Chương 6
“I know.”
“Did you apologize?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because then she wins.”
Daniel exhaled.
“That’s not how apologies work.”
“It is with Victoria.”
He looked at her.
Sophie immediately seemed to regret saying it.
“What does that mean?”
“She remembers.”
“Remembers what?”
“Everything.”
Daniel thought about Victoria’s lists.
Not literal lists.
Mental ones.
Arguments returned months later with exact dates and preserved phrasing. He had once admired her memory. It made her excellent at her job. She worked in corporate restructuring and could recall who had promised what in meetings long after everyone else had forgotten.
“Does she bring up things you did before?”
Sophie nodded.
“What things?”
“The sweater. The cookies. When I said I brushed my teeth and I didn’t.”
“That one sounds fair.”
“I know.”
“Anything else?”
Sophie thought.
“The picture.”
“What picture?”
She reached for the water beside the berth but only touched the bottle without drinking.
“The one Mommy drew.”
Daniel felt his breathing stop for a moment.
Claire had been an architect who doodled on everything—receipts, envelopes, napkins, the margins of preschool permission forms. After her death, Daniel had found one of her sketches tucked inside a cookbook: Sophie at two years old asleep in a laundry basket, a ridiculous thing she had done one afternoon while Claire folded towels.
They framed it.
It hung in the upstairs hallway.
“What happened to it?”
“Nothing.”
“What did Victoria say?”
“She said I moved it.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Daniel waited.
“She moved it.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw.”
“Where?”
“To the closet.”
“When?”
“When those people came.”
“What people?”
“The wedding people.”
He remembered a photographer visiting the house to look at possible locations for engagement photographs.
“Did she put it back?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say why she moved it?”
“She said not everything has to be about Mommy.”
Daniel looked at the wall behind Sophie.
For months he had been trying to make space for Victoria.
He had rearranged drawers, changed photographs, replaced a chair Claire had loved because Victoria said it hurt her back. None of those choices had seemed significant individually.
Maybe they weren’t.
A dead spouse could not become sacred furniture.
A new partner could not be expected to live forever inside somebody else’s marriage.
But there was a difference between asking for room and taking it from a child.
“Did Victoria tell you not to tell me?”
“No.”
That surprised him.
“She said if I told you, you’d put the picture back and then feel bad all night.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Sophie continued.
“She said I like making you feel bad.”
His eyes opened.
“What?”
“She says when I talk about Mommy, you get sad, and I know it.”
Daniel swallowed.
“Sophie.”
“I don’t do it to make you sad.”
“I know.”
“I just forget she’s dead sometimes.”
The sentence came out calmly.
That was how Sophie said the worst things.
Daniel moved beside her.
She leaned against him.
“Sometimes I think she’s at Target,” she said.
He put his arm around her.
Claire had loved Target. Not in a sentimental way. She complained about spending a hundred dollars every time she went in for toothpaste.
“Yeah,” Daniel said.
“Then I remember.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you forget?”
“No.”
Sophie frowned.
“Never?”
He thought about lying again.
“Sometimes for half a second.”
“When?”
“When something funny happens and I think I should text her.”
Sophie nodded.
“What do you do?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s sad.”
“Little bit.”
She rested her head on him.
Outside, the storm pressed against the train.
The stopped cars felt different. Without the constant forward motion, every sound became distinct: wind humming around the seams, the click of heating vents, boots in the corridor, low voices from staff moving between cars.
Sophie yawned.
Daniel looked at his watch.
It was after nine.
“You should sleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You just yawned so hard I saw your skeleton.”
She frowned.
“You can’t see skeletons in mouths.”
“Part of one.”
“Teeth aren’t skeleton.”
“Technically—”
“No.”
He smiled.
“Fine.”
He helped her into pajamas.
When she climbed under the blanket, she looked at the empty upper berth.
“Where are you sleeping?”
“Here.”
“Where?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“With Victoria?”
“No.”
Sophie became still.
Daniel regretted answering so quickly.
“Is it because of me?”
“No.”
“Because of the juice?”
“It’s because of choices adults made.”
“What choices?”
He sat on the edge of the bed.
“Things you don’t need to fix.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He almost laughed.
She had inherited that from Claire.
“It’s the best answer I have tonight.”
Sophie accepted it reluctantly.
“Are you breaking up?”
“I don’t know.”
She turned onto her side.
Daniel tucked the blanket around her shoulder.
After a minute she whispered, “If you do, will she hate me?”
Daniel’s chest tightened.
“I don’t know what Victoria will feel.”
“That means yes.”
“No. It means her feelings are hers.”
Sophie frowned into the pillow.
“Can people hate kids?”
“Yes.”
He could not believe he had said it.
Sophie turned back.
Daniel added, “But adults are responsible for what they do with their feelings.”
“Even if kids are annoying?”
“Especially then.”
She considered this.
“Am I annoying?”
“Sometimes.”
Her eyes widened.
He smiled.
“So am I.”
She looked unconvinced.
“Mommy said you leave socks everywhere.”
“That is defamation.”
“What’s defamation?”
“Something I’ll teach you when you’re thirty.”
“Victoria says thirty is old.”
“Victoria is thirty-six.”
Sophie giggled.
Then covered her mouth as if she had committed a crime.
Daniel saw it.
He did not say anything.
He lay beside her until her breathing became heavy.
His phone showed nine missed messages.
Three from Victoria.
Two from his sister, Lauren.
One from the wedding planner.
Three work emails marked urgent.
The wedding planner’s message was about flowers.
He stared at it longest.
White ranunculus unavailable in the requested quantity.
Did they want garden roses instead?
For nearly a minute, Daniel considered answering.
The absurdity was almost comforting.
Flowers had answers.
Quantities.
Substitutions.
May you like
Deadlines.
He put the phone away.
