Chương 9
The answer was so infuriating Emma almost missed the implication.
“You made the decision yourself because you thought I would make the wrong one.”
“I was trying to protect him.”
“From what?”
“Confusion.”
Emma stared at the stairs.
Upstairs, Noah slept beneath glow-in-the-dark planets Robert had stuck to the guest-room ceiling.
“How did she get your number?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never asked?”
“She said she found me online.”
“What name does she use now?”
“Emma.”
“What name?”
“I don’t remember.”
She heard him move.
A glass touched something on his end of the call.
“You’re drinking.”
“No.”
“I heard the glass.”
“It’s water.”
She hated that she could not know.
“What did she say about why she placed Noah for adoption?”
Daniel went quiet.
“Daniel.”
“She said the agency lied.”
Emma sat down.
Robert walked toward her.
She raised a hand again.
“What did they lie about?”
“She said she was told she could get him back within a certain period.”
Emma felt dizzy.
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“The adoption wasn’t finalized for months. She had counsel.”
“I know.”
“She signed consents.”
“She said she was pressured.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“You talked to her for months.”
“She wasn’t exactly stable.”
Emma closed her eyes.
There it was.
The judgment Daniel used whenever somebody’s account became inconvenient.
“What did she actually say?”
“She said her mother pushed her. Said the agency counselor told her you and I were the best option and that trying to parent alone would destroy his life.”
Emma remembered the agency office.
The soft chairs.
The tissue box.
The counselor who had repeatedly told them not to romanticize birth-parent grief.
“Did she want contact with Noah?”
“Yes.”
“Why did she stop?”
Daniel was silent for too long.
“Daniel.”
“She didn’t.”
Emma stood.
“What?”
“I stopped answering.”
“Why?”
“Because she started asking for money.”
The sentence landed almost neatly.
Too neatly.
“How much?”
“Not much at first.”
“At first.”
“A few hundred.”
“For what?”
“Rent. Car repair. Things.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“Yes.”
Emma covered her eyes.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
“Maybe three grand.”
“From where?”
“Mine.”
“You and I were married.”
“I know how marriage works.”
“Apparently not.”
Robert came closer.
Emma turned away again.
“Did she threaten you?”
“No.”
“Did she know where we lived?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did she know Noah’s school?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did you meet her?”
Silence.
Emma’s stomach dropped.
“Daniel.”
“Twice.”
Emma sat down again.
She had thought the worst thing that had happened that day was her sister breaking a photograph.
The stupidity of that thought made her almost laugh.
“Where?”
“Coffee shop.”
“Both times?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to talk.”
“Did she ask to see Noah?”
“Yes.”
“And you said no.”
“Yes.”
“Then why meet again?”
Daniel’s breathing changed.
Emma knew the answer before he gave it.
“She said she had records.”
“What records?”
“Medical.”
“For Noah?”
“No. Hers.”
Emma frowned.
“Why would you care about her medical records?”
“She said there was family history we should know.”
Emma’s anger paused.
“What history?”
“Heart problems.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
“You met his biological mother secretly, discussed medical history affecting our child, and decided I did not need to know?”
“I was drinking a lot then.”
Emma closed her eyes.
It was not an excuse.
He sounded like he knew it wasn’t.
“Do you still have her messages?”
“I changed phones.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Some might be backed up.”
“Send them to me.”
“I’ll look.”
“Tonight.”
“Emma.”
“Tonight.”
He sighed.
“Fine.”
She ended the call.
Robert sat beside her.
“What?”
Emma stared at her phone.
“Daniel had contact with Rebecca.”
Robert’s face changed.
“When?”
“For months. Two years ago.”
“Did she see Noah?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think?”
“I don’t know anything anymore.”
Robert started to speak.
Emma shook her head.
“Don’t fix it.”
He stopped.
“Please.”
He nodded.
For once, he let her sit inside the problem without trying to build something around it.
At ten seventeen, Daniel sent the first screenshots.
There were thirty-eight.
Rebecca had contacted him through Facebook.
Her profile name was Rebecca Sloan.
Emma recognized her face immediately even though the nineteen-year-old in the photograph had become a woman in her late twenties with shorter hair and tired eyes.
The messages began cautiously.
I know this is inappropriate.
I don’t want to disrupt his life.
I only want to know if he’s okay.
Daniel had waited three days before replying.
He’s good.
Then she asked one question.
Does he still hate peas?
Emma stared at the screen.
Noah had hated peas as a baby.
The adoption letters had mentioned it.
Nothing about that fact proved anything.
Still, it made Rebecca suddenly human.
Daniel had sent a picture of Noah at the zoo.
Rebecca replied with a heart.
Then nothing for two weeks.
The exchanges became more frequent.
Rebecca asked about school, allergies, favorite books.
Daniel answered some questions and ignored others.
He sent three more photographs.
Then Rebecca asked whether Noah knew he was adopted.
Daniel wrote:
Not really. Emma wants to wait.
Rebecca replied:
Please don’t wait too long.
Emma read that sentence four times.
The next message was worse.
I spent years thinking I was protecting him by staying gone because that’s what everyone told me was best. Please don’t make silence into love. It isn’t.
Emma set down the phone.
Robert did not ask.
She picked it up again.
The money appeared later.
Rebecca had lost her job.
Daniel offered before she requested anything.
That mattered.
He sent two hundred dollars.
Then another three hundred.
Two months later, Rebecca asked if he could help with a security deposit.
Daniel wrote:
I can’t keep doing this.
Rebecca answered:
I never asked you to start.
The exchange that followed was ugly.
May you like
Daniel accused her of using Noah to manipulate him.
Rebecca told him he had brought money into conversations she wanted to keep about her son.
