Chapter 2 - The tablet
“Daniel.”
Mike said his name softly.
Too softly.
A warning disguised as concern.
I stood immediately.
“Don’t.”
Mike looked at me.
“Claire, he’s a child.”
“Yes.”
“He has no idea what he’s saying.”
Daniel turned toward me.
“Yes, I do.”
Naya put one hand over her stomach.
“What other family?”
Nobody laughed now.
My mother stepped between the table and us.
“This is not the place.”
I looked at her.
“You were fine with the place thirty seconds ago.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
Daniel reached into his jeans pocket.
Pulled out his phone.
Mike moved.
Not fast enough to look like an attack.
Fast enough that every adult noticed.
“Give me that.”
I stepped in front of Daniel.
“What’s on it?”
Mike’s face tightened.
“Something he stole.”
Daniel said:
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“Then give it back.”
“It’s my phone.”
Naya looked at Mike.
“What is he talking about?”
Mike said:
“I don’t know.”
Daniel almost laughed.
That sound scared me.
Not because he sounded cruel.
Because he sounded disappointed.
“He knows.”
I put my hand on Daniel’s shoulder.
“Come with me.”
Naya said:
“No.”
I looked at her.
She was no longer smug.
She was frightened.
“You don’t get to say no.”
“If there’s something about Mike—”
“There may be. My ten-year-old is not explaining it to forty people.”
Daniel whispered:
“Mom.”
“What?”
“I can show you.”
“Not here.”
Mike said:
“Claire, I need to see whatever he has.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“You can’t let a kid spread something he misunderstood.”
“Watch me.”
Mom snapped:
“Enough.”
I turned.
“No, Mom. This is the first useful thing anyone has said in this house all afternoon.”
Her face hardened.
Daniel and I walked toward the hallway.
I expected Mike to follow.
He did.
Naya followed him.
So did Mom.
I stopped at the guest room door.
“Mike stays outside.”
“This involves me.”
“Exactly.”
Naya said:
“And me.”
I looked at her belly.
Then her face.
“You can come in if Daniel says yes.”
Naya seemed offended that a child would decide.
Good.
I asked him:
“Do you want Aunt Naya in?”
He hesitated.
Then:
“Yes.”
Mike:
“Daniel.”
“No,” I said. “You wait.”
I closed the door.
Mom stayed outside with him.
Inside, Daniel unlocked his phone.
His hands had begun shaking.
All the fear he had hidden in the ballroom was catching up.
I crouched.
“Hey.”
He looked at me.
“You’re not in trouble.”
“I ruined the party.”
“No.”
“Aunt Naya—”
“She chose what she said. You chose what you said. We’ll sort yours out.”
He swallowed.
Then opened his photo gallery.
Three images.
Not photographs of Mike directly.
Photographs of a tablet screen.
The first showed a cloud-photo album.
A woman I had never seen.
Brown hair.
Mid-thirties.
Standing beside Mike at what appeared to be a child’s birthday party.
A little girl sat on Mike’s shoulders.
Five, maybe six.
Pink sweater.
Gap-toothed smile.
The second image showed the same little girl asleep against Mike’s chest on a couch.
Text visible beneath it:
Molly finally crashed. Her daddy promised pancakes tomorrow.
Naya made a sound behind me.
Not words.
The third image showed Mike kneeling beside the girl at what looked like a school event.
She held a certificate.
Mike wore a visitor badge.
The album title at the top:
Rebecca + Molly
I stared.
“Where did you get this?”
Daniel whispered:
“Uncle Mike’s tablet.”
Naya corrected automatically:
“Mike.”
Daniel looked at her.
She stopped.
“When?”
“Last weekend.”
Last weekend Daniel had spent Saturday afternoon at Naya’s house with my mother while I worked.
Mike had been there.
“What happened?”
“He gave me his tablet because mine was dead.”
Mike’s tablet.
Work and personal.
“Did you go looking for this?”
“No.”
Daniel shook his head hard.
“I opened Photos because I wanted pictures from Disney.”
Disney.
The trip Mike, Daniel, and I had taken two years earlier.
Before the divorce.
“He told me his old pictures were still there. Then I saw a little girl with him.”
“Why did you photograph it?”
Daniel looked embarrassed.
“Because he came back.”
So he had hidden it.
Instinct.
Child instinct.
Naya sat on the edge of the bed.
Her face had gone gray.
“Who is Rebecca?”
Daniel looked at me.
I said:
“I don’t know.”
May you like
Naya whispered:
“I do.”
