“Mara asked you.”
“Yes.”
Nathan looked toward the ceiling.
Pain.
Anger.
Respect.
All tangled.
Finally:
“Then I won’t ask again tonight.”
Clara had expected a fight.
Instead he walked away.
That trust frightened her more than anger would have.
Because now she had something to lose.
Dinner that night was awkward.
Clara cooked because apparently nobody else had planned to.
Nathan tried helping.
He could chop potatoes.
Badly.
She moved the knife away.
“You’re dangerous.”
“I use knives every day.”
“On rope.”
“Same principle.”
“No.”
The children watched.
Lucy whispered to Rose:
“She tells Pa what to do.”
Rose whispered:
“He listens.”
Nathan heard.
“So do I.”
“No, you don’t,” Samuel said.
Ethan laughed.
For ten minutes, the table felt almost normal.
Then Ben knocked over his milk.
He froze.
Not simply startled.
Terrified.
His eyes went to Nathan.
Clara noticed.
Nathan did too.
He reached for the cloth.
“It’s milk.”
Ben’s lower lip trembled.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Nathan wiped the table.
“No one died.”
The words slipped out.
The entire family went silent.
Nathan stopped.
His face crumpled briefly.
He set the cloth down.
“I’m sorry.”
Ben climbed from his chair and ran upstairs.
Nathan looked destroyed.
Clara stood.
“I’ll go.”
“No.”
Nathan rose.
“My son.”
“Yes.”
“That is why you stay.”
He stared.
Clara softened.
“You’re still blaming yourself for every breath anyone takes in this house.”
“That isn’t helping him.”
Nathan’s eyes flashed.
“You've been here half a day.”
“And already everyone watches your face before deciding whether accidents are allowed.”
The words landed brutally.
Clara regretted the delivery.
Not the point.
Nathan sat.
The children stared.
Clara went upstairs.
Ben was beneath his bed.
Only his boots visible.
She sat on the floor.
Did not reach.
“I once broke my mother’s best serving bowl.”
Silence.
“I was eight.”
Nothing.
“She had been saving it for my wedding.”
One boot moved.
“I told her the cat did it.”
A small voice:
“Did you have a cat?”
“No.”
Silence.
Then a tiny laugh.
Clara smiled.
“My mother asked where the cat was.”
“What did you say?”
“I said it escaped.”
Ben’s face appeared.
“That’s bad lying.”
“Yes.”
“I’m better.”
“Concerning.”
He crawled halfway out.
Clara continued:
“Your father wasn’t angry about the milk.”
“He gets sad.”
“Yes.”
“When things spill.”
“When Mama was sick, everything spilled.”
Clara’s throat tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“Water.”