Chapter 10 - Nathan Had Not Chosen Denver Either
Three days later, Miles asked if I wanted the truth about Denver.
I almost said no.
Then realized that was how my family kept building alternate histories.
“Yes.”
We met at his shop.
He poured coffee.
I declined.
He drank both.
“Nathan interviewed with the Denver company.”
“I know.”
“He got an offer.”
I stopped.
“Margaret said he didn't accept.”
“He didn't.”
“Why?”
Miles shrugged.
“You.”
“That sounds romantic.”
“It wasn't.”
Good.
“He realized he had interviewed before telling you he wanted to move.”
“That sounds like Nathan.”
“He called himself an idiot.”
“Also Nathan.”
“What happened?”
Miles leaned against the bench.
“He decided he would tell you everything first.”
“Apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Company?”
“Yes.”
“Room Three?”
“Yes.”
“And if I said no?”
“He didn't know.”
That answer hurt because it was honest.
“Did he say he'd stay?”
“No.”
“Leave without me?”
“No.”
“So?”
“He said he was finally going to stop rehearsing both sides of conversations nobody had agreed to have.”
I looked down.
“Did he blame Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Himself?”
“Eventually.”
There.
“What did he blame me for?”
Miles looked uncomfortable.
“Do you actually want this?”
“Yes.”
“For asking Margaret what he meant instead of asking him.”
I almost laughed.
“Accurate.”
“He said every time you two fought, you called his mother.”
“Not every time.”
“His word was every.”
“Dead people exaggerate too.”
Miles smiled.
“Probably.”
I continued:
“He talked to you about me.”
“Yes.”
“So he hated triangulation selectively.”
“Yes.”
Good.
“What did he say about our marriage?”
“That you both wanted the other person to set a boundary with Margaret.”
My chest tightened.
True.
I wanted Nathan to tell his mother to stop entering our house without calling.
Nathan wanted me to stop opening the door.
I thought he should manage his family.
He thought I should manage my home.
We turned one woman into the symbol for every disagreement.
“What did he want on Thursday?”
Miles thought.
“Not to decide alone.”
I looked away.
The tragedy was not that Nathan had finally found the perfect answer.
He hadn't.
He had finally reached the point where he knew the answer required another person.
Then he died.
“You still think Margaret caused the crash?” Miles asked.
“I don't know.”
“Good.”
I looked at him.
“You say that like uncertainty is moral growth.”
“No.”
He smiled slightly.
“I say it because you asked me yesterday whether she killed him without using the word killed.”
Fair.
“The official report said weather and speed.”
“Yes.”
“Did Nathan usually drive fast?”
Miles smiled.
“Yes.”
I almost did too.
“He drove like every green light was personal validation.”
“That sounds like him.”
No hidden saboteur.
No shadow car.
No missing brake line.
A bad road.
A man who had been angry earlier.
A call I didn't answer.
A thousand facts that could coexist without becoming a plot.
“What about the rabbit?”
Miles's face changed.
“Nathan gave it to me the week before he died.”
“Why?”
“He had taken it to Room Three.”
“From our house?”
“Yes.”
“Lily was looking for it.”
“I know.”
“Why take her toy?”
Miles looked embarrassed on Nathan's behalf.
“He wanted to copy the pattern.”
“What?”
“He was trying to make another one.”
I laughed.
“Why?”
“For the workshop.”
Nathan wanted to start selling simple restored children's furniture and handmade toys on weekends.
The second rabbit was a disaster.
Miles still had it.
He brought it out.
One ear too large.
Eyes uneven.
I started laughing harder.
Then crying.
Nathan had hidden the key inside Lily's original rabbit because he didn't want Margaret finding the spare while she still had access to the carriage house.
Not elegant.
Not prophetic.
Just practical in Nathan's deeply impractical way.
“Why did you keep it five years?”
“I didn't.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Maggie had it.”
“Margaret?”
“Yes.”
My body tightened.
“When?”
“After the funeral.”
“She gave it back?”
“No.”
“Then how did you get it?”
Miles looked at me.
“Ethan.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Last week.”
Everything shifted again.
“Ethan brought you the rabbit.”
“He brought a donation box to my shop with his dad.”
Jason donated old furniture for restoration twice a year.
The rabbit was inside.
Miles recognized it.
He felt the key through the stuffing.
Called Margaret.
She demanded he return it to her.
He refused.
Then he learned Lily's birthday was Saturday.
“I went to give it to you.”
“And Margaret met you outside.”
“Yes.”
“She told you to leave.”
“Yes.”
“Then you gave it to Lily.”
“Yes.”
“Still bad judgment.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the terrible copy rabbit in Miles's hands.
“So Margaret didn't know where the rabbit was all week.”
“No.”
“She knew it had left the house.”
“Yes.”
“And she knew you had it.”
“By Tuesday.”
That explained the search.
Not a five-year hunt.
A panicked week.
“What did she think I'd find?”
Miles looked at me.
“Probably exactly what you found.”
May you like
A room that did not prove Nathan was leaving me.
A room that proved none of us had known what he was going to choose because we had all spent too much time choosing his meaning for him.
