Chương 8
Claire laughed.
Then she went quiet.
“Margaret wants to sell the house.”
Rachel sat straighter.
“What?”
“She called the realtor this morning.”
“Why?”
“She says she was already planning to downsize.”
“Was she?”
“Not that I knew.”
Rachel looked across the room at Daniel.
“Does he know?”
“No.”
“Tell him.”
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to be the family switchboard anymore.”
Rachel considered that.
“Fair.”
Claire sighed.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. You’re right.”
Claire lowered her voice.
“She’s not doing well.”
Rachel felt a flash of anger at the part of herself that cared.
“What does that mean?”
“She isn’t sleeping.”
“Neither am I.”
“I know.”
“She grabbed me.”
“I know.”
“She stole the letter.”
“I know.”
“She lied immediately.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t ask me to feel sorry for her.”
“I didn’t.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“No. You didn’t.”
Claire waited.
Rachel said, “Sorry.”
“You’re allowed to be angry.”
“That sentence is getting old.”
“Most useful sentences do.”
The legal side moved slowly.
A detective called Rachel twice.
Margaret retained an attorney.
No one was arrested.
No dramatic summons appeared at the front door.
There were questions, statements, photographs of Rachel’s bruising, medical records, a request for Emily to confirm her account.
Rachel found the slowness both frustrating and reassuring.
Real consequences arrived mostly as paperwork.
Daniel received a message from his mother’s attorney asking that future communication about the incident go through counsel.
Then, two hours later, Margaret texted him directly to ask whether he still had Charles’s green drill.
Daniel stared at the message.
Rachel read it over his shoulder.
“What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“He did leave you the drill.”
“I know.”
“Do you have it?”
“Yes.”
“Then say yes.”
Daniel looked offended.
“That’s it?”
“What else?”
“My mother may be facing criminal charges and she’s asking about a drill.”
“People are strange.”
He typed:
Yes.
Margaret replied:
Good. He always wanted you to have it.
Daniel put down the phone.
A minute later he picked it up again.
Did he know Thomas was my father when I was born?
The typing indicator appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Stopped.
Finally:
Yes.
Daniel typed:
Did Thomas know?
Yes.
Did Thomas want contact with me?
The indicator appeared.
This time the answer took almost five minutes.
At first.
Daniel waited.
Nothing else came.
He called her.
Rachel started to say something, then did not.
Margaret answered.
Rachel could hear only Daniel’s side.
“What does that mean?”
Silence.
“No. Tell me what that means.”
Longer silence.
“Did he try to see me?”
Daniel stood.
“When?”
He walked toward the window.
“How many times?”
Rachel watched his shoulders rise.
“What did Dad do?”
His face changed.
“No.”
He listened.
“No, I’m not blaming him.”
More silence.
Then Daniel said, “Did you want Thomas to be in my life?”
Rachel could no longer read his expression.
Finally he sat.
“Okay.”
Another pause.
“Why didn’t you tell me when he died?”
He closed his eyes.
“No. That is not an answer.”
Rachel looked away to give him some privacy he had not asked for.
Daniel’s voice became quieter.
“I’m not twelve.”
Then:
“I know Dad loved me.”
Then:
“That isn’t the question.”
He listened.
When he spoke again, his tone was almost gentle.
“Mom, why are you still protecting yourself from something everybody else survived?”
Rachel looked back.
Daniel ended the call a minute later.
He stayed seated.
“What did she say?” Rachel asked.
He rubbed his thumb across the edge of his phone.
“Thomas wanted to see me after I was born.”
Rachel waited.
“Dad told him no.”
“How did Margaret feel?”
“She says she agreed.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“I don’t know.”
He almost laughed at himself.
“Now I understand why everyone kept saying that.”
Rachel sat across from him.
“Anything else?”
“Thomas contacted them again when I was nine.”
“What happened?”
“Dad met him. Alone.”
“Then?”
“Nothing.”
“Did your mother know?”
“Yes.”
“Did Thomas ask again?”
“Apparently not.”
Daniel looked down.
“She said he had problems.”
“What kind?”
“Alcohol. Money. He’d lost another business after leaving Dad’s.”
Rachel nodded.
“That could be true.”
“Or convenient.”
“Yes.”
“She said Dad decided contact would be bad for me.”
“That could also be true.”
“Or convenient.”
“Yes.”
Daniel leaned back.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I keep wanting somebody to be clearly right.”
Rachel looked at her wrist.
“Your mother was clearly wrong about one thing.”
He followed her gaze.
“Yes.”
The DNA results arrived five weeks later.
By then Rachel’s fracture had begun healing. The bruises were yellow at the edges. She could sleep on her left side again.
The email came while Daniel was in a meeting.
He did not open it until he got home.
Rachel sat with him at the kitchen table.
The report did not provide a dramatic answer by itself. It showed close genetic matches to people with the surname Keene and one match categorized as a likely first cousin.
Daniel stared at the screen.
“So that’s it.”
“It looks like it.”
“I’m his son.”
Rachel nodded.
Daniel looked at her.
“Say something.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“That you’re still you?”
“That sounds terrible.”
“It does.”
He laughed.
Rachel did too.
Then Daniel cried.
Not loudly.
He lowered his head onto his folded arms and stayed there.
Rachel sat beside him and rubbed the back of his neck.
After a while he said, “I feel disloyal.”
“To Charles?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know.”
“That isn’t disloyal.”
“It feels like it.”
Rachel did not argue with a feeling.
Later that evening Daniel messaged the likely cousin.
He wrote the message three times.
Deleted it twice.
The final version was plain.
May you like
My name is Daniel Bennett. Your DNA result suggests we may be closely related through Thomas Keene. I believe Thomas may have been my biological father. I understand this may be unexpected. If you’re willing to talk, I’d appreciate it.
The reply came the next afternoon.
