Chương 9
Claire stared at him.
“You wore a three-thousand-dollar suit to feed a baby?”
“I came from work.”
“You deserve this.”
“I’m beginning to think so.”
He wiped orange puree from his lapel.
Lucy banged a spoon against the high chair.
Maribel raised her glass of ginger ale.
“To expensive laundry.”
They drank.
Later, after Margaret and Maribel went upstairs, Ethan helped Claire wash bottles.
Snow pressed softly against the narrow windows.
Claire handed him a towel.
“You’re better at that now.”
“Bottles?”
“Being here.”
He looked at her.
She immediately became interested in the sink.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were about to.”
“I was thinking.”
“That’s how it starts.”
He dried another bottle.
“Claire.”
She sighed.
“There it is.”
“I don’t want to assume anything.”
“Good.”
“But I need to ask.”
She turned off the faucet.
“What?”
“Is there any chance for us?”
She did not answer.
He waited.
That, more than anything, showed how much had changed.
Months earlier he would have filled the silence.
Claire dried her hands.
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
“You hurt me before your parents ever got involved.”
“I know.”
“I hurt you too.”
He looked at her.
She shrugged.
“I’m not rewriting history just because your family did something worse.”
He leaned against the counter.
“We were terrible at the end.”
“Yes.”
“I was controlling.”
“Yes.”
“You were impulsive.”
“Still am.”
“You threw my phone into the Charles.”
“You were answering email during my sister’s memorial dinner.”
“It was waterproof.”
“That was disappointing.”
He laughed.
Claire did too.
Then the laughter faded.
Her eyes stayed on him.
“I loved you,” she said.
He did not correct the tense.
“I loved you too.”
“That wasn’t enough.”
“No.”
“And two babies don’t make it enough.”
“No.”
She looked relieved.
Ethan set down the towel.
“I’m not asking because of them.”
“You can’t know that.”
He wanted to argue.
Instead he nodded.
“You’re right.”
Claire folded the damp dishcloth over the sink divider.
“Ask me again someday.”
“When?”
She gave him a look.
He smiled.
“Right. Time.”
“Very expensive. You can’t buy it.”
“I’ve checked.”
She laughed softly.
In February, Lucy and Nora turned one.
The party was small.
Maribel made a cake.
Denise came from Worcester.
Margaret brought balloons.
David came down from Boston carrying a stuffed bear so large Claire made him leave it in the hallway.
Ethan spent half the afternoon assembling a plastic push toy because he refused to read the instructions.
Claire watched for fifteen minutes before taking the screwdriver from him.
“You run a real estate company.”
“Buildings come with professionals.”
“So do instructions.”
“Hostile documentation.”
“Move.”
She fixed it in four minutes.
David watched from the couch.
“I like her.”
“You’re fired,” Ethan said.
“You’re not CEO.”
Everyone laughed.
For one afternoon, the history among them did not disappear.
It simply stopped occupying every chair.
After cake, Margaret asked Claire whether she could take the girls to Boston for a weekend sometime.
Claire stiffened.
Margaret immediately said, “Not now.”
Claire looked at her.
“I mean, you don’t have to answer now.”
“Okay.”
“Or ever.”
“That’s too far.”
Margaret smiled nervously.
“I’m still learning.”
Claire looked toward Lucy, who was asleep against Ethan’s chest.
“Maybe in the spring.”
Margaret’s eyes widened.
“Maybe.”
“I heard you.”
“Good.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
“I won’t.”
She almost did.
Two weeks later, Margaret called Ethan.
“I found something.”
He was in his Boston apartment, barefoot, eating cereal for dinner.
“What?”
“Your father’s desk.”
“That’s not usually hard to find.”
“Don’t be sarcastic.”
“You raised me.”
“In the locked drawer.”
Ethan set down the spoon.
After Richard’s death, Margaret had left his study almost untouched.
“What did you find?”
“A file.”
“What file?”
“Claire.”
Ethan stood.
“I’m coming over.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“I need to tell you before you see it.”
His stomach tightened.
“Tell me what?”
“There are copies of the messages she sent me. Notes from your father. A draft agreement from an attorney.”
“What agreement?”
“For Claire.”
He closed his eyes.
“The money.”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t sign it.”
“No.”
“What else?”
Margaret was silent.
“Mom.”
“A report.”
“What kind?”
“A private investigator.”
Ethan sat again.
His father had investigated Claire.
“How long?”
“Several weeks.”
“Why?”
“To determine whether she was seeing anyone else.”
Ethan felt sick.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
He believed her.
That mattered.
“What did it say?”
“That there was no evidence of another relationship.”
The room became very quiet.
His father had known.
Not known biologically.
But known enough to make his accusations dishonest.
“When was the report dated?”
“Three days before he called Claire.”
Ethan stared at the dark window.
Richard had not merely feared uncertainty.
He had manufactured it.
“Don’t destroy anything,” Ethan said.
“I wouldn’t.”
“I know.”
He drove to Margaret’s house.
The file was thinner than expected.
That somehow made it worse.
Claire’s address.
Employment history.
Photographs taken outside her apartment.
A summary of her movements.
A copy of her meeting with Margaret.
Richard’s handwritten notes appeared on two pages.
One line was underlined twice.
Ethan cannot afford distraction now.
Another:
Resolve before board vote.
Claire and the unborn child had been reduced to an obstacle on a business calendar.
Ethan sat in his father’s chair.
For years he had wanted that chair.
Now he wanted to carry it outside and leave it in the snow.
Margaret stood by the door.
“I’m sorry.”
Ethan looked at the handwriting.
“Did he love me?”
Margaret’s face broke.
“Oh, Ethan.”
“Don’t answer like that.”
“Yes.”
“How can you know?”
“Because I knew him for forty-one years.”
“He did this.”
“Yes.”
“To me.”
“Yes.”
“To Claire.”
“Yes.”
“And you still say he loved me.”
Margaret came farther into the room.
“Love does not make people good.”
Ethan looked at her.
She sat across from him.
“Sometimes it makes frightened people more dangerous because they can call control protection.”
Neither spoke for a while.
May you like
Ethan looked again at his father’s notes.
He understood something then that did not make Richard easier to forgive.
