Chapter 6 - Daniel Had Deleted A Sister Without Changing His Last Name
We moved to an empty classroom because the school wanted the lobby back.
Leah took Mia with her.
Sophie came with me.
Walter stayed outside.
Daniel sat across from us.
He looked like a man being interviewed by three different versions of his own life.
I asked:
“Start.”
He looked toward Leah.
She shook her head.
“No. His version first.”
Daniel rubbed his palms together.
“When I was eleven, my mother’s best friend died.”
Leah corrected him.
“Car crash.”
He nodded.
“Leah was twelve.”
Her father was alive but unreliable.
Not absent forever.
Not dead.
He moved in and out of Leah’s life.
Walter and Daniel’s mother had agreed years earlier that if anything happened, Leah could stay with them temporarily.
Temporary became seven years.
“She had her own room,” Daniel said.
Leah laughed quietly.
“Eventually.”
Daniel looked down.
“For the first year she slept in my mother’s sewing room.”
“Because your dad kept saying the guest room wasn't appropriate for long-term use.”
Walter heard through the open door.
He said nothing.
Daniel continued.
“We were basically brother and sister.”
Leah looked at him.
“Basically.”
The word hurt him.
I asked:
“Why did it end?”
Daniel looked at his father through the doorway.
Walter moved away from view.
“Letters.”
Leah sat back.
I waited.
“My father didn't like Leah’s father,” Daniel said.
“Michael Monroe.”
Leah supplied the name.
“He'd disappeared before. Showed up drunk twice. Borrowed money. Made promises.”
“True,” Leah said.
That surprised me.
She wasn't building a saint.
Daniel continued.
“When Michael started writing again, my dad screened the letters.”
“Opened them?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
Leah answered.
“For almost two years.”
I looked toward the hallway.
Walter still did not come in.
Daniel said:
“He said he was protecting her.”
“Did you know?”
He paused.
“Yes.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen when it started.”
“And when Leah found out?”
“Eighteen.”
Two years.
Not a child making one scared choice.
A teenager growing old enough to know better one month at a time.
“What did you do?”
Daniel looked at Leah.
She stared at him.
He finally said:
“I brought some letters to her.”
“Some.”
“I thought the others would upset her.”
I could hear how bad it sounded now.
He could too.
“Who decided that?”
“Dad.”
“And you.”
“Yes.”
Leah looked toward Mia.
Her daughter was drawing with Sophie at a student desk.
“She thinks I left because Walter hated my father.”
I looked at her.
“Why did you leave?”
Her eyes stayed on Mia.
“Because Daniel knew I was waiting.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
I waited.
Leah continued:
“My dad wrote that he was sober. That he had a job in Richmond. That he wanted me to visit for one weekend.”
Daniel said:
“He'd said things before.”
Leah turned.
“That isn't the part.”
He stopped.
She looked at me.
“Daniel read the letter first.”
I stared.
“He wasn't supposed to.”
“No.”
“What did you do with it?”
Daniel’s voice dropped.
“I kept it.”
“For how long?”
“Eight days.”
Leah laughed softly.
“I counted nine.”
“Eight nights.”
“Nine dates.”
Neither sounded proud of knowing.
I asked:
“Why keep it?”
Daniel looked at the table.
“My dad said if she went, she might not come back.”
Leah said:
“And Daniel didn't want me to.”
He looked at her.
“No.”
She waited.
Daniel tried again.
“I didn't.”
That was cleaner.
Harder.
Leah looked toward Sophie and Mia.
“At eighteen, I thought Daniel was the only person in that house who saw me as family instead of responsibility.”
Daniel’s face tightened.
“Then I found out he was helping decide which parts of my life I was allowed to see.”
Nobody spoke.
The classroom door opened.
Walter stood there.
He looked at Leah.
“I kept the letters.”
Leah didn't turn.
Walter continued:
“Daniel kept one.”
Daniel looked at him.
May you like
Walter’s jaw tightened.
“And that one was the reason she left.”
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