Chapter 3
The following afternoon, Wren's elementary school held its annual charity sports day in the community park.
I parked beneath an oak tree across from the field and joined the crowd near the bleachers.
Grant stood at the finish line in a navy baseball cap and an off-duty firefighter T-shirt. Lila was beside him, holding a thermos of lemonade.
When the whistle blew, Wren ran across the grass with her braids flying behind her.
"Daddy! I won third place!"
She ran past the other children and threw herself into Grant's arms.
He lifted her onto his shoulders.
"I saw that sprint, peanut," he said. "Nobody could catch you."
I took out my phone.
The first photograph caught Wren laughing above him, one small hand tangled in his hair.
The second caught Lila reaching up to wipe dirt from Grant's jaw. He turned his face toward her hand.
Wren's teacher approached with a ribbon.
"You must be Wren's parents," she said.
Grant took the ribbon and pinned it to Wren's shirt.
"We are," he said.
The third photograph caught him smiling at the teacher while Lila stood close at his side.
My phone vibrated as I turned away from the field.
JOINT ACCOUNT ALERT
Transfer approved: $2,400
Recipient: St. Alden's Academy
I stopped beside my car.
For a second, I thought the name had to belong to someone else.
Then I opened the alert.
The payment memo was one word.
Tuition.
I scrolled down.
March. February. January.
The same amount. The same school. The same account Grant and I used to pay the mortgage on our home.
At the bottom sat the first transfer.
Three days after the collision.
On the field behind me, Wren was still sitting on Grant's shoulders.
I put my phone facedown and rested my palm over my stomach.
Then I got into the car.
At 6:18 that evening, Grant called.
"Captain asked me to stay late," he said. "There was a problem with the incident report from the Caldwell collision."
I watched the rain begin to bead against the kitchen window.
"Drive safe," I said.
At 6:31, Lila's account posted a photograph from an ice-cream shop downtown.
Wren sat between Grant and Lila in a red vinyl booth, holding a strawberry cone in both hands. Grant's arm stretched along the back of the seat behind her. Lila leaned toward them, smiling.
I saved the post beside the three photographs from the field.
At 11:46, Grant came home quietly and found me asleep on my side of the bed.
"Grant."
He stopped in the doorway.
"Did I wake you?"
I turned onto my back and looked at the ceiling.
"Do you ever think about having a baby?"
The question used to make Grant smile.
He had once sent me a photograph of a firefighter's baby onesie and said our kid would look good in red. He used to point at fathers carrying sleepy toddlers through restaurants and tell me he couldn't wait.
That night, he only looked at me.
"Why are you asking that?"
"Just answer me."
His eyes dropped to the phone in his hand.
"Juliet... not yet. Let me get through this mess at work first."
I waited for him to say that there would still be room for us.
He didn't.
"Go to sleep," I said.
He stood in the doorway for a few more seconds before turning off the light.