Chapter 13 - LEARNING TO BE A FATHER
Evan’s supervised visits eventually became unsupervised afternoons.
The decision terrified me.
Maisie’s therapist supported it.
So did Diane.
I still sat in my car outside the park during the first one.
Rachel laughed when she discovered me.
“You realize hiding behind sunglasses doesn’t make you invisible.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You’re parked behind a tree.”
“It’s shade.”
“You brought binoculars.”
“They were already in the car.”
Rachel stared at me.
“You don’t own binoculars.”
I lowered them.
“Fine.”
Across the park, Evan pushed Maisie on a swing.
“Higher!”
“Your mother will murder me.”
“Higher!”
He pushed slightly harder.
Maisie screamed with laughter.
Something loosened inside me.
Not trust.
Not completely.
But maybe the possibility of it.
Evan made mistakes.
He was late once.
I nearly ended the arrangement.
He apologized without excuses.
Another time, Maisie had a tantrum in a grocery store.
Old Evan would have called Margaret.
New Evan sat on the floor beside his screaming daughter for eleven minutes.
A stranger recorded him.
The clip briefly circulated online.
People mocked him.
He didn’t care.
“She needed me.”
That was all he said.
One evening, he brought Maisie home.
She ran inside carrying a paper crown.
“Mommy!”
“What’s that?”
“Daddy made it.”
Evan stood awkwardly at the door.
“He’s terrible at crowns,” Maisie announced.
“I’ve been informed.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then Maisie became serious.
“Daddy doesn’t hit.”
The words destroyed the lightness instantly.
Evan’s face changed.
He crouched.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Nana hit.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
There it was.
The question all of us had known would come eventually.
Evan looked at me.
I let him answer.
“Because Nana made a bad choice.”
“Was I bad?”
“No.”
His answer came immediately.
“You were never bad.”
“Soup fell.”
“I know.”
“Mommy hit Daddy.”
I almost choked.
Evan glanced at me.
Then back at Maisie.
“Yes.”
“Was Daddy bad?”
Evan thought carefully.
“Daddy made bad choices too.”
“Then Mommy hit?”
I stepped closer.
“And Mommy made a bad choice when she hit Daddy.”
Maisie frowned.
Adults love simple rules until children make us apply them consistently.
“Hitting bad?”
“Yes.”
I knelt beside her.
“Even when we’re really angry.”
She considered this.
Then touched my cheek.
“Mommy say sorry?”
I looked at Evan.
I had apologized months earlier.
But not in front of Maisie.
“I did.”
“Again.”
Evan almost smiled.
I took a breath.
“I’m sorry I hit you, Evan.”
He nodded.
“I forgive you.”
Maisie smiled.
“Good.”
Apparently court was adjourned.
She ran toward the kitchen.
Evan and I remained by the door.
“She’s smarter than both of us,” he said.
“That’s a terrifyingly low bar.”
He laughed.
Then his expression became serious.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting her see me.”
“Don’t thank me.”
I looked toward the kitchen.
“Earn it.”
“I will.”
And he did.
Week after week.
Month after month.
Until one afternoon, a letter arrived.
No return address.
Inside was a single photograph.
Margaret.
In prison.
Someone had photographed her speaking to a visitor.
The visitor’s face was partly turned away.
But I recognized him.
Howard Bell.
The disgraced notary.
The man who was supposed to be cooperating with prosecutors.
May you like
On the back of the photograph was a message.
She still has one thing you need.
