Chương 10
“You knew what that would do to me.”
“Yes.”
No excuse followed.
The honesty made my chest ache.
“Why tell me this now?”
“Because Paul is threatening me.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants me to sign something saying he has no financial responsibility until the baby is born and tested again.”
“Do not sign anything without your lawyer.”
“I thought you hated me.”
“I do not need to love you to know you require counsel.”
She began crying then. Not loudly. I heard her trying to breathe without letting me hear.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“You speak to your lawyer. You tell him the truth. All of it.”
“He’ll drop me.”
“Then find another one.”
“Paul says he’ll prove I blackmailed him.”
“Did you?”
“I asked him for help.”
“Did you threaten to tell Linda?”
Silence.
“Natalie.”
“Yes.”
“How much money?”
“Thirty thousand and the condo deposit.”
“Anything else?”
“He paid the legal retainer.”
The demand letter accusing me of violating her privacy had been financed by the man whose paternity test she claimed not to understand.
I laughed, because the alternative was throwing the phone.
“That isn’t funny.”
“No.”
“Will you retract what you said?”
“No.”
“Mara, please.”
“I will not state that Eric is the father when he is not.”
“You can say the report was unconfirmed.”
“It was confirmed.”
“He withdrew his statement.”
“The laboratory did not withdraw its result.”
“You’re going to ruin me.”
“You are confusing exposure with creation.”
“People are calling me names.”
“People called me names too.”
“You can handle it.”
The assumption infuriated me more than the insult.
“You do not get to assign me strength so you can keep the right to wound me.”
She stopped crying.
I stood.
“I will not release the report. I will not post your messages. I will ask Grant not to speak to the media. But I will not lie for you.”
“What about the video?”
“I did not record it.”
“You could ask people to take it down.”
“I cannot control three hundred guests.”
“You control everyone.”
“No,” I said. “That is what all of you tell yourselves when you want me responsible for what you choose.”
I ended the call.
My mother came to the cottage before dinner.
She brought soup I had never liked.
“I know you prefer the tomato one,” she said. “The store was out.”
“There are four other stores.”
“I didn’t think you wanted soup enough for me to visit four stores.”
“That is correct.”
She placed the container in the refrigerator.
We stood in the small kitchen, separated by the table.
“Your father says you spoke to Natalie.”
“He shouldn’t know that.”
“He saw your face.”
“That is not the same.”
“No.”
Mother sat.
The cut on her finger was covered with a small beige bandage.
“I should have told you in April,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Neither do I.”
She looked toward the coffee maker.
“Your father made coffee.”
“He tried.”
“I found half a filter in the trash.”
“He was improvising.”
“He should never improvise with appliances.”
For a few seconds, we were mother and daughter discussing Father’s incompetence with paper products.
Then the silence returned.
“I thought I was protecting you,” she said.
“I know.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No.”
“Your grandmother knew about your grandfather’s affairs.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“She knew. She told me after he died.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I grew up believing silence was how women kept a family.”
“And did it?”
“She stayed married.”
“That is not the same question.”
Mother looked down at her hands.
“No.”
The wind shifted outside. Somewhere near the main house, a sprinkler clicked on.
“I saw what knowing did to her,” she continued. “She became suspicious of every woman. She stopped inviting friends over. She checked his pockets. She hated herself for staying and hated him for making leaving difficult. I promised I would never live that way.”
“But you helped me live that way.”
“I thought if Eric ended it before you knew, you would be spared the suspicion.”
“I would have been spared the choice.”
“Yes.”
I waited.
She lifted her eyes.
“I am sorry.”
The apology was not grand enough for the damage, but grand apologies usually belonged to people more interested in being forgiven than being accurate.
I sat across from her.
“Did Natalie ask you not to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That Eric had kissed her. She said he was confused and ashamed. She said he loved you and that telling you would destroy him.”
“Did Eric ask?”
“He said it was over.”
“And you believed him?”
“I believed he wanted it to be over.”
“That is different.”
“I know.”
“Did you ever check?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because checking would mean admitting I had become responsible for what happened next.”
The answer held no defense.
I looked at her bandaged finger.
“Dad broke a chair.”
“He did not break it. The joint was weak.”
“He said he sat down too hard.”
“He kicked it after it collapsed.”
That sounded more like him.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
Mother gave a tired smile.
“I’m angry enough to be fine.”
She stayed for soup.
It was chicken with wild rice. I ate half a bowl.
Four days after the reception, I met Natalie in her lawyer’s office.
I went because Grant said refusing all contact could strengthen her claim that I had intended only to humiliate her, and because a part of me still needed to see whether she would tell the truth when no microphone was present.
May you like
Her attorney, Warren Pike, was younger than I expected. He wore a navy suit and spoke with the smooth patience of someone accustomed to explaining consequences to people who considered themselves exceptions.
Natalie wore loose black trousers and a white blouse. Without the red dress and styled hair, she looked younger than thirty-two. She kept both hands over her belly.
