“But I want to drive it.”
“Later.”
“Claire.”
Marcus said her name quietly.
She stopped.
He looked at her.
Then at Ethan.
“When did Uncle Daniel show you his car?”
Claire answered instead.
“Marcus, it doesn’t matter.”
He did not look away from his son.
“Ethan?”
The boy shrugged.
“When you were in Chicago.”
Marcus’s stomach tightened.
That trip had been three weeks earlier.
He had been gone four nights.
Daniel lived forty minutes away.
Marcus asked:
“Uncle Daniel came here?”
Ethan nodded.
Claire said sharply:
“Ethan.”
The child startled.
Marcus looked at her.
“Don’t.”
Claire’s breathing changed.
“Marcus, this isn’t—”
He turned back to Ethan.
“What did Uncle Daniel come over for?”
Ethan looked confused by the tension gathering around a question he thought was harmless.
“To see us.”
“Who invited him?”
“Mom.”
Claire stepped closer.
“Marcus, please.”
The word please did more damage than anything else.
People used please when they wanted something stopped.
Marcus slowly stood.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m not.”
“You just told me nothing.”
Claire lowered her voice.
“Not in front of Ethan.”
Marcus looked at his son.
Ethan’s excitement was gone.
He held the toy car with both hands and looked from parent to parent.
Marcus immediately softened.
“Hey.”
Ethan looked at him.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Okay.”
“Nothing.”
The boy nodded uncertainly.
Marcus looked toward Claire again.
“Then answer one question.”
She said nothing.
“How many times has Daniel been here while I’ve been out of town?”
Claire’s lips parted.
No answer.
Ethan supplied one.
“A lot.”
The living room became silent.
Marcus felt the sentence travel through him like cold water.
Claire looked at Ethan.
“Sweetie, stop.”
Ethan frowned.
“Why?”
“Because grown-ups are talking.”
“But Dad asked me.”
Marcus felt something twist in his chest.
He crouched again so he was level with his son.
“How many is a lot?”
Ethan thought.
“I don’t know.”
“Three?”
“More.”
“Five?”
The boy shrugged.
“Maybe.”
Claire said:
“Marcus.”
He ignored her.
“What does Uncle Daniel do when he comes?”
“He brings food sometimes.”
“What food?”
“Chinese.”
Daniel’s favorite.
Marcus knew that.
“What else?”
“We play games.”
“You?”
“Me and him.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“Here.”
Claire’s hand trembled.
Marcus noticed.
Ethan continued:
“Sometimes Uncle Daniel stays late.”
“How late?”
The child looked toward the window as though estimating darkness.
“Until morning.”
Marcus stopped breathing.
Claire whispered:
“Ethan.”
The boy looked at her.
“What?”
She shook her head.
Nothing.
Too late.
Marcus stood.
His voice remained almost unnaturally calm.
“He stays overnight?”
Ethan nodded.
“Where?”
Claire stepped between them.