Chapter 10: The Brother and the Drawing
I texted Daniel the next morning.
*I'd like to meet.
Not to argue.
I want to show you something.
Can you come to my house on Saturday?*
He replied within the hour.
*Yes.*
He arrived at ten.
He was wearing a jacket, which surprised me — overdressed for a Saturday, as if he'd needed the armor.
He stood on the doorstep and looked at me with Mike's jaw and none of Mike's ease.
"Come in," I said.
Mia was at the kitchen table with her crayons.
She looked up when Daniel walked in.
"Hi," she said.
Daniel stopped.
"Hi," he said back.
His voice came out smaller than I think he intended.
"I'm making a dog," Mia said.
"But it looks like a potato."
"Can I see?"
She held it up.
It did look like a potato.
"That's a good dog," Daniel said.
"I know," Mia said, and went back to coloring.
I poured two cups of coffee and set one in front of him at the table.
He sat down.
Mia colored beside him without paying him much attention, which was, I realized, exactly right.
"I'm not here to ask you to drop the filing," I said.
"Grace will handle that part."
Daniel wrapped his hands around the mug.
"Then why am I here?"
"Because I think you made a decision in a very dark moment, and someone helped you make it worse." I kept my voice even.
"Renata Voss found you when you were grieving and angry and she gave you a target.
She made it feel like justice."
Daniel looked at the table.
"She had her own reasons," I said.
"Reasons that had nothing to do with Mike, or you, or Mia.
She wanted access to what Mike built.
You were the door."
"I had real questions," Daniel said.
"About the timing.
About—"
"I know." I reached across the table and set down one piece of paper.
It was a photograph — Mike in the hospital, two weeks before he d*ed, holding Mia on the bed beside him.
Her small hand was pressed flat against his chest.
He was looking at her the way people look at things they are trying to memorize.
Daniel looked at the photograph for a long time.
"He called her his anchor," I said.
"He said she was the reason he fought as long as he did."
Daniel's throat moved.
"She drew this last week." I set Mia's refrigerator drawing beside the photograph.
The figure labeled DAD.
The small mark behind the ear.
Daniel looked at the drawing.
Then at Mia.
She was adding ears to her potato-dog, tongue between her teeth in concentration.
"She put the tattoo on him," Daniel said quietly.
"She remembered it.
She sees it on Harold and she connects it to her father because that's where she first saw it.
On Mike.
When he held her."
Daniel set down the mug.
"Renata told me she had proof," he said.
"A statement from a doctor."
"A consultant she hired.
Not Mike's doctor." I looked at him steadily.
"Dr.
Okafor will testify at the hearing.
He treated Mike for three years.
He has records."
Daniel rubbed the back of his neck.
He looked like Mike doing it.
The same gesture, the same angle.
"I didn't want to hurt her," he said.
He meant Mia.
He couldn't quite say her name.
"I know," I said.
"But you did.
And now you have a choice about whether to keep doing it."
He was quiet for a long moment.
Mia held up the drawing.
"Mommy, I gave the dog a hat."
"Perfect," I said.
"Can the man have it?" Mia asked, looking at Daniel.
Daniel looked at me.
His eyes were red at the edges.
"If he wants it," I said.
Mia slid the drawing across the table to Daniel.
"It's a dog," she told him seriously.
"But it's also a little bit a potato.
That's okay."
Daniel took the drawing with both hands.
"Thank you," he said.
His voice was rough.
Mia nodded and picked up a new crayon.
Daniel looked at me.
"I'll call my attorney today," he said.
"I'll withdraw the filing."
"Thank you," I said.
He stood up to go.
At the door he stopped, the drawing still in his hand.
"She has his eyes," he said.
"I know," I said.
He nodded once and left.
I closed the door and stood in the hallway for a moment.
Through the kitchen doorway I could hear Mia humming to herself, the soft scratch of crayon on paper.
I went back to the table and sat down beside her.
"Mommy," she said, without looking up.
"Is that man Daddy's brother?"
"Yes, baby."
"Is he sad?"
"He was.
I think he's a little better now."
Mia considered this.
"We should make him a card," she said.
May you like
"That's a good idea," I said.
She pulled a fresh piece of paper toward her and started drawing.
