Chương 7
On the fourth morning she said, “You can stop pretending to be asleep.”
He turned his head.
“Wasn’t pretending.”
“You haven’t moved in twenty minutes.”
“I was trying not to wake you.”
“You breathe differently when you sleep.”
He stared at the ceiling.
“That’s creepy.”
“I’ve been married to you six years.”
“Still creepy.”
She almost smiled.
Then he said, “I keep remembering stuff.”
Emily waited.
He had begun doing that now—waiting to see whether she wanted more instead of assuming.
“What stuff?”
“Dad.”
“Okay.”
“Things he used to say.”
Noah folded his hands across his stomach.
“When Mom started on someone, he’d find a job to do. Trash. Ice. Check the grill. He always had a reason to leave the room.”
Emily turned on her side.
“I thought he was laid-back.”
“He was.”
“That’s not always a compliment.”
Noah breathed out.
“No.”
He told her about being fifteen and breaking a lamp in the basement. Diane had screamed for an hour. Frank had later handed Noah twenty dollars and told him to buy glue.
“You could buy a new lamp for twenty dollars back then,” Emily said.
“It was not a good lamp.”
“That helps.”
Noah smiled.
Then the smile faded.
“I used to think Dad kept the peace.”
“Maybe he did.”
“He also left everybody else in the room.”
Emily did not answer.
She understood the sentence was not really about Frank.
A victim advocate called Emily two days later.
The woman’s name was Tasha, and she spoke in a practical voice that Emily liked immediately. She did not tell Emily what she ought to feel about Diane. She talked about documentation, safety planning, contact, housing, and the fact that criminal proceedings—if they continued—would move on a timeline Emily did not control.
That last part frightened Emily.
It also relieved her.
“What if I don’t want her life ruined?” Emily asked.
Tasha paused.
“Do you believe telling the truth ruins her life?”
Emily looked at the hotel window.
Traffic moved below.
“That sounds like a therapist question.”
“I’m not a therapist.”
“Good.”
Tasha laughed softly.
Then she said, “I’m asking because people sometimes confuse consequences with cruelty. They’re not automatically the same thing.”
Emily thought about Diane removing her keys.
She thought about the bruise.
She thought about the silver tray.
Then she thought about Leah saying, I did nothing because then it would’ve been a thing.
“I don’t know what I want,” Emily said.
“You don’t have to know today.”
That answer mattered.
Three days later the Mercer family group chat exploded.
Emily was not in it.
Noah was.
He showed her because he had promised he would stop deciding which information she could handle.
Diane had posted one message.
I am deeply sorry that a private family disagreement became a public incident during an evening meant to honor Frank. I love all my children and my grandson beyond words. I have been advised not to discuss details, but there are two sides to every story. I pray time will restore perspective.
Emily read it twice.
Then she handed the phone back.
“What?”
Noah asked.
“She apologized to the anniversary party.”
He looked at the message again.
Emily said, “Not to me. Not even for what she did. She’s sorry the disagreement became public.”
Noah’s mouth tightened.
Aunt Christine had responded with a heart.
Patrick wrote, Love you Aunt D.
Leah wrote nothing.
Noah put the phone face down.
“I want to answer.”
“What would you say?”
“I don’t know.”
“That seems like a reason not to.”
He looked at her.
“I keep wanting to make everybody understand.”
“They won’t.”
“You sound sure.”
“I’m starting to be.”
The following afternoon, Emily reopened her laptop for work.
She had been a freelance packaging designer before Eli was born, mostly working with small food and cosmetics companies that could not afford agencies. Her last project before labor had involved spending nine days arguing about the precise shade of beige on a soap wrapper.
At the time, she had believed nothing could be more exhausting.
Now the beige looked peaceful.
Her client sent an email saying there was no rush.
Emily cried over that too.
She cried much less dramatically than movies had taught her people cried. Tears simply slid down while she corrected a font weight. She kept working because the revision was due.
At four, Noah returned from the condo with bad news.
The ceiling repair had uncovered mold behind one wall.
“Of course it did,” Emily said.
He leaned against the hotel door.
“I’m afraid to tell you anything now.”
“That’s fair.”
“We’re looking at another two weeks minimum.”
Emily closed the laptop.
The hotel had already cost nearly eleven hundred dollars.
They could move to a cheaper one farther away, but it would double Noah’s commute and make pediatric appointments harder. A furnished short-term rental required a deposit they did not have available without using credit.
Diane’s house had six empty bedrooms.
Neither of them said it.
The option occupied the room anyway.
Noah finally said, “We are not going back.”
Emily looked at him.
He corrected himself.
“Do you want to go back?”
“No.”
“Then we’re not.”
Better.
They found a basement apartment through one of Emily’s former clients.
It belonged to the client’s older brother, Sam, who usually rented it to traveling nurses. The current tenant had left early. The apartment had one bedroom, weak water pressure, and a refrigerator that hummed loudly enough to make Eli stare at it.
It was also half the price of the hotel.
Emily loved it immediately.
Not because it was beautiful.
It was not.
The couch had a stain shaped vaguely like Florida. The shower curtain leaned inward when the fan turned on. The kitchen drawer jammed unless lifted from underneath.
On their second night there, Noah spent ten minutes fixing the drawer with a screwdriver.
Emily sat at the table feeding Eli.
May you like
“You know you don’t have to repair everything you see.”
He looked over his shoulder.
