Chương 10
This time he did not hide it quickly.
Claire stood at the sink washing strawberries.
“She sounds like herself,” he said.
“Yes.”
“That’s almost worse.”
“I know.”
Nathan rubbed both hands over his face.
“She wants me to come see her.”
Claire turned off the faucet.
“How do you know?”
“She asked through her attorney.”
“What are you going to do?”
He looked at the letter.
“I don’t know.”
Claire nodded.
“That’s yours.”
He looked at her.
“You mean that?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t care?”
“I care.”
She dried her hands.
“But I’m not going to become your mother in the other direction.”
He winced.
“Fair.”
“You can have a relationship with her someday if you want.”
“She assaulted you.”
“Yes.”
“She threatened our baby.”
“Yes.”
“How could you be okay with me seeing her?”
“I didn’t say I’d be okay.”
Nathan looked confused.
Claire almost smiled.
“Those are different things.”
He sat quietly.
Then he said, “I’m not ready.”
“Okay.”
The baby came nine days early.
Claire’s water broke at 3:17 in the morning while she was standing in front of the refrigerator eating cold grapes.
For the first few seconds, she assumed she had wet herself.
Pregnancy had destroyed several categories of dignity.
Then another contraction came.
She called Nathan.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hi.”
“My water broke.”
Silence.
Then, “What?”
“I don’t want to repeat it.”
“I’m coming.”
“Nathan.”
“What?”
“Drive normally.”
“I am driving normally.”
“You haven’t left yet.”
“Right.”
Claire laughed.
The first real laugh in several days.
At the hospital, labor took longer than both of them expected.
There was no cinematic rush.
There were forms.
Waiting.
Pain.
Ice chips.
A nurse named Keisha who told Nathan to stop staring at the monitor because he was making himself useless.
Claire loved her instantly.
At one point Nathan rubbed Claire’s back in exactly the wrong place.
She snapped, “Stop touching me.”
He stepped back.
Thirty seconds later she said, “Why did you stop?”
Keisha looked at Nathan.
“Welcome to labor.”
Hours passed.
Claire became tired enough to forget she was angry at anyone.
Then she remembered.
Then she forgot again.
Between contractions, Nathan sat beside the bed.
The damaged bedroom seemed very far away.
At some point near evening, Claire looked at him and said, “Do you still wonder?”
He knew what she meant.
His face changed.
“No.”
“Never?”
“No.”
“You can be honest.”
“I am.”
She watched him.
Nathan leaned closer.
“I’m ashamed that I wondered then. But I’m not going to pretend I didn’t.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Another contraction built.
He waited.
When it passed, she said, “I don’t want a DNA test.”
“I don’t either.”
“I thought about getting one just so nobody could ever say anything.”
Nathan shook his head.
“You don’t owe anyone that.”
“Not even you?”
“Especially not me.”
Claire studied him.
“Good answer.”
“I’ve had practice being wrong.”
She laughed and immediately regretted it because another contraction started.
Their son was born just after nine that night.
For several minutes after the delivery, nothing in Claire’s mind behaved normally.
The room contained too many sounds.
Instructions.
Crying.
Nathan’s voice.
Her own breath.
Then a small warm body was placed against her.
Claire looked down.
The baby’s face was red and furious.
She laughed.
“Oh, wow.”
Nathan stood beside her crying openly now.
“He looks angry.”
“He’s your son.”
Nathan laughed.
Claire looked at him.
“My son?”
“Our son.”
“That’s better.”
It was not forgiveness.
It was not restoration.
It was a moment.
They named him Owen.
Vivian learned about the birth through Nathan’s attorney because that was the boundary they had chosen.
She sent no gift.
No flowers.
No message to Claire.
For the first time since Claire had known her, Vivian respected a line she had not drawn herself.
Three weeks later, Claire stood in the bedroom holding Owen against her shoulder.
The room looked almost exactly as it had the night of the assault.
Same white bedding.
Same lamps.
Same bedside tables.
The headboard still had the dent.
Nathan entered carrying a screwdriver and a paper bag of sandwiches.
“You ate?”
“Half a granola bar.”
“That is not food.”
“It had peanuts.”
“Still not food.”
He placed the bag on the dresser.
Owen made a small snorting sound.
Nathan looked at him.
“He sounds like a pug.”
“Don’t say that about your child.”
“He does.”
Claire adjusted the baby against her shoulder.
Nathan pointed toward the headboard.
“The replacement finally came.”
Claire looked at him.
“What replacement?”
“The headboard.”
She had forgotten.
“It’s downstairs?”
“Garage.”
Claire stared at the damaged cream upholstery.
For months, she had slept beneath that mark.
At first it had frightened her.
Then angered her.
Then become strangely ordinary.
Laundry accumulated beneath it.
Owen’s bassinet sat beside it.
Nathan’s phone charged on the nightstand when he stayed over, which was happening more often now.
Life had committed the insult of continuing.
“Do you want me to change it?” Nathan asked.
Claire touched the dent.
The fabric felt rough where the pot had struck.
She remembered the metal sound.
Her hand pulling away.
Vivian’s face.
Nathan standing in the doorway.
You were the one who came to me.
That sentence had done almost as much damage as the pot.
Maybe more.
Claire looked at Nathan.
He waited.
He had become better at waiting.
Not perfect.
Better.
“Take it down,” she said.
He nodded.
It took nearly forty minutes because one bolt had stripped.
Owen began crying halfway through.
Nathan swore softly.
Claire laughed.
“What?”
“You look personally offended by the bolt.”
“I am.”
“You work in real estate.”
“That does not make me a furniture installer.”
“You’ve been telling people that for years.”
He gave her a look.
Then the old headboard came free.
Nathan leaned it against the wall.
For a moment the bed looked unfinished.
Exposed.
Claire had expected to feel something dramatic.
Relief.
Grief.
Triumph.
Instead she noticed dust along the baseboard.
“That’s disgusting.”
Nathan looked.
“Oh.”
“How long has that been there?”
“Probably since the house was built.”
“We need to vacuum.”
He laughed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“I thought this might be a profound moment.”
Claire shifted Owen higher against her chest.
“It’s dust.”
“Apparently.”
Nathan carried the damaged headboard downstairs.
Claire opened the closet and took out the vacuum.
Owen had fallen asleep again.
She looked at his face.
There was nothing in it that proved anything to anyone.
No visible inheritance.
No argument.
Just a sleeping newborn with one fist pressed under his chin.
Later, Nathan installed the new headboard.
It was almost identical to the old one.
Cream upholstery.
Tufted fabric.
Claire had considered changing the room entirely.
Different colors. Different bed. Different everything.
She decided against it.
She liked cream.
Vivian did not get to own that either.
That night, Nathan stayed.
He did not assume.
He stood beside the bed holding his pillow.
“Okay?”
Claire looked at him.
They had not formally decided they were completely back together.
The phrase itself seemed dishonest.
Back together implied returning.
Neither wanted that marriage.
Not exactly.
Claire moved slightly toward her side of the bed.
“Okay.”
Nathan lay down.
Owen slept in the bassinet beside them.
The room was dark except for the small amber night-light near the bathroom.
For a long time, neither Claire nor Nathan slept.
Finally Nathan said, “I might see my mother next month.”
Claire stared at the ceiling.
“Okay.”
“My therapist thinks—”
Claire groaned.
Nathan stopped.
“What?”
“You’ve become a man who begins sentences with ‘my therapist thinks.’”
“That’s fair.”
“I hate it.”
“You told me to go.”
“I know.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Also fair.”
They were quiet.
Then Claire said, “Do you want to see her?”
“I think so.”
“Then see her.”
“I won’t bring Owen.”
“I know.”
“I won’t tell her anything you don’t want shared.”
“I know.”
Nathan turned his head toward her.
“That one sounded different.”
Claire looked at him.
“What?”
“When you said you know.”
She understood.
For months, “I know” had meant: you have told me this before.
Now, for once, it meant trust.
Not complete.
Not permanent.
Enough for one sentence.
Claire reached across the space between them and put her hand over his.
Nathan did not squeeze immediately.
He waited.
Then his fingers closed around hers.
Owen made another strange little snort.
Nathan whispered, “Pug.”
Claire pulled her hand away and hit him lightly with a pillow.
He laughed into it.
“Keep your voice down.”
“You attacked me.”
“With bedding.”
“I’m documenting it.”
“Do that.”
They both went quiet when Owen moved.
The baby settled.
Outside, a car passed along the street.
Somewhere in the house, the air-conditioning clicked on.
Claire looked toward the new headboard.
In the dark, she could not see whether it was cream or gray or white.
She could not see where the old dent had been.
She knew.
That was different from needing it to remain.
In the morning, Nathan carried the damaged headboard to the curb for bulk pickup.
Claire watched from the upstairs window while holding Owen.
Nathan leaned the thing carefully against the fence so it would not fall into the road. Then he stood there for a second with his hands on his hips, looking at it.
He did not know Claire was watching.
A garbage truck moved slowly down the opposite side of the street.
A woman in running clothes passed with two dogs.
Nathan turned toward the house.
Claire stepped away from the window before he could see her.
Not because she was hiding.
Owen had started fussing.
He needed feeding.
The coffee maker downstairs would begin automatically in six minutes.
There were diapers in the dryer.
Nathan had a meeting at nine.
Claire had an email from work she had been avoiding since yesterday.
The day was already full of ordinary things.
She sat in the chair beside the bed and adjusted Owen against her.
His eyes opened briefly.
Claire touched one finger to the center of his palm.
His hand closed around it.
May you like
Downstairs, the front door opened.
Nathan came back inside.
