Chương 8
Vanessa’s eyes lowered.
“That may be the nicest thing you ever say to me.”
“It probably is.”
When they left, Vanessa asked if Claire wanted a car.
Claire said no.
At the corner they separated without hugging, promising, forgiving, or becoming friends.
That felt right.
By May, Claire had rented a small furnished apartment in Brooklyn three blocks from Leah.
It was not beautiful.
That was one reason she chose it.
The kitchen cabinets were painted a gray that made food look tired. The bedroom window faced a brick wall. One bathroom tile had been replaced with a different shade of white and bothered Claire every morning.
She liked the place immediately.
Nothing in it had been chosen with Ethan.
She bought a secondhand dining table.
She moved the unfinished crib from West Seventy-Third Street.
Ethan had offered to complete it.
Claire said no.
Sam helped instead, though he installed one rail backward and had to redo it while swearing quietly.
Claire sat on the floor folding baby clothes.
“You know,” she said, “Ethan would have done that in twelve minutes.”
Sam tightened a screw.
“You’re welcome to call him.”
“I’m enjoying this more.”
“So am I.”
He looked at the instruction sheet.
“These people hate fathers.”
“You’re not the father.”
“They hate uncles too.”
For several weeks Ethan obeyed Claire’s request for space.
Then the obstetrician’s office called to confirm an appointment and asked whether Ethan remained her emergency contact.
Claire stood in her kitchen holding the phone.
“No.”
The word felt larger than expected.
She changed it to Leah.
Afterward she sat at the mismatched dining table and cried for six minutes.
Then she went to work.
Ethan began therapy.
Claire learned this from Margaret and wished she had not.
The information created an emotion she did not want: relief.
She had no intention of returning to him.
Still, some part of her wanted him not to remain permanently the man who had done this.
That annoyed her.
When Ethan asked to meet in June, she agreed.
They walked in Riverside Park on a hot Sunday morning.
Claire was eight and a half months pregnant, slow and uncomfortable.
Ethan adjusted his pace to hers.
He did not offer his arm.
That was new.
For ten minutes they talked about practical things.
Insurance.
Hospital forms.
The baby’s pediatrician.
Whether Ethan would be notified when labor began.
Finally he said, “Have you decided?”
Claire stopped near a bench.
“About what?”
“The birth.”
“You’re not going to be in the delivery room.”
He looked away.
“All right.”
“You can come to the hospital after.”
“All right.”
She studied him.
“You’re not going to argue?”
“I already argued myself out of most privileges.”
Claire sat down.
Ethan remained standing until she pointed at the other end of the bench.
He sat.
A man jogged past pushing twins in a stroller.
Ethan watched him.
“I’m sorry about what I said at the elevator.”
Claire did not answer.
“I keep replaying it.”
“Don’t.”
“I need to explain.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
Claire rubbed one ankle.
“You’ve explained everything until it no longer means anything. You panicked. You were ashamed. You wanted another story available. I understand.”
“I knew she was mine.”
Claire looked up sharply.
“She?”
He froze.
Claire stared.
“You know the sex?”
His face changed.
“Oh.”
“How?”
“Mom told me.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Margaret.
Of course.
They had learned at the anatomy scan that the baby was a girl.
Claire had asked Margaret not to tell Ethan because Claire wanted to tell him herself when she was ready.
Ethan looked horrified.
“She thought you already had.”
“I didn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
Claire laughed once.
“This family could lose a nuclear launch code at brunch.”
He almost smiled.
Then did not.
“I won’t tell her you said that.”
“She’ll hear it eventually.”
They sat quietly.
Children played near the path.
A woman walked past carrying a paper bag of peaches.
Ethan said, “I knew the baby was mine.”
Claire’s jaw tightened.
“You said that already.”
“I want you to know I never actually doubted you.”
“That makes it worse.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the river.
“I made you unfaithful in a story because I needed not to be the only unfaithful person in it.”
Claire watched him.
There was no cleverness in his voice.
No defense.
She said, “That sounds like therapy.”
“It is.”
“I hate that.”
“So do I.”
She almost smiled.
Ethan continued.
“I told Vanessa you cheated because she kept asking why you were still there. I told Mom you were leaving because she kept asking why I seemed distracted. Every time somebody got close to the truth, I changed you a little more.”
Claire felt the baby move.
Ethan noticed her hand shift.
He did not reach toward her.
“That,” Claire said, “is the part I don’t know if I can ever forgive.”
He nodded.
“Not Vanessa?”
“No.”
“The lying?”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“You made me into someone else in rooms I wasn’t in.”
His eyes filled, but he did not look away.
“Yes.”
“I can protect myself from cheating.”
He said nothing.
“I can leave. I can get tested. I can move. I can hire a lawyer. I can decide whether I want you near me. But I can’t defend myself from conversations I don’t know are happening.”
“I know.”
She breathed out.
“You keep saying that.”
“I don’t have a better sentence yet.”
That was honest enough.
Claire stood with difficulty.
Ethan instinctively moved to help.
She gave him a look.
He stopped.
“Sorry.”
She steadied herself.
They continued walking.
The baby came twelve days later.
Not during a storm.
Not at midnight.
Not dramatically.
Claire’s water broke at 2:17 on a Tuesday afternoon while she was discussing fire-rated doors in a conference room.
She looked down at the chair.
Martin looked down too.
Nobody spoke.
May you like
Finally Martin said, “I assume that isn’t the sprinkler system.”
Claire laughed so hard she had to hold the table.
