Chapter 6 - Mara Arrived Before Either Of Us Was Ready
Noah saw her first.
His face changed.
I turned.
Mara stood outside the glass conference room.
Forty-seven now.
Dark hair shorter.
Same posture when angry.
Weight forward, as if conversation was something she might have to push through.
For a second I saw twenty.
Then she opened the door.
“Noah.”
He stood.
“You sent Jake.”
“I told him to keep Walter away.”
“He assaulted him.”
Her eyes came to me.
Checked my face.
My knee.
The cane.
Then away.
“I did not tell him to touch you.”
“No.”
I agreed.
“You just gave him a story where doing whatever it took would feel reasonable.”
Mara stared.
“Still good with sentences.”
I almost smiled.
Didn't.
Noah looked between us.
“This isn't going to be you two talking around me.”
Mara’s face tightened.
“You shouldn't have contacted him.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“No. I know what you told me.”
She looked at me.
I could see the old station bench behind her through the glass.
Different furniture now.
Same building.
“You told him I was dead.”
Mara looked back at Noah.
“I told you he was gone.”
“You said heart attack.”
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because when you were four, you asked why you didn't have a grandfather.”
“And?”
“I didn't want to tell you the whole thing.”
“So you killed him.”
Mara flinched.
“On paper.”
Noah turned away.
I said nothing.
This part belonged to them.
Mara looked at me.
“You're enjoying this?”
“No.”
“You always liked being the reasonable one.”
“I haven't felt reasonable since noon.”
“Good.”
Noah turned back.
“Mom.”
She stopped.
He looked exhausted now.
“You said he tried to take me.”
“He talked to a lawyer.”
“Yes.”
“He admits it.”
“Yes.”
Mara stared at me.
“What else did you admit?”
“The driveway.”
Her face changed.
“The station.”
More.
“You told him?”
“I told him what I remember.”
She laughed softly.
“Your memory.”
I felt the old anger.
I kept it where it belonged.
“What do you remember differently?”
She looked at Noah.
He said:
“Tell me.”
Mara sat.
“The night I left you with Walter, I was trying to get away from Chris.”
“I know.”
“No, you know his version.”
She continued.
“I spent two days with a friend arranging somewhere else to stay. The third day I went back to Chris’s apartment because my ID and some of Noah’s things were there.”
I frowned.
“You told me you didn't know whether you were going back.”
“Because I didn't know whether I could leave.”
Different.
Important.
“I heard ‘maybe Chris.’”
“I know.”
“Why not say it?”
She looked at me.
“Because I was ashamed.”
That was new.
Not afraid of me only.
Ashamed that leaving was difficult.
She continued.
“When you said not to call if I went back, I heard what you meant.”
“What?”
“You were tired.”
I stared.
“You had spent two years watching me leave him and return.”
That was true.
“You were tired of rescuing me.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
I looked at her.
“I was tired.”
Noah sat very still.
Mara nodded.
“That's the part you always leave out.”
I did not correct her.
Then she looked at Noah.
“He thinks I misunderstood the lawyer.”
“Did you?”
Mara’s jaw tightened.
“I heard him say, ‘If she keeps making choices like this, I need to know what rights I have with the baby.’”
I stared.
“I didn't say that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No.”
Mara laughed.
“You don't remember?”
“I remember the call.”
“So do I.”
Noah looked at me.
“What did you say?”
I closed my eyes.
The attorney had asked whether I was the child's legal guardian during Mara's absence.
I had said:
“If she keeps disappearing like this, I need to know what responsibility I have for the baby.”
Responsibility.
Rights.
One word apart in memory.
Twenty-seven years apart in effect.
“I said responsibility.”
Mara stared.
“Maybe.”
That was all.
No proof.
May you like
No recording.
Just two people who had built adulthood around the word they remembered.
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