Chương 5
“She did.”
“I know.”
“And then you broke the picture.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his eyes.
“You scared me in there.”
Claire went still.
He looked at her.
“Not because of the frame. You looked like you didn’t care what happened after you got the answer you wanted.”
The accusation hurt because it was precise.
Claire had no response ready.
Daniel pushed the car door wider.
“I need some time.”
“Where are you going?”
“My office.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“I know.”
“Can I come?”
“No.”
That landed.
Daniel saw it.
He softened, but only a little.
“I need somewhere nobody knows anything about me for five minutes.”
Claire stepped back.
He closed the door.
She watched his car reverse into the driveway.
For a second he sat there.
Then he drove away.
When Claire returned to the kitchen, Margaret was on her knees.
She had spread a dish towel over the broken glass and was picking up the larger pieces one at a time.
Claire stood in the doorway.
“You shouldn’t be doing that.”
Margaret did not look up.
“I broke three wineglasses last Christmas. I know how.”
“You didn’t break this.”
“No.”
Claire went to the pantry, found the broom and dustpan, and brought them over.
Margaret sat back on her heels.
“You’re going to need to vacuum the grout.”
Claire almost laughed at the absurdity.
Instead she said, “You lied to him for thirty-eight years.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re worried about grout.”
“I can be both things.”
Claire swept.
For several minutes the only sounds were the broom, the soft clink of glass, and Margaret’s careful breathing.
Finally Margaret said, “You were right to be angry.”
Claire looked at her.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me feel better.”
“I’m not.”
“You grabbed my wrist.”
“You were about to destroy the photograph.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“No.”
Claire emptied the dustpan into the trash.
“Why did you keep it behind glass?”
Margaret looked at the damaged frame.
“Because it was the first photograph of him.”
“You.”
“What?”
“You said him.”
Margaret frowned.
Claire pointed at the picture.
“You said it was the first photograph of him. Not of you and him.”
Margaret looked down.
“That matters?”
“I don’t know.”
Margaret touched the edge of the frame.
“Rebecca took it.”
Claire stared.
“What?”
“She took the photograph.”
“At the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she wanted him to have a picture of the woman who would be holding him while she was gone.”
Claire pulled out a stool and sat.
“So Rebecca trusted you.”
Margaret’s eyes glistened but she did not cry.
“She did.”
“And you kept him.”
“Yes.”
The lack of defense made Claire angrier than an excuse might have.
“Did you love her?”
Margaret blinked.
“Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
“I barely knew her.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Margaret took off her glasses again.
“I cared about her. I admired her. I was jealous of her.”
Claire had not expected that.
“Jealous.”
“She was nineteen. Terrified. Broke. Her father had hurt her. She had no idea where she would live after the baby was born.” Margaret stared at the photograph. “And she could do the one thing I couldn’t.”
Claire said nothing.
“I hated myself for that.”
Margaret rubbed a thumb over the frame.
“When she handed Daniel to me, I felt grateful to her. Then an hour later I resented her for being able to give him away even temporarily. Then I hated myself for resenting her. That first month was ugly inside my head.”
“Did Thomas know?”
“He knew I wanted a child. He knew how badly.”
“Did he use that?”
Margaret looked toward the garage door Daniel had left through.
“Yes.”
The answer came too quickly to be rehearsed.
Claire felt a chill.
“What exactly did Thomas do?”
“I don’t know all of it.”
“You had thirty-eight years to find out.”
“I know.”
“What do you know?”
Margaret remained on the floor for another moment before Claire extended a hand.
Margaret looked at it.
Then took it.
Her fingers were cool.
They moved to the kitchen table.
Margaret sat. Claire did not.
“Thomas told me Rebecca signed a consent to adoption in Ohio,” Margaret said. “Years later I learned there had been a petition here instead.”
“Here where?”
“In the county.”
“Without her?”
“There was a document saying she could not be located and had abandoned the child.”
Claire stared.
“Was that true?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because of the dates.”
Margaret rubbed her forehead.
“Rebecca’s first letter to Thomas was postmarked four days before the petition was filed.”
“The letter saying she wanted Daniel back.”
“Yes.”
“So Thomas knew where she was.”
“At least enough to receive mail from her.”
“Did he destroy it?”
“I think he destroyed several.”
“You think.”
“I found one in his office after he died.”
Claire leaned against the counter.
“What did it say?”
“It was from 1988. Rebecca asked for a copy of the temporary guardianship and said she had spoken with a legal-aid lawyer.”
“And?”
“Thomas had written a note on it.”
“What note?”
Margaret looked sick.
“Handle before M sees.”
Claire understood the M without asking.
“Margaret.”
“Yes.”
“Where is that letter?”
“Safe-deposit box.”
“Anything else in this box?”
“A lot.”
Claire stared at her.
“Daniel is going to hate you.”
“I know.”
“You say that very calmly.”
“I’ve had years to be afraid of it.”
“Then why didn’t you tell him?”
Margaret looked at her hands.
“You think there was one moment when I decided to lie forever.”
Claire waited.
“There wasn’t. There were hundreds of smaller moments. His eighth birthday. His first day of middle school. The night he came home drunk at seventeen and vomited in the hydrangeas. His college graduation. The week before your wedding.” Margaret’s mouth tightened. “Every time, I told myself there was a better time. After this. After that. When he was stronger. When Thomas was gone. When I had more facts. When I found Rebecca again.”
May you like
“And did you?”
Margaret looked up.
