Chapter 4 - The House We Had Built
Rachel drove Noah to her place.
I promised I would be there before bedtime, even though bedtime had already passed.
“You have to come,” he said.
“I will.”
I waited until her taillights disappeared before calling Mrs. Alvarez.
She answered on the first ring.
“Is Noah all right?”
“He’s with my sister. What happened Tuesday?”
She took a breath.
“I heard him crying through your garage door. I went over.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“Claire answered. She said he was having a tantrum because she’d taken away his tablet.”
“Did you see him?”
“No. That’s why I’ve felt so terrible.”
“Did he say anything?”
A pause.
“He kept calling for you.”
I sat in the dark parking lot, still wearing my wedding tuxedo.
Tuesday. I’d been across town negotiating a contract that suddenly seemed worth less than the gas I’d used getting there.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I believed her,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have.”
Neither should I, I thought.
At home, the porch lights glowed over the flowers Claire had ordered for our departure photos.
I walked past them.
The laundry room smelled of detergent and hot pipes.
The brass hook was in place.
Inside, a small blue sock lay behind the hamper.
Noah’s.
I stared at it until my phone rang.
Claire.
I declined the call.
Then I noticed the inside of the door.
Tiny crescent marks near the bottom. Not deep scratches. Just narrow gray lines in the paint.
At Noah’s height.
I touched one.
My knees gave out, and I sat on the floor.
For months, he had asked me to leave his bedroom door open.
For months, Claire had told me he was becoming manipulative.
I remembered the way she’d said it.
You can’t let him run your life.
Upstairs, I packed his pajamas, toothbrush, dinosaur book, and the stuffed bear he’d slept with since his mother died.
The bear wasn’t on his bed.
I checked underneath it. The closet. The toy basket.
Nothing.
Then I saw a black garbage bag beside Claire’s dresser.
May you like
Inside were Noah’s drawings, his mother’s knitted blanket, and the framed photograph he kept on his nightstand.
The glass was cracked across his mother’s face.
