Chương 10
“Yes.”
“So I lose it.”
“For now, you stay somewhere safe and comfortable. Eli stays where he sleeps.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It is not simple. It is clear.”
The distinction seemed to hurt her.
Near the end, Miles raised the foundation financing. Barbara’s family company had pledged three million dollars toward restoration of the east wing. The next installment had not yet transferred.
Barbara folded her hands. “Our board will review whether association with the Mercer Foundation remains appropriate.”
Rebecca wrote something on her legal pad.
Julian said, “That is your board’s right.”
The answer surprised Barbara. “Thirty employees depend on that project.”
“I know.”
“The public programs will close.”
“Some may.”
“You would sacrifice them to preserve your pride?”
Julian felt the old instinct rise—to solve, smooth, promise, keep the machinery moving. The estate payroll, apprenticeship program, school tours, and conservation lab all depended partly on the renovation. Innocent people would absorb consequences created in a private room.
Then he pictured Eli asking whether Celeste could stop him from calling his grandparents.
“This is not a transaction,” Julian said.
“Everything becomes a transaction when people refuse compromise.”
“Then we will find different funding or reduce the project.”
Barbara’s expression cooled. “You cannot replace three million dollars quietly.”
“No.”
There would be no quiet version. That was the cost.
On the drive home, Rebecca said, “You should not promise alternative funding before reviewing the numbers.”
“I said we would find it or reduce the project.”
“You sounded confident.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Good. Confidence is expensive.”
At the estate, Claire had made tomato soup and burned it. Owen repaired the airplane wing but attached it slightly crooked. Eli declared it better because airplanes in real life were “not perfectly straight after wars,” though none of the adults knew where he had learned that.
Julian told him Celeste would not return yet.
“Because of me?” Eli asked.
“Because of what she did.”
“I made a fist.”
“You were scared.”
“I wanted her to be scared too.”
Julian pulled out the chair beside him. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Is that bad?”
“It is honest. Wanting someone to feel what you feel can become dangerous if you act on it. You did not hit her.”
“You grabbed her.”
“I blocked her hand.”
“Would you have hit her?”
“No.”
“What if she hit me?”
The room seemed to narrow.
“I would have stopped her and taken you away.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Julian looked at his son. “No. I would not hit her.”
Eli nodded, not satisfied but willing to accept the answer.
“Did you know she took my cards?” he asked.
“No.”
“Did you know about dinner?”
“No.”
“Did you know she hated Mom?”
“No.”
Each answer made Julian smaller.
Eli tore a piece of bread into crumbs. “What did you know?”
Julian could have listed practical facts. School schedules. Allergies. Shoe size. The date of the next dental cleaning. Instead he said, “Not enough.”
The boy pushed the crumbs into a pile.
“I am sorry,” Julian said.
Eli shrugged.
It was not forgiveness. Julian did not ask for it.
The local newspaper published the first full story two days later. The headline referred to an “alleged confrontation” at Mercer House. Sources described Julian restraining his pregnant wife. Another source said a child had threatened Celeste with a raised fist. The article mentioned no photograph.
Barbara denied speaking to the reporter.
Two trustees requested an emergency meeting. One donor paused a pledge. A parent canceled a school tour after reading comments online. The comments divided into predictable camps, each confident about people they had never met.
Rebecca recommended continued silence.
Julian hated it.
At breakfast, he read an accusation that he had endangered an unborn child. He began typing a response before Eli entered the room. Julian closed the laptop.
Eli noticed. “Is it about us?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because strangers are guessing.”
“Are they wrong?”
“Some.”
“Are some right?”
Julian hesitated. “Some know I held Celeste’s wrist. They don’t know why.”
Eli poured cereal. “Show them the camera.”
“I don’t want to show them you.”
“I don’t care.”
“You might later.”
“What if they think I tried to hurt the baby?”
Julian had no answer that made the world fair.
“We are giving the recording to the people who need it,” he said. “Your therapist. The lawyers. Anyone responsible for keeping you safe. We are not giving it to strangers for entertainment.”
Eli considered the word entertainment. “It isn’t funny.”
“No.”
“People watch bad things even when they aren’t funny.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Julian poured coffee. “I don’t know.”
“That’s another thing you don’t know.”
There was no cruelty in it. Eli was keeping count because adults had taught him facts could disappear.
The therapist Rebecca recommended was Dr. Hannah Lee, whose office occupied the second floor above a pharmacy. There were no leather couches, only mismatched chairs, a shelf of board games, and a fish tank containing one fish that spent most of its time behind a plastic castle.
Eli named the fish Gary without asking its actual name.
During the first appointment, Julian waited downstairs and bought three things he did not need: toothpaste, batteries, and a magazine about woodworking. He read the same paragraph four times.
Dr. Lee invited him up for the final ten minutes.
“Eli has given me permission to tell you that he feels safer at home now,” she said. “He has not given me permission to discuss everything we talked about.”
Julian nodded.
“That may be difficult for you.”
“It is.”
“You will need to tolerate it.”
Eli sat cross-legged in the other chair, watching Gary’s castle.
Dr. Lee continued. “Children who have been repeatedly told their perceptions are wrong often test whether adults can survive not knowing.”
Julian glanced at Eli. “I can try.”
“Trying will look less impressive than you hope.”
May you like
Eli smiled at the fish tank.
On the way home, he asked whether they could stop for fries. Julian said yes, then turned into the wrong entrance and had to circle the block.
