Chapter 3 - “Was my chair ugly?” Bram did not ask about Cordelia in the car.
He asked about the wheelchair.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Was my chair ugly?”
I looked at him in the rearview mirror.
“No.”
“Grandma said it looked bad with the flowers.”
My grip tightened around the steering wheel.
Alaric turned from the passenger seat.
“She said that?”
Bram nodded.
“When?”
“Before.”
“How long before?”
I said:
“Alaric.”
He stopped.
We had both read enough parenting guidance to know not to interrogate a child in a moving car after a humiliating event.
I answered the question Bram had actually asked.
“Your chair is not ugly.”
He looked down at the blue wheel guard.
“It has scratches.”
“So does Dad’s watch.”
Alaric lifted his wrist.
“This thing is apparently hideous.”
Bram almost smiled.
Then:
“Grandma said family pictures are forever.”
I felt something colder than anger.
“What did she mean?”
He shrugged.
“She said we only get one wedding.”
Then:
“She told me I could come back after pictures.”
There.
Not one spontaneous comment after the kick.
A plan.
Alaric leaned back in his seat.
He stared through the windshield.
I had been married to him for nine years.
May you like
I knew the difference between his anger and his fear.
This was both.
