Chapter 4: The Tickets
Her name was Donna.
She called me at lunch, from the same unknown number, and she talked fast — like someone who had been waiting a long time to say something and wasn't sure how much time she had.
"I'm Vanessa's neighbor.
From her last place, before she moved in with you.
We were friendly for about a year.
Not close, but friendly."
"Okay," I said.
"I know what she's like.
I've seen it before.
Not with you — with the man before you.
He had a daughter."
I didn't say anything.
"I'm not calling to cause trouble," Donna said.
"I'm calling because of the boy.
Because what she said to him — that's not the first time she's done something like that.
It's just the first time someone was in the next room."
"What did you mean about the tickets?"
She paused.
"She booked that trip six weeks ago.
I know because she mentioned it to me when we ran into each other at the grocery store.
She was excited.
She told me she'd finally figured out how to make the trip work."
"That's not unusual."
"She booked four tickets," Donna said.
"Her, you, and her two kids.
She never booked a fifth.
She told me she wasn't sure Caleb would be coming."
I set down my fork.
"She said she hadn't decided yet whether to include him."
"She told me the tickets were already sold out.
That there was nothing she could do."
"I know what she told you," Donna said quietly.
"That's why I'm calling."
I asked her to send me anything she had in writing — any messages, any screenshots from when they used to talk.
She said she'd look.
She said she wasn't sure how much she still had.
After I hung up, I sat in my car in the parking garage and thought about the word *decided.* She hadn't decided yet whether to include him.
Not whether there were seats available.
Not whether the timing worked.
Whether to include him.
Caleb had been a variable.
Something she was still calculating.
I drove home that evening and Vanessa had dinner on the table.
She'd made the pasta I liked.
She asked about my day.
She laughed at something on television and leaned against my shoulder on the couch.
I watched her the way you watch something when you're trying to see the shape underneath.
After she fell asleep, I went to the kitchen table and opened my laptop.
I pulled up the airline's website and searched the route, the dates, the destination she'd shown me on her phone when she first brought up the trip.
There were seats available.
There had been seats available for weeks.
I sat with that for a long time.
Then I heard a sound from the hallway.
Small feet on the floor.
Caleb stood in the doorway in his pajamas, squinting at the light.
"Can't sleep," he said.
"Me neither," I said.
"Come here."
He climbed into the chair beside me and leaned against my arm.
I closed the laptop.
"Dad?"
"Yeah."
"Are you and Vanessa going to be okay?"
I looked at him.
Eight years old.
Asking me if we were going to be okay.
"I'm working on it," I said.
He nodded like that was a real answer.
Then he said, very quietly: "She told me not to tell you things sometimes."
My chest went still.
May you like
"What kind of things?"
But he'd already closed his eyes.
