Chapter 7 - Lily Had Seen More Than Vanessa Realized
Daniel took Lily into her bedroom.
He closed the door.
Not locked.
Lily sat on the edge of her bed.
“Mom was really mad.”
“I know.”
“Did Evelyn steal?”
“No.”
Daniel heard himself answer too fast.
He corrected.
“I don't believe she did.”
Lily looked at him.
“Mom said she did.”
“I know.”
“Who’s right?”
Daniel sat beside her.
“We're still figuring out why Evelyn went into Grandpa’s study.”
“But Mom knew about Uncle Owen.”
Daniel looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
Lily twisted the ribbon on a stuffed rabbit.
“She called him.”
“When?”
“Before Grandpa died.”
Daniel went still.
“How do you know?”
“I heard.”
“Where?”
“Kitchen.”
Children spent years in adult houses learning which questions made people angry.
Lily had learned not to interrupt.
That did not mean she missed anything.
“What did Mom say?”
“I don't remember all.”
“It's okay.”
Lily thought.
“She said, ‘He’s not telling Daniel.’”
Daniel’s chest tightened.
“Who wasn't telling me?”
“I don't know.”
“Was she talking to Owen?”
“She said his name.”
“When was this?”
“Before Christmas.”
Henry died in January.
Daniel stared at the carpet.
Vanessa had told him she last spoke to Owen three months ago.
Not before Henry died.
Another edited answer.
Lily watched his face.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
“Mom says listening at doors is rude.”
“Usually.”
“Then?”
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“Sometimes adults should remember children can hear them without trying.”
Lily considered this.
Then:
“Is Mom bad?”
Daniel looked at her.
He could give the quick answer.
No, honey.
Your mother loves you.
He stopped.
“Your mom did something wrong to Evelyn.”
Lily nodded.
“She did something wrong when she poured the water?”
“Yes.”
“And pushed her?”
“Yes.”
“Are you mad?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still love Mom?”
Daniel looked toward the door.
“Yes.”
Lily seemed relieved.
Then confused.
“Can both happen?”
“Yes.”
That answer cost nothing.
The next would.
“Is Mom leaving?”
“I don't know.”
Lily’s face tightened.
Daniel realized she had heard more shouting than any of them believed.
He took her hand.
“You are not responsible for what Mom and I decide.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“I know.”
Children know when adults are promising something they might fail at.
Daniel returned downstairs.
Vanessa stood in the foyer.
Her hair was still perfect.
Her hands were not.
She kept folding and unfolding them.
“Lily?”
“In her room.”
“Is she okay?”
“No.”
Vanessa flinched.
Daniel continued.
“She heard you talking to Owen before Dad died.”
Vanessa went still.
“When?”
“You tell me.”
She looked toward the staircase.
“Daniel—”
“Did Owen contact Dad before he died?”
“Yes.”
Daniel stared.
“And you knew.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Months.”
He laughed once.
“You let me bury my father while believing he had never spoken to Owen again.”
“He asked me not to tell you.”
Daniel’s face hardened.
There it was again.
“What exactly did he ask?”
Vanessa hesitated.
“Henry said he wanted to repair things with Owen privately first.”
“And you agreed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Owen and you in the same room would’ve turned every conversation into a trial.”
“You don't know that.”
“I lived through the last one.”
Daniel looked toward the study.
“So Dad and Owen were talking.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
Vanessa looked down.
“Three years.”
Daniel stopped.
Not months.
Years.
His father had been meeting Owen for three years.
Vanessa knew.
Daniel did not.
He looked upstairs.
Owen was standing at the railing.
He had heard.
Daniel’s voice lowered.
“You both lied to me.”
Owen answered from above.
“Yes.”
Vanessa looked at him.
“Don't pretend it was the same.”
Owen came down one step.
“No. Mine was more cowardly.”
Daniel stared.
Owen continued.
“I wanted Dad back even if I had to take him secretly.”
That was not the confession Daniel had expected.
Owen rested a hand on the railing.
“He offered me private apologies.”
Daniel said nothing.
“I accepted.”
“Why?”
May you like
Owen looked at him.
“Because after nine years without a father, half a father felt like a lot.”
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