Chapter 3 - DANIEL
Daniel called at 5:16 that afternoon.
I was sitting on the bathroom floor while Lily soaked in the tub.
She had asked me to stay nearby.
The chain had left faint red marks around her waist.
Nothing medically serious.
Emotionally, I did not know yet.
My phone vibrated.
DANIEL WHITMORE.
I stared.
We had not spoken by phone in nine months.
I answered.
“What happened?”
Not hello.
“Your mother chained Lily to a patio post.”
Silence.
Then:
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Why?”
“Ask her.”
“Claire.”
“And I slapped her.”
Another silence.
“You what?”
“She called Lily a bastard.”
His breathing changed.
I expected him to defend Margaret.
Instead:
“Is Lily okay?”
The question hurt because it sounded like a father.
“Yes.”
“Can I talk to her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because seven years of absence doesn’t disappear because a lab printed a number.”
“Margaret told me about the test.”
“Which test?”
“The new one.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Family telephone lines had always moved faster than truth.
“Then you know.”
“Yes.”
“How does it feel?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Do this while Lily’s listening.”
I looked toward the bath.
He was right.
I stepped into the hallway.
“What did Margaret tell you?”
“That you brought some fraudulent report to Tyler’s party.”
“Did she mention Mark’s name?”
Silence.
There.
“She did.”
Daniel lowered his voice.
“What does Mark have to do with it?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You said the lab confirmed I’m Lily’s father.”
“Yes.”
He breathed out.
Not relief.
Something like impact.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“I need the report.”
“I’ll send a copy to your lawyer.”
“I don’t have a lawyer.”
“You did when you responded to the parentage filing.”
“That was one consultation.”
“Fine. I’ll email you.”
Another silence.
Then:
“I’m sorry.”
I laughed.
Too sharp.
“For which seven years?”
“I don’t know yet.”
That stopped me.
Same words I had told Lily.
Maybe we were both finally aware of what we did not know.
Daniel said:
“I believed the test.”
“I know.”
“You saw it too.”
“Yes.”
“Then why were you so sure?”
“Because I knew who I slept with.”
His breath caught.
Good.
Not because I wanted to hurt him.
Because for seven years, everyone treated certainty about my own body like arrogance.
I continued:
“You believed a piece of paper over me.”
“It wasn’t just paper.”
“What else?”
“Margaret said—”
He stopped.
“What did she say?”
“Not now.”
“No. You don’t get to do that anymore.”
He sounded tired.
“She said she saw you with Mark.”
My body went cold.
“What?”
“After my deployment party.”
“I was never with Mark.”
“She said she saw him leaving your apartment at six in the morning.”
My mind flashed back.
Seven years.
I had been pregnant but not yet showing.
Daniel was scheduled to leave for a six-month construction project in Alaska.
Mark had come to my apartment once early in the morning.
Why?
I remembered.
Daniel’s passport.
He left it in my car.
Mark was driving to the airport.
He came by to collect it.
Ten minutes.
Maybe less.
I had opened the door in pajamas.
Margaret saw?
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Your brother came for your passport.”
Silence.
“What?”
“You left it in my glove compartment.”
“That was—”
“The morning you flew to Anchorage.”
Long silence.
Then:
May you like
“Why didn’t Mark say that?”
Now we had a second good question.
