Chương 8
Claire looked at Margaret.
There was no elegance in the sentence. Only exhaustion.
Daniel closed the book.
“What else?”
Margaret disappeared into the hallway and returned carrying a small gray file folder.
Daniel’s patience snapped.
“You said everything was in the bank.”
“I said the important originals were.”
“What’s that?”
“Copies.”
“Of what?”
“Receipts from the investigator I hired.”
She slid them across.
The dates matched what she had told them.
1989. 1990.
Payments to Wexler Investigations.
Daniel read every line.
His anger did not soften, but its shape changed.
“You really looked.”
“Yes.”
“Why stop?”
“I told you.”
“Dad threatened to take me.”
“Yes.”
“Was he violent with you?”
Margaret looked startled.
“No.”
“Did he hit you?”
“No.”
“Threaten you physically?”
“No.”
“Control the money?”
“Some of it.”
“What does that mean?”
“He earned most of it. I worked part-time. The accounts were joint, but he handled investments and taxes.”
“Could you have left?”
Margaret met his eyes.
“Yes.”
The answer surprised all three of them.
Daniel leaned back.
“You could have left.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Margaret took a long time.
“Because I loved him.”
Daniel stared.
“And because I was afraid of losing you. And because part of me still wanted to believe he had protected us. And because admitting the truth would have required me to admit that the life I wanted more than anything might have begun with somebody else being robbed.”
Daniel’s mouth tightened.
Margaret went on.
“I can tell you Thomas manipulated me. He did. I can tell you he lied. He did. I can tell you the law was different, records were harder to get, Rebecca disappeared, Leonard frightened me, and I had no idea what a court would do. All of that is true.”
She swallowed.
“It is also true that I wanted to be your mother.”
Daniel looked away.
“And wanting that made me willing to accept answers I should not have accepted.”
Nobody moved.
Claire watched a small shadow cross the window as a bird passed outside.
Daniel said, “Did you ever think about giving me back?”
Margaret’s face seemed to age in a second.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The first letter.”
“I was two.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I drove to Columbus.”
Daniel stared.
“What?”
“I found the address from the return envelope.”
“You said it came back.”
“The second letter came back. The first address was still valid when I went.”
“You went to her house.”
“Yes.”
“Did you see her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Margaret’s fingers tightened around the table edge.
“I sat across the street for three hours.”
Daniel’s expression changed from anger to disbelief.
“And then?”
“I drove home.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid that if she opened the door, I would have to give you up.”
The truth sat between them, plain and ugly.
Daniel stood.
Margaret did not stop him.
He walked into the living room, then back again, hands at his hips.
“So you knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew enough to drive six hours.”
“Yes.”
“And you chose yourself.”
Margaret’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Claire looked down.
Daniel’s voice cracked for the first time.
“I was two.”
“I know.”
“You were my mother.”
“Yes.”
“You were supposed to choose me.”
Margaret’s tears fell silently now.
“I thought I was.”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
He left the house.
This time Claire did not follow immediately.
She stayed long enough to say, “He may not come back for a while.”
Margaret wiped her face.
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’ve been alone before.”
“That isn’t the point.”
Margaret looked at her.
“What is the point?”
Claire had no answer.
She texted Daniel from the driveway.
I’m going home unless you want me somewhere else.
He replied ten minutes later.
Home is fine.
He returned at four.
Neither mentioned Margaret.
They made dinner together because eating was easier than talking.
Daniel chopped onions too finely.
Claire boiled pasta.
At one point he said, “My whole childhood isn’t fake.”
Claire turned from the stove.
“No.”
“I keep trying to make it fake.”
“What do you mean?”
“If it’s fake, I can throw it out.”
She lowered the heat.
“But?”
“But I remember Dad teaching me to ride a bike. He ran next to me for half a block after I thought he’d let go.”
Claire listened.
“I remember Mom sleeping in a chair next to me when I had pneumonia. I remember Dad driving back to the airport because I left a stupid stuffed bear in the rental car when I was nine.”
He stared at the onions.
“If he stole me, what am I supposed to do with the bear?”
Claire had no clever answer.
“Keep it.”
He looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because you were nine.”
Daniel’s mouth twitched.
Then he started crying.
Quietly.
He turned away as if embarrassed.
Claire approached slowly.
He let her put her arms around him.
For nearly a minute neither spoke.
Then Daniel said into her shoulder, “I’m still mad at you.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“I know.”
“But I don’t want you to leave.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You might after this.”
“Not because of this.”
“That sounded carefully worded.”
“It was.”
He pulled back.
Claire wiped her cheek.
“We have our own problems.”
“I know.”
“We had them yesterday too.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want this to become the thing that lets us avoid them.”
Daniel studied her.
“You mean the fertility treatment.”
“I mean the fact that we haven’t talked about anything except treatment for six months.”
“That’s not true.”
“You told me about parking-garage drainage on Thursday.”
“That was important.”
“It was riveting.”
He laughed once.
The sound surprised both of them.
Claire smiled.
There was the quietest kind of relief in it.
Not happiness.
Just proof that the man she knew had not vanished completely.
Monday morning, Daniel took the day off work.
May you like
Margaret met them at the bank.
The safe-deposit room smelled faintly of carpet cleaner and metal. An employee checked Margaret’s identification, verified the box, and left them at a private viewing table after the lock was opened.
