Chương 10
Lorraine turned on him. “Do not make this equal.”
“I didn’t.”
Daniel lowered his hands. “What else did Ethan say?”
“That Claire wanted his room for an office after the wedding.”
“She suggested moving both children to the third floor.”
“Why?”
“The bedrooms are larger.”
“The stairs are steep.”
“I said no.”
“Did Ethan hear the conversation?”
“I don’t know.”
Nora gave him a long look.
Daniel understood the answer.
That evening, he asked Ethan directly.
They sat on the front steps while Lily and Martin searched the yard for a plastic ring she had buried near the hydrangeas. Cars moved along the street. Someone down the block ran a lawn mower despite the grass being nearly dead from summer heat.
“Did Claire tell you we were moving your room?” Daniel asked.
Ethan picked at dried paint on the step.
“She said maybe.”
“When?”
“A while ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
Daniel waited.
“You said the third floor had more space,” Ethan continued. “You said I could make it cool.”
“I didn’t understand that you were scared.”
“You were excited.”
“About the renovation.”
“Same thing.”
Daniel watched Martin lift a flowerpot while Lily supervised.
“I should have listened differently,” he said.
Ethan shrugged.
“I’m sorry.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I know.”
“Does it fix it?”
“No.”
“Then why do adults say it so much?”
“Sometimes it’s the only true thing they have ready.”
Ethan considered this.
“Are you still going to marry her later?”
“No.”
“Even if she apologizes?”
“No.”
“Even if she says she loves us?”
Daniel looked at him. “Love is not permission to make someone smaller.”
The sentence sounded prepared, though it was not. Ethan seemed to distrust it for that reason.
“Did Aunt Nora tell you to say that?”
“No.”
“It sounds like her.”
“I’ll apologize to her.”
Ethan rubbed the paint dust from his thumb. “I don’t want to live with Grandma.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“She did.”
“When?”
“Today. She said we could stay until things settle.”
Daniel’s anger rose so quickly that Ethan noticed.
“Don’t yell at her,” the boy said.
“I’m not going to yell.”
“You make your mouth flat before you yell.”
Daniel relaxed his jaw.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Ethan looked toward the yard. “I want to live at our house.”
“We’re going home tomorrow.”
“Is Claire’s stuff there?”
“Yes.”
“Can you move it?”
“Some of it. The rest has to be arranged.”
“Why?”
“Because people still have rights when you are angry with them.”
“That seems stupid.”
“It often does.”
They returned home Wednesday afternoon.
The house smelled faintly of Claire’s perfume because a bottle had spilled in the bathroom cabinet. Daniel opened windows. Ethan carried his own bag upstairs. Lily stopped in the living room and stared at the space above the fireplace where Claire had planned to hang a large wedding portrait.
“Where’s the picture?” she asked.
“We didn’t take it.”
“The big one.”
“There isn’t one.”
She seemed satisfied and went to find her dolls.
Daniel moved Claire’s clothing into the guest room under instructions negotiated by attorneys. He did not touch her work files, jewelry, or personal electronics. A neutral moving company would collect everything Friday while Daniel and the children were out.
He found evidence of her life everywhere: a silk sleep mask behind the bed, a half-finished crossword in the bathroom, expensive conditioner that made Lily’s hair smell like oranges, a grocery list containing Daniel’s preferred coffee and Ethan’s cereal.
By evening, the guest room looked like a department store after closing.
Daniel sat on the floor among labeled boxes.
He picked up one of Claire’s shoes and remembered complaining that she owned too many. She had replied that he owned seven nearly identical blue shirts. He had counted them and discovered there were nine.
For a moment, he wanted to call her and tell her that ordinary thing.
Instead, he placed the shoe beside its mate.
Friday’s move happened without Claire present. Judith supervised from the sidewalk, photographing each box before it entered the truck. Nora photographed Judith photographing the boxes.
“This is childish,” Daniel told her.
“It is documentation.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I contain multitudes.”
After the truck left, Claire’s attorney emailed a proposed joint statement. It described the wedding incident as a combination of schedule confusion, staff error, and heightened emotions. Daniel and Claire would express mutual respect and ask the public to avoid assigning blame.
In exchange, Claire would waive any claim for reimbursement of wedding expenses and would ask her company’s clients not to reconsider contracts with Daniel’s firm.
Nora read it twice.
“That is not an apology,” she said.
“It’s a settlement.”
“It says Ethan misunderstood.”
“It says the situation was misunderstood.”
“By everyone except the adult who wrote the note.”
Daniel looked at the attached cost summary. Waverly Hall, catering, flowers, travel reimbursements, music, photography, and canceled accommodations totaled more than one hundred seventy thousand dollars. Some had been paid by the Harts, some by Daniel, some were refundable, most were not.
Claire’s company had already informed Harcourt that Daniel’s firm might have mishandled confidential communications relating to the hotel project. Greg forwarded the message with no commentary.
“Money is not the question,” Nora said.
“It becomes a question when payroll depends on a client.”
“You are not responsible for the whole firm.”
“I am a partner.”
“You’re also a father.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
Daniel turned on her.
Nora did not retreat.
He heard Lorraine’s voice inside the question and hated his sister for making it useful.
“I am trying to keep forty people from losing work because my wedding collapsed on the internet.”
“And the statement requires your son to carry part of the blame.”
“It does not name him.”
“Everyone knows who it means.”
Daniel walked to the window.
Across the street, two teenagers rode bicycles with no hands. One wobbled, recovered, and laughed.
“I need time,” he said.
May you like
“Their attorney gave you until Monday.”
“That is time.”
