Chapter 5 - My Mother Had Not Lied Because She Thought Caleb Was Dangerous
Claire drove to campus that evening.
I did not ask her to.
She came anyway.
Old habits had excellent gas mileage.
I met her in a diner instead of my dorm.
She arrived carrying my favorite jacket.
“I thought you'd be cold.”
“I have a jacket.”
“I know.”
She sat.
Put it beside her.
We both looked at it.
Then:
“Why did you tell me he died?”
Her face changed.
No warm-up.
Good.
“I was tired.”
I stared.
“That's your answer?”
“No.”
She pressed her hands together.
“But it's part of it.”
“Try the rest.”
Claire looked toward the window.
“When you were little, Caleb came and went.”
“I remember.”
“Not all of it.”
“Then tell me.”
“He loved you.”
I almost laughed.
“Dangerous opening.”
“I know.”
She continued.
“He also hated being told when he could see you.”
“By you.”
“Yes.”
“Why were you telling him?”
“Because visits kept becoming arguments.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
Where I slept.
What school I should attend.
Whose last name I used.
Whether I should spend summers around the range.
“He wanted me here.”
“Yes.”
“You didn't.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Claire's face tightened.
“Because Caleb had a way of turning interests into obligations.”
I waited.
“He loved shooting. So everyone around him needed to love it seriously.”
“Mason.”
“Yes.”
“Gordon.”
“Yes.”
“And me.”
“You were four.”
Good.
No childhood weapon story.
She continued:
“It wasn't about the range being dangerous. It was about Caleb deciding what kind of man you should become before you could read.”
That I understood.
“What happened after?”
They went through mediation.
Not a dramatic custody war.
Schedules.
Handoffs.
Rules.
Caleb missed some visits.
Claire canceled some after arguments.
Each blamed the other.
I asked:
“Was he abusive?”
“No.”
Immediate.
That mattered.
“Did he threaten you?”
“Once, in anger, he said he'd take you and I would never see you again.”
My body tightened.
“Did you believe him?”
“For a week.”
“Then?”
“He apologized.”
“Was that why contact stopped?”
“No.”
She looked down.
“You did.”
I stared.
“What?”
“You started getting sick before visits.”
My memory shifted.
Stomachaches.
One Thanksgiving where I cried because I thought Dad was coming.
Then cried when he did.
Not because I hated him.
Because my parents couldn't exchange me without turning a driveway into a courtroom.
Claire continued:
“You told me you didn't want to go.”
“How old?”
“Seven.”
“Then?”
“I told Caleb.”
“What did he say?”
“That I had put words in your mouth.”
“Had you?”
Claire took time.
“Probably some.”
Good.
She didn't make herself innocent.
“Eventually he agreed to stop scheduled visits.”
“For how long?”
“Until you asked.”
I stared.
“Did I know that?”
“No.”
There.
“You told me he stopped wanting me.”
“I didn't say that.”
“What did you say?”
“That adult things were complicated.”
“That means nothing to a kid.”
“I know.”
“Did he call?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you let me speak to him?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then he stopped.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know exactly.”
That surprised me.
“He told me he thought contact was keeping the wound open.”
“His words?”
“Something like that.”
“And you accepted.”
“Yes.”
“So at twelve, when I asked if he was dead?”
Claire's eyes filled.
“I had just heard he moved overseas for work.”
I stared.
“You heard he moved.”
“Yes.”
“I asked if he died.”
“Yes.”
“And you nodded.”
Her voice broke.
“Yes.”
I sat back.
The waitress came with water.
Neither of us touched it.
“Why?”
Claire wiped her face.
“Because you had spent years asking when he would call.”
“That doesn't answer.”
“I thought a dead father would hurt once.”
The sentence was terrible.
Human.
Still terrible.
“And an absent father?”
She looked at me.
“Kept hurting.”
I laughed softly.
“So you killed him for convenience.”
“No.”
“Emotionally?”
She flinched.
“Yes.”
No defense.
Then I asked:
“Did Caleb know?”
“No.”
“Did Mason?”
“Not that I know.”
“Walter?”
“I don't know.”
“Why did you tell me to leave the range today?”
Claire looked toward the door.
“Because Caleb used to call Lane Two his lucky lane.”
My stomach tightened.
“You thought he might be there.”
“I thought if Mason was panicking and Lane Two was involved…”
She stopped.
“You knew Caleb had come back.”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I knew how that family repeats places when they don't know how to repeat conversations.”
That sounded almost like a lesson.
She stopped there.
Good.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Claire stared.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a man's voice.
The same voice from Lane Two.
“Ethan.”
My mother went white.
I looked at her.
“You know the voice.”
She whispered:
“Yes.”
The man said:
“I'm not calling you Dad's son. I'm calling because Mason lied about one thing.”
I closed my eyes.
“Caleb?”
Long pause.
May you like
Then:
“Yes.”
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