“She just said families change.”
“What did that mean?”
“She said maybe someday it would feel weird to call her Vanessa when everybody thinks she’s my mom.”
Marcus rubbed one hand across his face.
“Did I hear any of this?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Caleb shrugged.
The question came out wrong.
Marcus corrected himself.
“No. Forget that.”
Caleb looked up.
“What?”
“You didn’t have to tell me perfectly.”
He breathed.
“I should’ve made it easier.”
The boy leaned against him.
Marcus put an arm around him.
“Are you divorcing her?”
The question came with frightening speed.
“I don’t know yet.”
“You are.”
“Caleb.”
“She won’t come back?”
“Not right now.”
“Ever?”
Marcus looked at his son.
“I don’t know.”
Caleb’s face tightened.
Then he whispered:
“I don’t want her to.”
Marcus did not tell him the decision belonged to adults.
Not yet.
He asked:
“Why?”
The answer changed everything.
“Because she locks my door.”
Marcus froze.
“What?”
“At night.”
Denise, standing in the kitchen entrance, went completely still.
Marcus stared at Caleb.
“What do you mean?”
“When I get out.”
“Out of your room?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Caleb looked embarrassed.
“I get scared.”
“After nightmares?”
“Yes.”
Marcus knew.
Since Aisha’s death, Caleb occasionally woke at night.
For years, he came to Marcus’s room.
After Marcus married Vanessa, that happened less.
Marcus thought he was healing.
“What happens when you get scared?”
“I go to your room.”
“And?”
“She gets mad.”
“What does she do?”
“Says you need sleep.”
Marcus’s voice barely worked.
“Then?”
“She takes me back.”
“And locks your door?”
“Sometimes.”
“From outside?”
Caleb nodded.
Denise covered her mouth.
Marcus stood.
“No.”
Caleb looked frightened.
Marcus immediately sat again.
“No. I’m not mad at you.”
“She says it’s baby stuff.”
“What?”
“Nightmares.”
Marcus felt tears.
He looked away.
For months he had congratulated himself.
Caleb no longer waking him.
Better sleep.
Better behavior.
Progress.
A locked door.
That was the progress.
“How did she lock it?”
“There’s a little thing.”
Marcus knew.
The bedroom doors had old-fashioned privacy locks.
A small metal emergency key could secure them from the hall if turned a certain way.
Used normally, the lock worked from inside.
Someone could manipulate it externally.
“Did you ever call me?”
Caleb’s eyes filled.
“You don’t hear.”
Marcus wanted to disappear.
Denise sat beside her grandson.
“Oh, baby.”
Caleb started crying.
“I hit the door.”
Marcus remembered sounds.
Once.
Maybe twice.
Vanessa said pipes shifted in winter.
Another night she got out of bed before him.