Chapter 18
Ethan’s first question for Lucinda came when he was nine.
Not:
Do you love me?
Not:
Why did you do it?
Something more specific.
WHY DIDN’T YOU OPEN THE DOOR WHEN MIA CRIED?
His therapist sent it through counsel.
Lucinda took twelve days.
Her answer was reviewed before Ethan saw it.
I heard Mia crying.
I told myself babies cry.
That was the sentence I used because if I admitted her crying meant the plan had gone too far, I would have had to open the door.
I wanted Dr. Shaw to see you first.
I chose the plan over what I could hear.
I am sorry.
Ethan read it once.
Then pushed the page away.
Silvio waited.
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
“Not temperature.”
“No.”
“She knew crying.”
“Yes.”
Ethan became angry.
Silvio did not calm him.
That mattered.
“She said babies cry.”
“Yes.”
“Mia was hot.”
“Yes.”
“She knew I asked water.”
“Yes.”
Silvio stopped there.
No excuse about Lucinda’s childhood.
No reminder that she had intended five minutes.
Ethan already knew motive existed.
Today was about conduct.
He picked up the page again.
“Did Grant make her wait?”
“He told her to wait.”
“Then Grant fault.”
“Partly.”
Ethan frowned.
“Partly again.”
“Yes.”
“She could open?”
“Yes.”
“Had key?”
“Yes.”
“Then hers too.”
“Yes.”
The answer settled somewhere.
Not comfortably.
Accurately.
Ethan did not reply.
Months passed.
Then Lucinda requested permission to send a birthday card.
The professionals involved with Ethan reviewed the request.
Silvio asked him.
“Do you want it?”
Ethan shrugged.
“You decide.”
Old Silvio would have.
Quickly.
Efficiently.
Protectively.
Instead:
“It’s your card.”
Ethan became annoyed.
“I don’t know.”
“You can say that.”
“What happens?”
“Nothing until you decide.”
He hated that.
Uncertainty again.
Three days later:
“Okay.”
The card arrived.
No apology letter hidden inside.
No request for contact.
Just:
Happy ninth birthday, Ethan.
I hope you have a good year.
Aunt Lucy.
Ethan placed it beside other cards.
Not special.
Not destroyed.
That mattered too.
At ten, he asked another question through counsel.
DO YOU STILL THINK DAD IS DANGEROUS?
Lucinda’s response took longer.
Finally:
I think some parts of the world around your father were dangerous.
I also think he has changed things I once believed he never would.
Your father is not the reason I hurt you.
I made that choice.
Ethan stared at the last line.
Then:
“Better.”
Silvio looked at him.
“Why?”
“She didn’t make you reason.”
That sentence hurt differently.
Good.
Ethan folded the letter.
“Can I see her someday?”
Silvio’s body reacted.
No.
Immediate.
He did not say it.
“Maybe.”
Ethan looked at him.
“Your maybe or my maybe?”
Excellent question.
“Both.”
May you like
For now.
That was honest.
