“She also asked whether a surviving spouse could vote on behalf of a child.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
There it was.
“How did you answer?”
“I said no.”
“Did she seem upset?”
“She changed the subject.”
Marcus thanked her.
After the call, Patrice said, “None of this proves a criminal plan.”
“I know.”
“It proves secret planning.”
“I know.”
“Which is enough for your marriage if you decide it is.”
Marcus looked toward the Brunswick packet.
“It’s already enough.”
The difficult part came next.
Caleb.
The boy was at Denise’s house playing video games.
Marcus arrived at noon.
He found him sitting cross-legged on the carpet wearing sweatpants and the black fedora from the gala.
“You’re wearing that inside?”
Caleb did not look up.
“It looks good.”
“It does.”
Marcus sat beside him.
“What game?”
“Racing.”
“You’re terrible.”
“I’m winning.”
“Against the computer.”
“It’s still losing.”
Marcus smiled.
Then became serious.
“Can we talk?”
Caleb paused the game immediately.
That reaction made Marcus sad.
Seven-year-olds should not recognize serious-adult-conversation voice so quickly.
“What?”
“Vanessa talked to you about boarding school before yesterday?”
Caleb nodded.
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
“More than five?”
A shrug.
“Maybe.”
“Did she say I knew?”
“Yes.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“What exactly?”
“That you were thinking.”
“About sending you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Caleb looked down.
“Because I’m hard.”
“You are not.”
“She said I fight about everything.”
“What things?”
“My hair.”
“Okay.”
“Mom’s pictures.”
Marcus swallowed.
“Okay.”
“Food.”
“What food?”
“She said I eat little-kid food.”
“What does that mean?”
“Chicken nuggets.”
Marcus almost laughed.
“You’re seven.”
“I like chicken nuggets.”
“I am forty-two and like chicken nuggets.”
Caleb smiled faintly.
Then continued.
“She said I make Grandma Denise think she’s my mom.”
“What?”
Marcus frowned.
“How?”
“I ask Grandma stuff.”
“That’s what grandmothers are for.”
“She said I don’t ask her.”
Vanessa.
Marcus understood.
“Did she want you to call her Mom?”
Caleb became very still.
Marcus’s stomach tightened.
“Caleb.”
“She asked once.”
“When?”
“After your wedding.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“What did she say?”
“She smiled.”
That sounded harmless.
Then Caleb added:
“She cried later.”
Marcus stared.
“In front of you?”
“No. I heard.”
He remembered that night.
Vanessa had cried in the bathroom.
She said she was overwhelmed by happiness after the wedding.
Maybe both were true.
“Did she ask again?”
“No.”
Caleb looked at his shoes.