did.
Gray had entered her hair.
She was thinner.
Older around the mouth.
She wore jeans, a navy raincoat, and cheap black shoes.
May you like
No cinematic transformation occurred.
No impossible recognition across a crowded room.
