Chương 8
“What did she say?”
“That I would send her away.”
Daniel’s body went still.
“Why would she think that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Victoria.”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever say anything about boarding school?”
Silence.
His stomach dropped.
“Victoria.”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
“Why?”
“She was having problems at preschool.”
“She pushed a kid who took her crayons.”
“She bit him.”
“After he pushed her.”
“That doesn’t make biting acceptable.”
“No, it doesn’t. What did you say?”
Victoria rubbed her forehead.
“I said maybe she needed a school with more structure.”
“To me?”
“To her.”
Daniel stared.
“She asked what that meant. I said there are schools where children stay during the week.”
“You told a five-year-old about boarding school.”
“I was frustrated.”
“Did you tell her you were sending her?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her I was?”
“No.”
“Then why does she think you can send her away?”
Victoria’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Daniel watched the answer arrive before she spoke.
“Because I said if she kept pushing people away, eventually people would stop trying.”
Daniel leaned back.
The room seemed to tilt although the train was stationary.
“You said that to her.”
“I wasn’t talking about you.”
“She’s five.”
“Stop.”
“No.”
“Stop saying it like I don’t know how old she is.”
“Then talk to her like you know.”
Victoria covered her face.
For several seconds there was nothing elegant or controlled about her.
She breathed through her hands.
Daniel looked at the stain again.
The juice had seeped deep into the carpet.
An expensive carpet.
Replaceable.
He wondered when money had begun making him stupid about damage.
Perhaps when he earned enough to make most damage disappear.
Broken phone. Replace it.
Canceled flight. Charter something.
Ruined carpet. Pay.
He had started treating inconvenience as the same thing as consequence.
Children did not work that way.
Neither did trust.
Victoria lowered her hands.
“I wanted her to understand that words hurt.”
“So you hurt her.”
“Yes.”
The word came quietly.
Daniel waited.
Victoria looked at the overturned glass.
“I poured the juice.”
He said nothing.
A gust of wind hit the train.
The window gave a low shudder.
Victoria breathed in.
“I didn’t plan it before dinner.”
“Nora says you asked for the cloth.”
“I spilled some water earlier near the sideboard. I asked for a cloth and didn’t use it.”
He did not know whether that was true.
Perhaps it was.
“Why did you ask about the cranberry juice?”
“She wouldn’t drink water.”
“Sophie says you don’t like cranberry juice.”
“I don’t.”
“So why pour it?”
Victoria’s face tightened.
“I told you. She said I was glad Claire died. She said you wouldn’t marry me. She said I was going to be gone soon.”
“That’s why?”
“No.”
Victoria looked at him.
“That’s what happened before.”
Daniel understood the distinction.
“Then why?”
Her eyes moved to the stain.
“Because she looked at me like I had no power.”
Daniel felt sick.
Victoria continued before he could interrupt.
“I know how that sounds.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because I’m not sure you do.”
“I wanted her to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Testing whether you would choose her.”
“She shouldn’t have to test that.”
Victoria flinched.
Daniel leaned forward.
“She should know I choose her.”
“And where does that leave me?”
“That question is the problem.”
Victoria stood so abruptly the chair moved backward.
“No. That question is marriage.”
“Not when the other person is five.”
“You expect me to build a life where I automatically lose every conflict because she is your daughter.”
“I expect you not to manufacture conflicts with her.”
“I didn’t manufacture everything.”
“No.”
“She lies.”
“Yes.”
“She manipulates you.”
“Sometimes.”
“She is rude to me.”
“Yes.”
“She compares me to Claire on purpose because she knows it hurts.”
“Probably.”
Victoria stared at him, shocked by the agreement.
Daniel continued.
“She can be difficult. She can be selfish. She can lie. She can say cruel things. She can make you furious.”
His voice dropped.
“And you are still the adult.”
Victoria’s mouth trembled.
“I know.”
“No. Tonight you didn’t.”
“I know.”
Daniel stood.
For the first time since entering the dining car, he had the answer to the factual question.
It did not produce the relief he expected.
Victoria had poured the juice.
Sophie had told the truth.
Nothing became simple.
“Are we done?” Victoria asked.
Daniel looked at her.
“With the conversation?”
“With us.”
He could have answered immediately.
Part of him wanted to.
A clean ending. A punishment proportionate to outrage. One decisive act that would make him the father who finally did the right thing.
But that would also be another version of what he had been doing for years: deciding quickly when he was frightened of what slow decisions might reveal about him.
“I’m not making that decision tonight.”
Victoria’s shoulders loosened.
He saw hope appear.
Then he said, “But you will not be alone with Sophie again.”
The hope disappeared.
“Daniel.”
“Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not when we get home.”
“You can’t mean permanently.”
“I mean until I know what I’m doing.”
“I made one terrible mistake.”
“I don’t think it was one.”
Victoria looked at him.
He listed nothing.
He did not need to.
She knew.
The bathroom light. The picture. The headaches. The calls. The boarding-school comment. Small injuries Daniel had mistaken for ordinary friction.
“Where am I supposed to go?” she asked.
“Nora has another compartment.”
“You moved me.”
“Yes.”
“Without asking.”
“Yes.”
Victoria laughed once, bitterly.
“Efficient.”
Daniel picked up his gloves.
“I’ll speak with you in the morning.”
“What if I don’t want to speak in the morning?”
“Then we won’t.”
He reached the door.
“Daniel.”
He turned.
Victoria was looking at the stained cloth.
“I am sorry.”
He waited.
“To Sophie,” he said.
“I know.”
“Then tell her when she decides she wants to hear it.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re going to let a five-year-old decide whether I can apologize?”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
“Maybe.”
May you like
He left.
At two in the morning, Daniel woke on the floor of the sleeping compartment with one arm numb beneath him.
