Chapter 3: The Phone on the Nightstand
Marcus went to his room without another word.
I heard his door close — not a slam, which would have been easier.
Just a quiet click.
The sound of a boy who had learned not to make noise when things went wrong.
Pamela moved toward the hallway.
"We're not done," I said.
She stopped but didn't turn around.
"There's nothing left to say, Anthony."
"You told my son he was never really mine.
In his own home.
In front of me." I kept my voice level.
"You don't get to walk away from that sentence."
She turned then.
Her arms were crossed again, but something in her posture had shifted.
She looked less certain than she had twenty minutes ago.
"I was upset.
People say things."
"Not that thing," I said.
"Not unless they mean it."
She looked at the wall behind me instead of at my face.
"I just meant he's never felt like part of this family.
That's all."
"That's not what you said."
"Anthony—"
"What did you mean, Pamela?
Say it again.
Slowly this time."
She pressed her lips together and said nothing.
That silence told me more than any answer would have.
I didn't push further.
Not then.
I told her I was going to check on Marcus, and I walked down the hall and knocked on his door.
"Come in."
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, still in his practice clothes, cleats still on.
He hadn't even taken off his backpack.
He was just sitting there, staring at the floor, like a person waiting for a verdict.
"Hey." I sat down next to him.
He didn't say anything for a moment.
"Did she mean it?" he finally asked.
"The thing she said."
"I don't know yet."
"That's not really an answer, Dad."
"No," I said.
"It isn't."
He pulled at a loose thread on his backpack strap.
"She's always looked at me like I'm something she has to deal with.
I thought maybe I was imagining it."
"You weren't imagining it."
He looked at me then, and I could see how much it cost him to ask the next question.
"Is there something you're not telling me?
About — about who I am?"
"You are my son," I said.
"That is the only answer to that question that matters."
He nodded slowly.
He didn't look fully convinced.
I couldn't blame him.
I stayed with him until he finally took off his backpack and lay down.
I turned off the light and pulled his door almost closed, the way I had when he was small.
Then I went back to our bedroom.
Pamela was already in bed, her back to the door, the lamp on her side still on.
Her phone was on the nightstand, screen facing up.
I went to the bathroom.
Washed my face.
Stood at the sink for a long moment.
When I came back out, her breathing had gone slow and even.
She was asleep, or pretending to be.
Her phone lit up.
I wasn't trying to read it.
I wasn't standing over her.
I was three feet away, reaching for my own phone on my side of the bed, when the screen lit up with a message preview.
One name.
One line.
*Derek: Does he know yet?*
I stood completely still.
The screen went dark again.
I looked at Pamela's back.
At the slow rise and fall of her shoulders.
*Does he know yet.*
May you like
I set my phone back down without picking it up.
I sat on the edge of the bed in the dark and I did not move for a very long time.
