Chương 8
Adrian had been rendered as a burgundy rectangle.
“That’s my jacket?”
“Yes.”
“I have no arms.”
“They’re behind you.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t have room.”
He accepted this.
After several minutes, Clara pushed another page toward him.
“Draw your house.”
He drew a square with windows.
She frowned. “That’s not a house.”
“It has a door.”
“It looks like a bank.”
“My house may look a little like a bank.”
“Does it have stairs?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“You live there.”
“I’ve never counted.”
Clara handed him the marker. “Count when you go home.”
Elena turned her face toward the window, hiding a smile.
Adrian added steps.
He stayed forty-three minutes. Clara showed him three books she was reading, though she admitted she had already read the last pages. She asked whether he owned a horse. He said no. She seemed relieved. She asked whether he had other children. He said no and felt the room become careful around the answer.
When it was time for her to leave with Denise, she put the silver spoon into a small zippered pouch around her neck.
Adrian waited until she was gone.
“I was late,” he said.
“I heard.”
“I told her.”
“I heard that too.”
He stood beside the window. Below them, traffic moved through evening light. An ambulance waited near the emergency entrance, rear doors open.
“My sister knew who Clara was.”
Elena’s expression did not change.
“You’re not surprised.”
“No.”
“How?”
“She sent a birthday card once.”
Adrian turned.
“What?”
“When Clara turned three. No return address. No signature. Just a card with a watercolor rabbit and five hundred dollars in cash.”
“How did you know it was Celeste?”
“She wrote, You have her father’s stubborn mouth. Your mother never used contractions in handwriting. Celeste did.”
“Did she send others?”
“One card. Two years later, someone paid the balance on Clara’s hospital account after an asthma admission. I called the billing office. They said a family charitable trust had covered it.”
“Why didn’t you tell Denise?”
“She knew.”
“Why didn’t you use it to prove Celeste knew?”
“To whom? Your lawyer? Your board? The press?”
“To me.”
“I sent you a letter.”
“I didn’t receive it.”
“Exactly.”
He stared at the ambulance below.
“What did you want?”
“Then?”
“Yes.”
“I wanted you to come to a playground on a Saturday morning and watch your daughter go down a slide. I thought if you saw her, you would stop being an argument.”
He leaned both hands on the windowsill.
“What do you want now?”
Elena picked at the edge of the hospital blanket.
“I want to leave here.”
“That can be arranged.”
She gave him a tired look.
“You asked what I wanted, not what you could purchase.”
He stepped back from the window.
“Sorry.”
“I want to go home for whatever time I have. The apartment has fourteen stairs. I can manage four.”
“We can modify it.”
“Adrian.”
“What?”
“This is what I meant.”
He stopped.
“I say stairs. You hear contractor.”
“You need a safe place.”
“I need not to become a project.”
He sat in the chair Clara had vacated.
“What would help?”
“A first-floor apartment near Denise.”
“I have one.”
“You own half the city.”
“I own a building six blocks from Denise’s house. There’s a vacant unit on the ground floor.”
“Of course there is.”
“It has no medical equipment. No staff. No crest on the towels.”
“Do you have towels with crests?”
“At the hotel.”
“That’s worse.”
He almost laughed.
Elena studied him, perhaps deciding whether the ordinary sound could be trusted.
“Rent,” she said.
“What?”
“I will pay rent.”
“You’re not working.”
“I have savings.”
“You shouldn’t spend them.”
“Then I won’t move.”
He knew the argument waiting in him. The apartment was worth more per month than Elena had likely earned in half a year. Charging her would be absurd. Refusing might be control disguised as generosity.
“How much do you pay now?”
She told him.
“That amount,” he said.
“For how long?”
“As long as you want the lease.”
“In writing.”
“Yes.”
“No clause that vanishes if I say something embarrassing about your family.”
“I’ll have a standard lease sent to your lawyer.”
“I don’t have a lawyer.”
“You should.”
“I can’t afford one.”
“I’ll pay—”
She raised an eyebrow.
He stopped.
“The hospital has a legal aid referral,” she said.
“Use them. I’ll cooperate.”
“Look at you. Learning.”
He came the next day at four.
Then the next.
On Friday, a nurse collected samples for the paternity test in Elena’s room because Clara refused to enter another clinic. Adrian swabbed the inside of his cheek first so she could watch.
“Does it hurt?” Clara asked.
“No.”
“Adults say that about shots.”
“It feels like brushing your cheek with a small toothbrush.”
She held out her hand for the swab.
When the nurse finished, Clara looked at Adrian.
“Do I get your name if it says yes?”
The question startled Elena too.
“You already have a name,” she said.
“I know. I mean his.”
Adrian lowered himself until he was level with her.
“You won’t have to change your name.”
“What if I want both?”
“We can talk about that.”
“Clara Marrow Vale,” she said experimentally. “It’s too long.”
“You could keep Marrow.”
“Will people know?”
“Know what?”
“That you’re my father.”
He looked at Elena.
She did not rescue him.
“Yes,” he said. “If the test says I am, people will know.”
“Even your sister?”
“Especially my sister.”
Clara picked up a crayon and began coloring too hard, snapping the tip.
“I don’t like her.”
“You don’t have to.”
Elena gave him a warning look.
He corrected himself.
“You don’t have to like anyone who scares or hurts you.”
“Does she live at your house?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Adrian did not tell her that Celeste lived four streets away.
May you like
The test took six days.
During those six days, the ballroom video passed twenty million views. Commentators discussed inherited cruelty, class, motherhood, paternity, children’s privacy, charitable hypocrisy, and Celeste’s gown. Strangers slowed outside Elena’s apartment building. A photographer tried to enter the hospital disguised as a flower delivery driver. The hospital moved Elena’s room and restricted visitors.
