Chương 7
Why are you telling me?
The reply took longer.
I don’t know.
Mara believed her.
She put the phone down.
Lena arrived with breakfast burritos and her ten-month-old daughter strapped to her chest.
“You look terrible,” Lena said.
“So does your baby.”
The baby looked delighted.
“Thank you.”
Lena placed a burrito in front of Mara.
“Eat.”
“I had soup.”
“At seven?”
“How do you know that?”
“Ethan told me.”
Mara looked toward the bedroom.
“Traitor.”
“He also told me about Reeve.”
Mara’s face tightened.
Lena unwrapped her own burrito.
“I haven’t talked to Mike in years.”
“Neither have I.”
“He was always angry.”
“He had reasons.”
“Everyone had reasons.”
The baby grabbed for Lena’s food.
Lena shifted it away.
“No, ma’am.”
The baby objected.
Mara watched her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing the stare.”
“What stare?”
“The one where you look at normal people doing normal things like they’re a documentary about another species.”
Mara looked down at her burrito.
“I don’t do that.”
“You absolutely do.”
The baby grabbed Mara’s finger.
Mara let her.
Lena said, “Mike’s wife left him two years after deployment.”
“I heard.”
“He got medically retired.”
“I heard that too.”
“Pike was his best friend.”
“I know.”
“You were not his favorite person before any of this.”
“I know.”
Lena sighed.
“Stop saying you know.”
Mara smiled.
The baby squeezed her finger.
For several minutes nobody discussed the video.
Then Ethan came out of the bedroom.
His hair was wet.
He kissed Mara on the top of the head.
Not on the mouth.
She noticed.
So did Lena.
Lena pretended not to.
“Your sister texted me,” Mara said.
Ethan looked surprised.
“What did she say?”
“That the foundation fired her before announcing she volunteered.”
His face hardened.
“My mother.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know exactly that.”
He reached for his phone.
Mara caught his wrist.
“Don’t.”
He stared at her hand.
She released him.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“Call when you know what you want.”
“I want to know why they lied.”
“You already know.”
He looked at her.
Lena took a bite of burrito and focused with great intensity on the baby.
Ethan said, “You sound like you’re defending Sloane.”
“I’m not.”
“She assaulted you.”
“Yes.”
“She humiliated you.”
“Yes.”
“Now she’s texting you like you’re friends.”
“No.”
“Then why do you care whether the board was fair to her?”
Mara thought about it.
“Because unfair doesn’t become fair because it happens to someone who did something wrong.”
Lena stopped chewing.
Ethan looked away.
Mara almost wished she had phrased it less cleanly.
It sounded like something a person said after having six hours to prepare for a panel discussion.
So she added, “Also, your mother scares me.”
Lena snorted.
Ethan laughed despite himself.
The tension broke.
Not disappeared.
Broke.
There was a difference.
By afternoon, Mara’s name was trending.
She hated knowing that.
She hated that Lena knew how to check.
She hated that Ethan kept checking after promising not to.
She hated that part of her wanted to know what strangers were saying.
The internet had divided her into several incompatible women.
To some, she was proof that military service created heroes.
To others, she was proof that wealthy people despised anyone who disrupted an aesthetic.
A third group insisted the entire event had been staged by the Mercer family to promote its veterans foundation.
Someone found a photograph of Mara at twenty-six, standing outside a hospital with Lena and three other nurses. Someone else found her Navy commendation citation.
A podcast host read parts of it dramatically.
Mara turned it off after twelve seconds.
The citation did not mention Pike.
Official documents often made danger sound cleaner than kitchens.
At four thirty Michael Reeve called.
Mara was alone on the balcony.
She answered on the first ring.
“Mike.”
“You left a hell of a voicemail.”
His voice sounded older.
“So did your post.”
He laughed once.
No warmth.
“Guess we’re even.”
“No.”
“No.”
Traffic moved below.
Mara waited.
Mike said, “Weller call you?”
“Yes.”
“He still talking like he owns the story?”
“He apologized.”
“To you.”
“To Anne.”
Silence.
“That so?”
“Yes.”
Mike breathed into the phone.
Mara remembered how he used to chew ice after meals.
A useless memory.
It arrived anyway.
“You shouldn’t have posted Pike’s name,” she said.
“I didn’t.”
“You used his rank.”
“People found it.”
“You knew they would.”
“So did you.”
“No, Mike. I knew they might. That’s different.”
He did not answer.
Mara looked at the railing.
“You were right about one thing.”
“Only one?”
“Nobody ran.”
His breathing changed.
“That line made me sick.”
“Me too.”
“My guys have kids. Families. You know what people are doing? They’re messaging them. Asking whether their dads left you behind.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Mara almost responded.
Stopped.
Mike continued.
“Reeve ran. That’s what some account wrote this morning. ‘Reeve ran while bikini hero went back.’ My daughter saw it before I did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
He laughed again.
“What a useful sentence.”
Mara let that pass.
“You can correct it without blaming me for Pike.”
“You did go back against orders.”
“Yes.”
“He did follow you.”
“Yes.”
“He did die.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t see the line?”
“I see it every day.”
Mike went quiet.
Mara pressed her lips together.
She had not meant to say that.
When he spoke again, some of the edge had gone.
“You ever talk to Anne?”
“Christmas. Sometimes June.”
“June?”
“His birthday.”
“Oh.”
Mike inhaled.
“I don’t.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“She told me.”
Another silence.
“She hates me?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“She worries about you.”
“That sounds worse.”
Mara watched a delivery driver carry a stack of pizza boxes through the courtyard.
“Mike, what do you want?”
He answered too quickly.
“For people to stop calling me a coward.”
“I mean from me.”
This time he took longer.
“I want you to say Weller lied.”
May you like
“He didn’t lie about the rescue.”
“He lied about us.”
