Chương 5
“I saw your text.”
Her mother’s shoulders lowered.
Just slightly.
“You panicked.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t come to tell me the truth.”
“No.”
The honesty hurt more than another lie might have.
Olivia sat at the island.
She looked at the old photograph.
“You knew I loved him.”
Victoria’s expression tightened.
“You believed you did.”
“I was twenty-four, not twelve.”
“You were pregnant and terrified.”
“So you punished me for it?”
“I was trying to keep your life from narrowing to one mistake.”
Olivia looked up.
“Noah is not a mistake.”
“I did not say that.”
“You decided his father was expendable before he was born.”
“I decided Daniel was unreliable.”
“Based on what?”
“He missed appointments.”
“His mother had cancer.”
“He borrowed money from you.”
“Two hundred dollars.”
“He was angry.”
“So was I.”
“He punched a wall.”
Olivia stopped.
Daniel had.
Once.
During an argument eight years ago after receiving a call that his mother’s insurance had denied part of her treatment. He had struck the wall beside the kitchen, immediately looked horrified, then spent the next afternoon patching it.
Olivia had forgotten.
Or decided to.
Victoria had not.
“He scared me,” Victoria said.
“He scared himself.”
“That doesn’t make it acceptable.”
“No.”
Olivia surprised herself with the answer.
“No, it doesn’t.”
Victoria blinked.
For a second she looked relieved.
Olivia continued.
“So you tell me you’re worried. You ask me if I’m safe. You help me leave him if I choose to. You do not invent a dead baby.”
Victoria’s face changed.
The words landed at last.
Olivia stood.
“You told a man his child died.”
“I thought—”
“You told me he rejected us.”
“I believed distance was safest.”
“You made distance.”
Victoria’s mouth opened.
Nothing came.
Olivia had spent her childhood waiting for those rare moments when her mother had no answer.
They had once felt like victories.
Tonight it felt like finding an elderly person lost in a parking lot.
Small. Frightening. Sad.
“Go home,” Olivia said.
“Olivia.”
“Go home.”
“What about Noah?”
“Do not contact him.”
Victoria’s face went pale.
“You can’t mean that.”
“For now, I do.”
“I’m his grandmother.”
“And he is seven years old and afraid I’ll send him away because of something you told him.”
“I already said he misunderstood.”
Olivia stared at her.
Victoria looked away first.
“Leave.”
Her mother picked up her coat.
At the door she paused.
“I did love you.”
Olivia almost answered.
Then she understood that Victoria had not used the present tense.
Maybe her mother heard it too.
She left without correcting herself.
Olivia locked the door.
Then the deadbolt.
Then, out of habit learned from Daniel, checked it twice.
She stood with her forehead against the wood.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Victoria.
Please do not make permanent decisions while you are angry.
Olivia deleted it.
Then immediately regretted deleting it because Daniel had just said they needed to know what was true.
She opened the recently deleted folder and restored the message.
For some reason, that tiny practical action was what finally made her cry.
Not dramatically.
Her knees did not collapse.
She did not sob.
She leaned against the front door and covered her mouth until the first wave passed.
Then she wiped her face on the sleeve of her cardigan and went upstairs because Noah still needed to brush his teeth.
He was sitting on the bathroom counter while Daniel searched for toothpaste that was directly in front of him.
“It’s there,” Noah said.
“Where?”
“There.”
“I’m looking there.”
“No, you’re looking beside there.”
Daniel picked up the toothpaste.
“Oh.”
Noah gave him a tired, superior look.
Olivia stood in the doorway.
For a few seconds she watched them.
Daniel glanced at her.
No questions.
Not yet.
She was grateful for that.
Noah brushed his teeth for approximately twelve seconds.
Olivia made him continue.
He complained that nobody had ever died from twelve-second tooth brushing.
Daniel said that was probably because all the twelve-second tooth brushers had disappeared before scientists could interview them.
Noah laughed with toothpaste in his mouth.
Olivia closed her eyes.
Quiet, stupid humor in the middle of a catastrophe.
Life had no respect for tone.
After they tucked Noah into bed, he asked Daniel to stay.
Daniel looked at Olivia first.
She nodded.
He sat on the floor beside the bed, too large for the narrow space, one arm resting on his bent knee.
Olivia sat beside Noah.
“Are you two getting divorced?” Noah asked.
Olivia nearly choked.
“What?”
“Eli’s parents got divorced when his mom found texts.”
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“No.”
“You don’t know that,” Olivia said.
Daniel looked at her.
Noah’s eyes widened.
Olivia immediately hated herself.
Not because the thought had never crossed her mind.
Because it had.
In the kitchen, when she realized Daniel had stopped trying to reach her after seven months, a petty part of her had been furious with him for failing a test he never knew he was taking.
She had resented him for being deceived.
It was unfair.
It was also real.
Daniel answered Noah carefully.
“We are not making any decisions tonight.”
“That sounds bad.”
“It sounds like your mom is smarter than me.”
“That sounds normal.”
Daniel smiled despite himself.
Olivia touched Noah’s hair.
“You don’t have to fix anything between us.”
“I know.”
“You also don’t have to keep secrets to protect us.”
Noah looked unconvinced.
Olivia understood why.
Adults loved telling children not to keep secrets after spending entire lives creating them.
When Noah finally slept, Olivia and Daniel went downstairs.
The kitchen was exactly as they had left it.
Box open.
Papers spread.
Two coffee cups from that morning still waiting beside the sink because neither had remembered to load them.
Daniel began gathering the documents.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting them in order.”
“Why?”
“Because I need something to do with my hands.”
She understood.
They worked silently.
There were more records beneath the letters.
May you like
Printed emails from Daniel.
An old phone bill.
