Chương 13
Might have waited until necessity forced Daniel to accept a decision already made.
Instead she stood in their kitchen and said it before knowing what he would do.
“I want you to know that thought is in my head,” she said.
Daniel put down the spoon.
“I appreciate you telling me.”
“I’m not asking.”
“I know.”
“I would never bring her here without asking.”
“I know.”
Claire looked at him carefully.
“Do you?”
Daniel considered.
“Yes.”
It was the first time he had said those words without feeling that he was pretending.
Emma did not move in with them.
Mark eventually agreed she could finish high school with his sister if she maintained regular visits with him.
Lucas chose Denver.
The siblings fought.
Claire listened.
Sometimes she gave bad advice.
Sometimes she overstepped.
Once Emma stopped speaking to her for twelve days because Claire criticized Mark’s handling of the move.
Claire did not chase her.
She waited.
On day thirteen, Emma sent a photograph of a chemistry worksheet with the message:
Do you remember how to do this?
Claire stared at the phone for ten minutes before admitting to Daniel that she did not remember chemistry.
Daniel helped.
Emma got a B-minus.
She blamed Daniel.
He told her B-minus was character building.
She called him eighty years old.
The first time Lucas came to Daniel and Claire’s house was in March.
He arrived with Mark.
Daniel had met him twice before in public places.
Lucas was quieter than Emma and had an unsettling way of letting adults fill silence until they revealed more than intended.
He walked into the kitchen, looked around, and said, “It’s smaller than I thought.”
Claire stared.
Daniel said, “That’s an excellent opening insult.”
Lucas shrugged.
“Emma said it was huge.”
“Emma is unreliable.”
From the living room, Emma shouted, “I can hear you.”
Lucas smiled.
It was Claire’s smile.
Daniel no longer felt punched when he saw it.
That surprised him.
Dinner was awkward.
Mark and Claire disagreed about Lucas’s summer baseball program.
Emma rolled her eyes.
Daniel burned the garlic bread.
Lucas ate three pieces anyway.
At one point, Claire reached for the salt and knocked over her water.
Everyone jumped.
Then Lucas laughed.
Claire laughed.
Mark handed her a towel.
For one second Daniel watched them as a family that had once existed.
A young couple.
Two small children.
A life before Rachel.
A life before him.
He expected jealousy.
Instead he felt something closer to grief for all of them.
Not sentimental grief.
There was too much damage for that.
But grief for the ordinary years that had been lost to fear, addiction, pride, and adults trying to decide what children could survive.
After dinner, Mark helped Daniel carry plates to the kitchen.
“You okay?” Mark asked.
Daniel looked at him.
“You ask that like you care.”
Mark stacked plates.
“I care enough not to want another disaster.”
“Touching.”
“I’m growing.”
Daniel almost smiled.
Mark rinsed a dish.
“Claire told me you two are still in therapy.”
Daniel stiffened.
“She tells you that?”
“She told Emma. Emma tells everyone everything.”
“Fair.”
Mark set the dish in the rack.
“I used to think she’d do this again.”
“Do what?”
“Leave.”
Daniel looked toward the dining room where Claire was arguing with Lucas about whether three slices of garlic bread counted as dinner.
“Maybe she did too.”
Mark dried his hands.
“Probably.”
Before leaving, Lucas stood near the front door with his jacket half-zipped.
“Daniel.”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did you know about us before the pictures?”
The room quieted.
Claire looked at Daniel.
Mark looked at Lucas.
Daniel said, “No.”
Lucas absorbed that.
“So she lied to you too.”
“Yes.”
Claire’s face tightened.
Lucas looked at her.
Daniel continued.
“But that is between Claire and me.”
Lucas looked back at him.
“You’re not mad?”
“I was furious.”
“Was?”
Daniel considered.
“I still get angry.”
“At her?”
“Yes.”
Lucas nodded.
Then he said, “Good.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Daniel understood.
The boy did not want Claire protected from consequences.
Daniel did not either.
“I can be angry at her without making you responsible for it,” Daniel said.
Lucas looked at him for a long second.
“Okay.”
Then he left.
That night, Daniel and Claire stood in the kitchen.
She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“What you said to Lucas.”
“It was true.”
“I know.”
Daniel looked at her.
Claire smiled.
“Sorry. I understand.”
“Better.”
She laughed.
He did too.
Then the silence changed.
Not dramatically.
It simply became less guarded.
Claire looked toward the stairs.
“I’m going to bed.”
“Okay.”
She took two steps.
“Claire.”
She turned.
Daniel almost asked her to stay.
Instead he said, “Good night.”
Her eyes held his for a moment.
“Good night.”
In April, almost eight months after Daniel had kicked the studio stool, Elaine asked whether they still considered themselves separated.
Daniel looked at Claire.
Claire looked at him.
“I don’t know,” Daniel said.
Elaine nodded.
“That answer seems to have survived a long time.”
“It’s useful.”
Claire said, “I hate it.”
Daniel glanced at her.
“I know.”
She smiled faintly.
Elaine asked, “What would make the answer clearer?”
Daniel had spent months believing clarity would arrive as a feeling.
It had not.
Trust did not return like warmth to a room.
It returned in dull little proofs.
A bank transfer discussed before it happened.
A difficult text shown voluntarily.
An uncomfortable call made in front of him.
Claire telling him when Mark had asked her to come to Denver for Lucas’s first tournament and saying, before Daniel could react, “I want to go. I’m afraid you’ll think I’m choosing them over you. I’m also afraid if I don’t go, I’m choosing you because I’m afraid.”
Messy.
Inefficient.
True.
Daniel looked at Elaine.
“I think I’m waiting to stop being afraid she’ll lie again.”
Elaine asked, “Do you expect that to happen?”
“No.”
May you like
“Then what?”
He rubbed his wedding ring.
