The therapist, Dr. Elaine Porter, listened through three sessions before asking, “What do you think Rachel wanted from you?”
Ethan stared.
“To believe her.”
“Then?”
“To expose my mother.”
“Then?”
He became irritated.
“What are you asking?”
“Rachel left a letter.”
“Yes.”
“She could have used the entire thing to condemn Vivian.”
“She mostly did.”
“No.”
Ethan thought.
Dr. Porter continued.
“What was the last instruction?”
He knew without looking.
Do not teach him that silence is the same as loyalty.
Ethan looked away.
“She wanted Noah raised differently.”
“Yes.”
“That feels too simple.”
“Simple and easy are not the same thing.”
He thought about that for days.
Then he started with Caroline.
Ethan asked investigators to retrieve the storage boxes from Vivian’s house.
Inside were photographs.
Dozens.
A baby with dark hair.
Robert holding her.
Vivian sitting beside a hospital crib.
A tiny knitted hat.
A baptism certificate.
Medical records.
The last photograph showed Vivian holding Caroline against her chest.
Her face was devastated.
Ethan sat on the floor for almost an hour.
His mother had been twenty-six.
Younger than he was when Rachel died.
For the first time since the arrest, Ethan felt something other than anger toward her.
Not forgiveness.
Understanding.
They were not the same thing.
He took one photograph.
Caroline smiling while seated in a high chair.
He framed it.
Then placed it in his temporary home.
When Noah asked who the baby was, Ethan answered.
“Your aunt.”
Noah frowned.
“Baby aunt?”
“She died before Daddy was born.”
Noah thought carefully.
“Like Mommy?”
“Yes.”
“Sad?”
“Very.”
Noah touched the frame.
“Grandma sad?”
Ethan swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Grandma bad?”
The question caught him completely unprepared.
He sat beside his son.
Children wanted clean categories.
Good.
Bad.
Hero.
Villain.
Adults wanted them too.
They were easier.
Ethan looked at Caroline’s photograph.
“Grandma did some very bad things.”
Noah waited.
“Is she bad?”
Ethan chose his words.
“I think Grandma made choices that hurt people very badly.”
“Mommy?”
“Yes.”
Noah leaned against him.
“We don’t see Grandma?”
“Not right now.”