Chapter 2 - THE SUNDAY CALLS
Damian did not snatch Celeste’s phone.
He wanted to.
Instead he told her:
“Unlock it.”
“No.”
“Then leave.”
Celeste stared at him.
“You’re throwing me out over something Lucas misunderstood?”
“I’m telling you to leave because you burned a photograph in front of my son.”
That landed differently.
The calls could still be debated.
The fire could not.
Celeste grabbed her coat.
At the front door she turned.
“After everything I’ve done for you two?”
Damian almost answered.
Then recognized the trap.
Celeste always framed boundaries as ingratitude.
He opened the door.
“Go.”
She left into the storm.
Damian locked the door.
Then he went to Lucas.
His son sat at the kitchen table holding the rescued photograph.
“Can we fix it?”
“The frame, yes.”
“Mom’s face got burned.”
Only the corner had darkened.
Natalie’s face remained visible.
Damian sat beside him.
“Tell me about the calls.”
Lucas twisted the sleeve of his gray pajamas.
“I’m not supposed to.”
“Who told you that?”
“Celeste.”
Damian’s stomach tightened.
“When?”
“A lot.”
“How many times?”
Lucas shrugged.
“Sundays.”
“What did you hear?”
“Mom says, ‘How’s my boy?’”
Damian looked away.
Natalie used to say exactly that.
Every evening when she came home from work.
How’s my boy?
He forced himself to stay calm.
“Did you ever talk to her?”
Lucas shook his head.
“Celeste goes in the laundry room.”
“Why?”
“She says grown-up calls are private.”
Damian remembered Sunday afternoons.
Celeste volunteering to wash sheets.
Taking her phone downstairs.
Returning twenty minutes later quiet and irritated.
He had never questioned it.
He had been grateful she handled laundry.
That realization stung.
“Anything else?”
Lucas thought.
“One time Mom was crying.”
Damian’s chest tightened.
“What did Celeste say?”
“She said, ‘He doesn’t need you confusing him again.’”
Damian went completely still.
Again.
Not where are you?
Not who is this?
Celeste had known exactly who she was speaking to.
The next morning Damian checked their wireless account.
He and Celeste were not on the same plan.
He had no access to her personal call history.
But he had something else.
Their shared household calendar.
Every Sunday for seven months, Celeste had blocked thirty minutes under the same vague entry:
CALL C.
Damian had assumed it meant her cousin Chloe.
He called Chloe.
She sounded confused.
“Celeste and I barely talk.”
Damian closed his eyes.
“When did you last speak?”
“Christmas?”
The calendar contained twenty-eight Sunday entries after Christmas.
Damian stared at them.
Seven months.
May you like
Natalie had not been completely gone.
Someone had simply stood between them.
