Chapter 12 - The Call He Never Knew About
Celeste had saved the voicemail.
She had never deleted it because something about Maya's voice frightened her.
Andre listened.
A tiny whisper.
“Aunt Celeste, can I stay with you? I promise I'll be good. I don't think Dad wants me anymore.”
Andre pressed pause.
He couldn't continue.
Celeste sat across from him.
“I called the house.”
“Simone answered.”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That Maya had gotten upset because you disciplined her.”
Andre shook his head.
“I wasn't even home.”
“I know that now.”
“Why didn't you call me directly?”
“I did.”
Andre stared at her.
Celeste opened her call history archive.
She had tried his number twice the next morning.
Andre never received the calls.
Telecom records later showed they had been blocked from his phone.
Simone had used his device during a weekend at home and blocked Celeste's number.
Then she deleted the call history.
Another small act.
Another barrier.
Andre drove back to the house alone that evening.
Police had released most rooms after evidence collection.
He stood in the living room.
He could almost see the past.
Maya crying downstairs.
Simone holding Andre's phone.
Celeste calling.
Andre sleeping upstairs after returning exhausted from a trip.
All the truth had existed within feet of him.
He simply had not known where to look.
He entered Maya's old bedroom.
The room was neat.
Too neat.
Simone used to complain Maya was messy.
Andre suddenly laughed bitterly.
There were no toys on the floor.
No posters taped crookedly.
No clutter.
Because Maya had learned not to leave evidence of herself.
He opened the closet.
Half empty.
He sat on the floor.
Minutes later Maya found him there.
Tasha had brought her by to choose some belongings.
“What are you doing?”
“Thinking.”
“Adults think in closets?”
“Apparently.”
She sat beside him.
Andre looked at her.
“You called Aunt Celeste.”
Maya's expression shut down.
“You don't have to explain.”
“She told you?”
“Yes.”
Maya hugged her knees.
“I was going to leave.”
“I know.”
“Would you have come looking?”
Andre answered immediately.
“Yes.”
“How fast?”
“As fast as I could.”
“What if Simone said I chose it?”
“I would've talked to you.”
Maya looked skeptical.
“You didn't before.”
Andre accepted it.
“No.”
She leaned against the wall.
“Sometimes I hated you.”
“I understand.”
“Really?”
“No.”
That surprised her.
Andre continued.
“I can imagine why. But I don't know what it felt like to be you.”
Maya nodded.
“That answer is better.”
Andre smiled.
“Your therapist teaching you to grade me?”
“Maybe.”
They sat quietly.
Then Maya asked:
“Can we change my room?”
“Anything you want.”
“I want yellow.”
“It was blue.”
“I know.”
“You picked blue.”
“I was six.”
“Fair.”
“And I want a lock.”
Andre's body tensed.
Maya noticed.
“On the inside.”
He exhaled.
“For privacy?”
“Yes.”
A normal lock.
A child wanting control over her own space.
Not being trapped.
Andre nodded.
“We can do that.”
Maya stood.
“And Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“No cold pizza.”
“Ever?”
She thought.
“Unless I put it in the fridge myself.”
“Deal.”
Andre smiled.
Then his attorney called.
Victor Lane had stopped cooperating.
Worse, investigators believed he had transferred money to an offshore account before the scheme collapsed.
The company might recover less than expected.
Andre looked at Maya.
Months earlier that news would have consumed him.
Now he made a different decision.
He silenced the call.
Maya noticed.
“Aren't you answering?”
“In five minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because we were choosing paint.”
Maya smiled.
“Yellow.”
Andre nodded.
May you like
“Yellow it is.”
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