Chapter 4

For a moment, I can't hear anything else.

The refrigerator in the garage.

A car outside.

My own breathing.

"What did you say?"

Noah's mouth tightens.

He knows I'm angry.

He also knows what usually happens when I get angry.

Someone tells me to stop.

"Aunt Vanessa said she has a really expensive room."

I stand.

"She said Grandma's never getting better anyway, so it's just wasting money."

"Don't say that again."

My voice sounds strange.

Noah takes a small step back.

Then he lifts his chin.

"But she is. She's a stupid old—"

"Stop."

He reaches for the cloth in my hand again.

I shove him away.

He stumbles over the bag behind his feet and lands hard on his bottom.

For one second, he's silent.

Then he starts screaming.

"Daddy!"

My arm is still out.

I lower it.

I shouldn't have pushed him.

I know that before Ethan appears.

But all I can hear is my son calling my mother a waste of money.

My mother, who sewed him a little quilt while she was recovering from surgery.

The stitches weren't straight because she couldn't sit comfortably for long.

She apologized when she gave it to me.

As though that mattered.

My mother, who asked a nurse to hold the phone every year so she could sing happy birthday to him.

Sometimes he stayed long enough to listen.

Sometimes Vanessa said he was busy.

"Daddy!"

Ethan comes through the doorway.

He lifts Noah straight into his arms.

"What happened?"

"She pushed me!"

Noah buries his face against his father's neck.

"Make her go away. I want Aunt Vanessa."

Ethan looks at me.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"He grabbed—"

"He's four."

"I know how old he is."

"Then act like it."

I look down at my hand.

A sharp edge of porcelain has cut into my skin.

A thin line of blood runs toward my wrist.

Ethan doesn't notice.

"Do you know what he said about my mother?"

"I know you knocked him down."

"Ask him."

Noah lifts his head.

I wait.

He looks from me to Ethan.

"She wouldn't give it back."

"It wasn't yours," I say.

His face crumples again.

Ethan settles him higher on his hip.

"Enough, Claire."

"That belonged to my mother."

He glances at the cloth.

For a moment, I think he recognizes the blue flowers.

He saw her wearing the pendant before the accident.

He watched her put it around my neck.

Then Noah starts crying harder, and Ethan's attention moves back to him.

"We can replace it."

I almost laugh.

"No. You can't."

"It's a necklace."

"It was hers."

"And this is your son."

I look at Noah.

His tears are real.

So was the way he looked at me before I pushed him.

Both things can be true, and I don't know what to do with that.

"I shouldn't have pushed him," I say.

Ethan exhales through his nose.

"Finally."

"But you need to hear what he's being taught."

Noah rubs his face against Ethan's shirt.

"I didn't do anything."

"Noah—"

"I only said what Aunt Vanessa said."

Ethan goes still.

Our son sniffs.

"She said Grandma costs too much. That's all."