Chương 8
Of course it was.
Nathan looked exhausted.
“No.”
Vivian’s face changed.
For a moment Claire saw grief.
Real grief.
Then it hardened.
“You have destroyed your career for a woman who has made you doubt your own child.”
Claire felt Nathan move beside her.
She touched his wrist.
Not affection.
A warning.
Let me.
She looked at Vivian.
“Your son’s doubt belongs to him.”
Vivian blinked.
“You don’t get to use it anymore.”
Then Claire walked away.
She did not feel victorious.
In the parking garage, she vomited beside Nathan’s car.
He held her hair.
Neither mentioned the timing.
At twenty-two weeks, Claire moved back into the house.
Nathan moved out.
People found that decision confusing.
Danielle called it “aggressively weird.”
Claire agreed.
But the house was legally Claire’s home too, and she wanted her own bed, her own shower, her clothes, her kitchen. She refused to let Vivian’s violence exile her.
Nathan rented a furnished apartment ten minutes away.
Before Claire returned, he replaced the locks and changed the security codes. He removed Vivian’s access from the alarm system. He did not replace the headboard.
Claire had asked him not to.
The dent remained.
She did not want it as a monument.
She simply was not ready for contractors discussing fabric samples over the place where she had ducked from a metal pot.
The stockpot remained with police.
Claire bought a cheap replacement at Target.
The first time she used it, she burned rice.
She stood in the kitchen looking at the blackened bottom and began laughing.
Then she cried so hard she had to sit on the floor.
Pregnancy made everyone blame hormones for emotional behavior.
Claire found that convenient sometimes.
Other times it made her want to throw things.
Nathan lost his job three weeks later.
Officially, he resigned.
In reality, the company gave him a choice that was not a choice.
Martin took him to lunch and explained that the family conflict had become disruptive. Vivian had stopped attending board meetings but retained ownership influence. Two executives were threatening to leave. Nathan’s presence had become “complicated.”
Nathan asked whether his performance was the problem.
Martin said no.
Nathan asked whether he had violated company policy.
Martin said that was not the point.
Nathan asked what the point was.
Martin told him not to be naïve.
Nathan resigned that afternoon.
When he told Claire, she became angry with him.
Not because he had resigned.
Because part of her was relieved.
She hated herself for the relief.
“You wanted me out of there,” he said.
“I wanted you independent of her.”
“Well, congratulations.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No.”
They were sitting at opposite ends of the couch.
Nathan had come by to install a new smoke detector because Claire had complained about the old one chirping. The conversation had turned, as conversations now did.
“I’m allowed to be angry,” he said.
“I know.”
“I worked there eight years.”
“I know.”
“I was good at it.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
Claire almost laughed.
Neither did.
Nathan pressed his palms together.
“I can be angry that she put me in this position and still know I helped create the first problem.”
“Yes.”
“And I can be angry that you’re relieved.”
“Yes.”
“And you can be relieved.”
Claire looked at him.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
It was one of the first conversations they had after the assault that ended without either of them trying to clean it up.
Nathan spent the next month looking for work.
It was humiliating.
He had never applied for a job without his family name carrying weight.
For the first time, it carried the wrong kind.
People in his industry had heard something.
Not the whole story.
Something.
One recruiter asked whether there were “governance issues” at Harper Land.
Nathan said there were family issues.
The recruiter smiled in a way that meant the distinction was not useful.
He came to Claire’s house afterward and assembled the crib.
They had bought it before the assault. The unopened box had been leaning against the nursery wall for months.
Nathan read instructions badly.
Claire sat in a chair and watched him install one side backward.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He checked.
He was.
“Could you have waited thirty seconds before becoming right?”
“No.”
He took the side off.
Claire ate apple slices.
The room was quiet.
After a while, Nathan said, “Do you still want the green walls?”
They had argued about nursery colors in February.
Claire had wanted pale green.
Vivian had wanted white.
Nathan had said he did not care.
“Maybe.”
“You bought paint samples.”
“They’re in the closet.”
He nodded.
Then he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t care enough about stupid things.”
Claire looked at him.
“What?”
“I thought being easygoing made me a good husband.”
She did not answer.
He tightened a bolt.
“I let you and Mom fight over things because I told myself they were small. Christmas. The rehearsal dinner. This house. Baby stuff.”
“She didn’t fight me over baby stuff.”
Nathan looked at her.
Claire corrected herself.
“She overruled me while smiling.”
“Yeah.”
He picked up another screw.
“I should have noticed.”
“You noticed.”
That stopped him.
Claire put down the apple.
“You always noticed. You just thought keeping her calm was the same thing as keeping peace.”
Nathan sat back on his heels.
The half-built crib stood between them.
“That’s worse.”
“Yes.”
He looked at the instruction sheet.
“Okay.”
There were no dramatic breakthroughs after that.
Trust returned in embarrassing little pieces.
Nathan began telling Claire things before he knew how she would react.
He told her when a recruiter rejected him.
He told her when Vivian emailed from a new address despite the contact restrictions, though the message was addressed only to him and did not directly contact Claire.
He told her when he wanted to answer.
May you like
He told her when he did answer his attorney instead.
He told Claire he was afraid she would divorce him.
