Chapter 8
Noah did not understand why the party had changed.
That evening, he sat on my bed eating crackers while I repaired the torn strap on one of his dress shoes.
“Victoria mad?”
“Yes.”
“At me?”
“No.”
He thought about that.
“She says I make Sophie sad.”
My hands stopped.
“When?”
“When I sit next to you.”
I looked up.
“What else?”
“She says big boys share Daddy.”
There it was.
Child-friendly language carrying an adult agenda.
“Sharing is good,” I said.
He nodded.
“But?”
I waited.
He struggled.
“Why I have to go away?”
My chest tightened.
“You don’t.”
His eyes searched mine.
“Lake house?”
“No.”
“Margaret too?”
“Only if you want to visit.”
He relaxed slightly.
Then:
“Sophie can sit with us?”
“Yes.”
Simple.
A three-year-old solved Victoria’s impossible hierarchy in one sentence.
Sophie can sit with us.
Not instead.
With.
I almost laughed at how much damage adults create avoiding the word and.
Later, Margaret brought me something she found beneath Noah’s mattress.
A small index card.
Written in Victoria’s handwriting:
BIG BOYS HELP STAFF.
BIG GIRLS SIT WITH FAMILY.
NO CRYING AT DINNER.
I stared at it.
Not instruction for staff.
Instruction for Noah.
She had been teaching him his new place directly.
Margaret’s eyes filled.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I thought she was preparing him for the wedding.”
I looked at the card.
May you like
“She was.”
Just not for the wedding any of us thought we were having.
