Chương 2
None of that had prepared him for the possibility that his daughter might be trying to kill him.
He did know one thing.
Fear was information.
Panic was waste.
Richard picked up his water glass.
Claire’s eyes followed it.
He noticed that too.
He lifted the glass but did not drink.
“Who’s your friend?”
Claire looked over her shoulder at last.
The tall man stepped into the warm edge of the study light.
Richard recognized him.
Dr. Evan Mercer.
His cardiologist.
Mercer was fifty-two, broad-shouldered, expensively fit, with the controlled face of a man accustomed to delivering bad news while remaining personally untouched by it.
Richard lowered the glass.
“Well,” he said. “This is cozy.”
Mercer did not smile.
“Richard.”
“What are you doing in my hallway?”
Claire answered for him.
“I asked him to come.”
“At ten-thirty at night?”
“The storm delayed him.”
“The storm apparently also prevented telephones from working.”
“Dad.”
Richard looked at Mercer.
The physician’s raincoat was wet across the shoulders. He carried no medical bag.
That meant nothing by itself.
Richard made himself remember that.
One odd detail was not proof. Two were not proof. A frightened child’s overheard sentence was not proof. An anonymous text was not proof.
He had spent a career watching people destroy themselves by falling in love with the first explanation that frightened them.
Mercer stepped inside.
“We need to talk about tomorrow.”
Richard felt Noah’s fingers close around his trouser leg beneath the desk.
“Apparently everybody does.”
Claire glanced at Noah.
“What did he tell you?”
Richard gave a small laugh.
“He told me you scared the hell out of him.”
“Noah?”
The boy stayed beneath the desk.
Claire’s face softened slightly.
“Noah, come here.”
He did not move.
That hurt her.
Richard saw it.
Whatever else was happening, that hurt was real.
Claire lowered her voice.
“Sweetheart.”
Noah pressed closer to Richard’s knee.
Mercer looked from the boy to Claire.
Something passed between them.
Richard could not identify it.
That bothered him more than if he had.
His phone screen went dark.
The message remained in his mind.
DON’T TAKE THE PILLS.
Richard set down his water.
“I’m tired.”
Claire studied him.
“Take your medication first.”
“I will.”
“I’ll get the replacement bottle.”
“No.”
The word came out sharper than Richard intended.
Everyone stopped.
He softened his voice.
“I mean, leave it. I’ve got pills all over the floor. No sense opening another bottle.”
Mercer spoke for the first time since entering.
“Those pills have been on the floor.”
“It’s my floor, Evan. I know where it’s been.”
“Richard.”
“I’ll survive dust.”
Mercer’s expression did not change.
A strange choice of words, Richard thought.
Or perhaps not strange at all.
That was the danger now. Every ordinary sentence had acquired a second meaning.
Richard disliked that feeling.
Paranoia was intellectually lazy. It turned coincidence into evidence and ambiguity into confession.
He needed facts.
He also needed Noah out of the room.
Richard looked beneath the desk.
“Buddy, would you do me a favor?”
Noah looked up.
“Go get my reading glasses from the kitchen.”
“They’re on your head.”
Richard touched his forehead.
The glasses were there.
For one absurd second nobody said anything.
Then Richard laughed.
It was genuine.
Even Noah made a tiny sound that might have become a laugh on another night.
Richard took off the glasses.
“Well. That’s humiliating.”
Claire’s shoulders relaxed by perhaps half an inch.
Good.
Richard pointed toward the hall.
“Then go get me one of those little chocolate things Marta hides from me.”
“Dad, you’re not supposed to—”
“Exactly why she hides them.”
Noah did not move.
Richard met his eyes.
“Go on.”
The boy looked toward Claire.
Then toward Mercer.
“No.”
Claire frowned.
“Noah.”
“I’m staying with Grandpa.”
Richard felt the small hand tighten on his knee.
Mercer exhaled through his nose.
“Maybe we should have this conversation another time.”
“No,” Claire said.
Too quickly.
Mercer looked at her.
There it was again.
Something between them.
Richard leaned back.
“What conversation?”
Claire closed the study door.
Noah flinched at the click.
Claire saw that.
Her face changed.
She crossed the room more slowly this time and crouched several feet from him.
“Noah, I’m sorry I hit the bottle.”
“You hit my hand.”
Claire went still.
Richard looked at the boy’s fingers.
There was a red mark across two knuckles.
Claire saw it too.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“You did.”
“No. I meant to knock the bottle away. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Noah stared at the carpet.
Claire remained crouched.
For several seconds the only sound was rain.
Then she stood.
She looked older than forty-one.
Richard had the sudden, unwanted memory of her at eleven, sitting at the kitchen counter while he took a business call during her birthday dinner. She had waited with a slice of cake untouched in front of her for twenty-three minutes. He remembered the number because afterward she had told him.
Twenty-three minutes, Dad.
Not twenty.
Twenty-three.
He had laughed then.
He had told her she was dramatic.
Her mother had not laughed.
Richard pushed the memory away.
“Tell me about tomorrow,” he said.
Claire glanced at Mercer.
Mercer walked toward the fireplace.
“We moved your procedure.”
Richard stared at him.
“What procedure?”
“The angiography.”
“That’s Friday.”
“It was Friday,” Claire said. “There was a cancellation.”
“And you rescheduled it without asking me?”
“We discussed moving it earlier.”
“We discussed the possibility.”
“Your latest imaging—”
“My latest imaging belongs to me.”
Mercer rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Richard, nobody is taking away your agency.”
“Excellent. Then we agree I have some.”
Claire stood very still.
“This is why I wanted Evan here.”
“To explain the definition of agency?”
“To keep you from turning everything into a fight.”
Richard almost answered.
Then he stopped.
Because she was right.
He did that.
May you like
When frightened, Richard became sarcastic. When cornered, he became cruel. He had once considered those traits evidence of intelligence.
At seventy, he was less certain.
