Chapter 9 - My Evaluation Happened Somewhere Else
I went to another range on Thursday.
Different part of town.
Different walls.
Different staff.
No Mason.
No Walter.
No family history attached to a numbered lane.
The evaluator checked my ID.
Asked whether I was comfortable continuing after the earlier incident.
I said yes.
We completed the test.
I passed.
That was it.
No mysterious target.
No voice.
No relative hiding behind glass.
I sat in my car afterward holding the paper result and felt almost disappointed.
Not because I wanted drama.
Because normal accomplishment can feel strangely quiet after everyone has tried to make it symbolic.
My program coordinator called.
“You're cleared.”
“Thanks.”
“Everything okay with the first facility?”
“Being handled.”
“You want to make a formal note for your file?”
“No.”
Then I stopped.
Actually:
“Yes.”
Not a family story.
Just facts.
My first scheduled evaluation did not occur because a supervisor created unauthorized prior sessions under my profile and initiated a physical confrontation. I completed a fresh evaluation elsewhere.
Enough.
No Caleb.
No cousin.
No Lane Two mythology.
When I got home, Claire was waiting outside my apartment.
Again.
I stared at her.
“You have to stop doing this.”
Her face fell.
“I brought dinner.”
“That's not the issue.”
“I know.”
She held up the bag anyway.
I almost laughed.
“Come in.”
She entered.
Placed the food on the counter.
Then waited.
Better.
“I passed.”
Her face lit up.
“Good.”
Then she caught herself.
“Do you want congratulations?”
I stared.
“That's weird.”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations is fine.”
She smiled.
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
We ate on opposite sides of the counter.
Halfway through, she asked:
“Have you spoken to Caleb?”
“Yes.”
Her fork stopped.
Not because I had betrayed her.
Old instinct.
She knew.
“Did he say what he wants?”
“Coffee.”
“Are you going?”
“I don't know.”
Claire looked down.
I waited for advice.
None.
“What do you want to say?”
She looked up.
“Nothing useful.”
“Try.”
“I don't want him hurting you.”
There.
“Okay.”
“And I know saying that can become me deciding you shouldn't see him.”
“Yes.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“Good.”
She took another bite.
Then:
“I’m angry Walter called him.”
“So am I.”
“I'm angry Mason knew you existed.”
“Understandable.”
“I’m angry Caleb had pictures.”
“Also understandable.”
She stopped.
“I'm mostly angry that I don't get to be the only person angry.”
I almost smiled.
“That's rough.”
She laughed despite herself.
Then:
“Did he tell you why he stopped calling?”
“Not fully.”
Claire's face changed.
“He stopped because I sent him one last message.”
I stared.
“What message?”
She closed her eyes.
“I knew we'd get here.”
“When?”
“After you turned eight.”
“What did it say?”
She looked at me.
“I told him that every time he came back, you spent a week asking whether we were going to become a normal family again.”
I remembered.
Maybe.
Pieces.
“And?”
“I told him if he could not be consistent, he needed to stop.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“It was.”
She swallowed.
“Then I added: ‘You don't get to visit Ethan just to feel like a father.’”
I stared.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“He stopped.”
“Yes.”
“For years.”
“Yes.”
“So you think you drove him away.”
Claire looked down.
“Some days.”
“Do you?”
“I think I gave him a hard sentence and he used it as an easy exit.”
That sounded right enough to hurt everyone.
No one clean.
No one entirely trapped.
Then she said:
“He could have fought harder.”
I looked at her.
“You could have told me he was alive.”
Claire nodded.
May you like
“Yes.”
We ate the rest without fixing either sentence.
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