Chapter 12 - Claire And Caleb Had Been Telling Different Truths About The Same Boy
My mother agreed to meet Caleb because I refused to carry messages.
Not because I asked them to reconcile.
I told both the same thing:
If you need to tell each other something about me, tell each other.
I am not forwarding it.
They met at the same diner.
I didn't attend.
That was the point.
Claire called afterward.
“I hate him.”
“Current?”
“Yes.”
“Useful.”
She almost laughed.
Then:
“He apologized.”
“For what?”
“Leaving consistency to me while complaining I controlled access.”
“That sounds specific.”
“It was.”
“Did you apologize?”
Long pause.
“Yes.”
“For?”
“Telling you he died.”
“Anything else?”
“For treating his inconsistency like permission to make all decisions alone.”
I sat on my dorm bed.
“How did that go?”
“He got angry.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted the apology to mean I shouldn't have limited visits.”
“And?”
“I told him no.”
I smiled slightly.
Good.
“Do you think you were right?”
“To limit visits?”
“Yes.”
“Mostly.”
“To lie?”
“No.”
Clear.
Then Claire said:
“He told me something I didn't know.”
“What?”
“He came to our town when you were fifteen.”
My body tightened.
“What?”
“He drove past the house.”
“Did he come to the door?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He saw you outside.”
Doing what?”
She laughed softly.
“Taking the trash out.”
I almost smiled.
“Powerful.”
“He said you looked annoyed.”
“Probably.”
“He parked down the street for twenty minutes.”
My smile disappeared.
“Then left.”
“Yes.”
“Why tell you now?”
“Because I asked whether there had ever been a real attempt after he moved back.”
“And that's his attempt?”
“He says no.”
Good.
“At least he knows.”
Claire continued:
“He wanted to come to the door.”
“But didn't.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said he thought I would call police.”
“Would you?”
She took time.
“Maybe.”
Fair.
“Did he know that?”
“Yes.”
“So he left.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the floor.
Another moment where everyone could plausibly explain themselves.
No one actually spoke.
“How do you feel?”
Claire asked.
“Angry.”
“At him?”
“Yes.”
“At me?”
“Yes.”
She exhaled.
“Okay.”
Then:
“Do you wish he'd knocked?”
I hated the question.
“I don't know.”
She didn't push.
That mattered.
Later that evening, Caleb called.
I answered.
“Claire told you?”
“Yes.”
“About the house.”
“Yes.”
“I shouldn't have gone.”
“Why?”
“Because I had agreed not to appear without arranging it.”
“Good.”
“I also shouldn't have left without telling anyone I came.”
“Also good.”
He sighed.
“You're enjoying this.”
“A little.”
He laughed.
Then:
“Do you wish I knocked?”
Same question.
Different parent.
“I don't know.”
Caleb was quiet.
“Okay.”
No interpretation.
I asked:
“Do you wish you had?”
“Yes.”
“Would it have fixed anything?”
“No.”
Good.
Then:
“What happened with Mason?”
Caleb took time.
“We talked.”
“Not my business?”
He almost laughed.
“Correct.”
I smiled.
“You're learning.”
“Painfully.”
Same word everyone used.
Maybe families only improve once the language gets boring.
Before hanging up, Caleb said:
“I'll be in town another week.”
“Okay.”
“If you want to meet again, tell me.”
“Okay.”
No proposed day.
No pressure.
I looked at my calendar after the call.
Opened Wednesday.
Closed it.
Not yet.
That night Mason texted:
HE DIDN’T MENTION YOU ONCE.
I stared.
Then:
I THINK THAT WAS GOOD.
I replied:
Probably.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
May you like
No more.
For once, not every conversation needed a witness.
