Chương 14
Claire issued no statement.
Patricia resigned from the Reynolds Family Foundation board after learning that Everett had used foundation counsel to advise Marcus during the original paternity dispute. She began an internal review of old legal expenses. Several relatives called the effort disloyal.
Kesha did not release the letters.
Journalists offered money, control, sympathetic editing, and one magazine cover featuring Kesha with the children in their Christmas clothes. She refused each offer.
Her decision disappointed people who had turned her into a symbol. They wanted the woman in the doorway to keep walking through rooms on their behalf.
Instead, she returned to work.
The children returned to school in February. For two weeks, other students stared. One boy asked Ethan whether his father owned the helicopter. Ethan said his mother did not own it either and then shoved the boy when he called Kesha dramatic.
The school suspended him for a day.
Kesha picked him up in silence.
Halfway home, he said, “He deserved it.”
“Possibly.”
“You’re supposed to say no.”
“Shoving was wrong. That does not make his comment kind.”
Ethan stared out the window.
“Dad called.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t answer.”
“You do not have to.”
“He left a message.”
“Do you want me to delete it?”
“No.”
They passed a field where horses stood with snow along their backs.
“What did he say?” Kesha asked.
“That he heard what happened. He said he got suspended twice.”
Kesha looked at him.
“For fighting?”
“Once for pulling a fire alarm. Once for changing all the clocks before an exam.”
“That sounds more like him.”
Ethan tried not to smile.
“He said shoving is a bad strategy because you get punished and the other person still thinks the same thing.”
“That also sounds like him.”
“He asked if I wanted boxing lessons.”
“No.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“You may learn boxing. You may not learn it from a man who suggested it after a school fight.”
Ethan turned back to the window.
“Can I call him?”
“Yes.”
“Not today.”
“All right.”
Marcus’s visits remained uneven.
Olivia met him every Saturday with Evelyn present. She talked enough for both of them and asked questions in no sensible order. What food did he hate? Had he ever broken a bone? Why did he leave Claire’s ring box on the floor? Could he ride a horse? Did he think Walter loved him?
Marcus answered.
He hated olives, had broken two fingers rowing, had not noticed the ring box after Kesha left, could ride badly, and believed Walter loved anyone carrying cheese.
Sophia attended every other week. She brought a notebook and wrote down answers. When Marcus asked what she recorded, she said, “Contradictions.”
Noah met him once a month.
Ethan did not attend until April.
The first meeting took place at a public park rather than Evelyn’s office. Marcus brought no gift. Ethan arrived carrying a basketball.
They played without discussing family for twenty minutes. Marcus missed most of his shots. Ethan accused him of losing deliberately.
“I’m thirty-nine,” Marcus said. “My knees are unreliable.”
“You’re not old.”
“Tell my knees.”
“You make excuses a lot.”
“That one was true.”
Ethan bounced the ball harder. “Mom says true things can still be excuses.”
“Your mother says many uncomfortable things.”
“You hate her?”
Marcus caught the ball.
“No.”
“You did.”
“I was angry at her.”
“That means yes.”
“It felt like hate sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Because she did not let me control what happened.”
Ethan held out his hands. Marcus passed the ball.
“Do you hate her now?”
“No.”
“Does she hate you?”
“You would have to ask her.”
“She says she doesn’t know.”
Marcus smiled faintly. “That sounds like her.”
Ethan shot. The ball struck the rim and rolled beneath a bench.
“Are you still rich?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Even without your job?”
“Yes.”
“That seems unfair.”
“It probably is.”
They retrieved the ball.
Marcus’s progress was not steady. In May, he canceled a session with Olivia because a potential business partner requested a meeting. He called thirty minutes before the visit.
Olivia had already changed into the green sweater he once said matched her eyes. She stood in Kesha’s kitchen holding the phone on speaker.
“I’m sorry,” Marcus said. “I tried to move it.”
“You said you would come.”
“I know.”
“Mom says people do what they care about.”
Kesha, standing by the sink, closed her eyes.
Marcus was silent.
“I care about you,” he said.
“Then come.”
“I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
The line disconnected.
Olivia looked at Kesha.
“I didn’t hang up.”
“He did.”
“Why?”
“He may have lost service.”
“He was in his office.”
Kesha put down the dish towel.
“Do you want to call back?”
“No.”
Olivia took off the sweater and left it on the floor.
Marcus called Kesha later.
“She made the choice sound simple.”
“For her, it was.”
“I need to rebuild my career.”
“You need to rebuild trust.”
“The trusts, the support, the travel—I cannot pretend money is irrelevant.”
“No one asked you to.”
“The meeting could lead to a position.”
“And canceling taught Olivia what position she holds.”
He exhaled sharply. “You enjoyed saying that.”
Kesha looked toward the sweater on the floor.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Part of me did.”
Marcus went quiet.
“I don’t know what to do when you say things like that,” he said.
“Neither do I.”
He attended the next session. Olivia refused to speak to him for twenty minutes. He did not leave. Eventually she asked whether his meeting had been worth it.
“No,” he said.
“Because you didn’t get the job?”
“I got the job.”
She frowned.
“Then why?”
“Because you stopped wearing the green sweater.”
Olivia considered that.
“That answer is too nice.”
“It may still be true.”
She did not forgive him that day. She did wear the sweater again in June.
May you like
Kesha’s anger changed more slowly.
It had once been simple enough to organize her life around. Marcus had left; she had stayed. He lied; she told the truth. He protected himself; she protected the children.
