Chương 10
Daniel had brought no gifts. Kesha had told him not to. He carried only a thin folder.
Noah pointed at it. “Is that paperwork?”
“Yes.”
“Adults bring paperwork when they’re nervous.”
“Who told you that?”
“Mama.”
Kesha said, “I did not.”
“You said Officer Brooks carries folders when she’s afraid someone will ask a question.”
“That is not the same statement.”
Noah looked at Daniel. “It’s close.”
Daniel’s mouth moved around a brief smile.
The therapist asked the children whether they had questions.
All four spoke at once.
“Where were you?”
“Do you have other kids?”
“Why did you believe Grandma?”
“Did you love Mama?”
The therapist raised a hand.
“One at a time.”
Sophia pointed at Noah. “He can go.”
Noah looked at Daniel.
“Where were you?”
Daniel leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“Working in different places. Training. Traveling. Living at the Reynolds house when I was in Colorado.”
“You were close?”
“Sometimes.”
“How close?”
“About fifty minutes from your home.”
Noah’s face changed.
Kesha had asked Daniel to be honest. She had not anticipated the cruelty of distance measured in minutes.
“You were fifty minutes away for eight years?”
“Not all eight.”
“How many?”
Daniel looked at the therapist, then back at Noah.
“Altogether, maybe three years.”
Noah lowered his eyes.
Daniel continued. “I did not know you were there.”
“You could have checked.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I was afraid your mother hated me. Because I was ashamed of how I had treated her. Because my mother told me a story that made it easier not to ask questions.”
Noah frowned. “That’s a lot of becauses.”
“It is.”
“Which one is the real one?”
Daniel sat with the question.
“The real one is that I was a coward.”
Kesha looked at him.
The therapist said nothing.
Noah adjusted his cap, though he had worn a regular knit hat that day and removed it at the entrance. His fingers searched for a brim that was not there.
“Okay,” he said.
The answer did not mean forgiveness. It meant he had heard.
Sophia went next.
“Do you have other children?”
“No.”
“Were you going to have them with Elise?”
Daniel’s eyes moved toward Kesha and away.
“We had discussed it.”
“Does she hate us?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she told me.”
“You still talk to her?”
“Only about the foundation.”
“Does she hate you?”
Daniel breathed out slowly.
“She might.”
Sophia appeared satisfied.
Ethan refused his turn until the therapist began to move on.
Then he said, “Why did you move away from Noah?”
Daniel looked at him.
“At the house.”
“I was shocked.”
“That’s not a reason.”
Daniel pressed his hands together.
“I saw him coming toward me, and I understood that if he reached me, I would have to become something I had failed to be. I moved before I could stop myself.”
“You didn’t want him to touch you.”
“I was afraid to let him.”
“That’s worse.”
“Yes.”
Ethan stared at Daniel for several seconds.
“Good,” he said.
The therapist asked, “What feels good about that answer?”
“He didn’t make it sound nice.”
Daniel looked down.
Olivia did not ask a question.
When the session was almost over, Daniel opened the thin folder.
“I brought something your grandmother kept.”
Kesha stiffened.
Daniel removed the ultrasound photograph and Kesha’s letter.
“I gave copies to the attorneys,” he said. “These belong to your mother.”
Kesha took them.
She had not seen the photograph in eight years.
The technician’s marks remained visible. A, B, C, D.
Her own handwriting filled three pages, tilted and uneven because she had written while recovering from surgery.
Olivia leaned closer.
“Is that us?”
“Yes.”
“We look like beans.”
“You were very small.”
“Which one am I?”
Kesha looked at the labels.
The medical staff had used positions rather than names.
“I don’t know.”
Olivia touched the corner of the photograph.
Daniel said, “Your grandmother received that after you were born.”
The children became quiet.
Kesha looked at him.
He had promised not to introduce Harriet into the first meeting except in response to questions.
Daniel saw the warning in her face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should not have said that yet.”
Ethan looked at his mother. “She knew?”
Kesha placed the photograph back in the folder.
“She knew there were four babies. She says she was not certain the letter was true.”
“That’s stupid,” Sophia said.
“Yes,” Kesha replied. “It was.”
The therapist intervened before the conversation hardened around Harriet.
When the hour ended, Daniel stood near the door.
“May I come to the next meeting?”
The children looked at one another.
Noah nodded.
Sophia said, “You didn’t answer whether you loved Mama.”
Daniel glanced at Kesha.
“That is not a question he needs to answer,” she said.
“I asked him.”
Daniel remained still.
“Yes,” he said. “I loved her.”
“Do you now?”
Kesha opened the door.
“We’re done.”
Sophia complained all the way to the parking lot.
Daniel attended every scheduled meeting for the next two months.
He learned that Noah asked questions when frightened, Ethan became quiet, Sophia argued, and Olivia watched everyone before deciding what she believed. He learned they disliked peas, though Olivia would eat them frozen. He learned Noah slept with the closet light on, Ethan could identify most aircraft by sound, Sophia wanted to be a veterinarian until she remembered blood existed, and Olivia collected smooth stones.
He did not call himself their father.
Not at first.
He signed the child-support agreement without contest and established education accounts under terms Kesha’s attorney approved. Money arrived cleanly and on time. Kesha used some of it to replace the failing water heater and felt angry when hot water stopped becoming a daily calculation.
May you like
Daniel began individual therapy because the family therapist required it before unsupervised visits. He resigned from the Reynolds Foundation board after an internal review found that Harriet had redirected correspondence and used staff to monitor inquiries related to Kesha.
The foundation did not collapse.
