Chapter 8 - THE CALL DAMIAN LET LUCAS MAKE
The first call lasted eleven minutes.
Natalie joined from her therapist’s office.
Damian sat beside Lucas.
No Celeste.
No intermediaries.
No adult pretending the moment was casual.
Lucas stared at the laptop screen when Natalie appeared.
She looked thinner than Damian remembered.
Hair shorter.
Eyes the same.
“Hi, buddy.”
Lucas’s mouth trembled.
“You’re not dead.”
Natalie covered her mouth.
“No.”
“Celeste said you were.”
Damian stepped in gently.
“Remember, this call is about you and Mom.”
Lucas ignored him.
“Why didn’t you come home?”
Natalie took a breath.
“Because I got sick in a way that made it hard for me to be the mom you needed. I got help.”
“Are you better?”
“I’m healthier.”
That answer impressed Damian.
No promises.
No performance.
Lucas asked:
“Did you call every Sunday?”
Natalie nodded.
“Most Sundays.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because I made the mistake of letting another grown-up decide when you were ready.”
Damian felt the sentence land on him too.
Lucas asked:
“Did Dad know?”
Natalie looked toward Damian.
He answered.
“No.”
Then added:
“But I should have asked more questions.”
His son stared at him.
Damian did not look away.
At the end of the call, Lucas held the burned photograph toward the screen.
“Celeste threw this in the fire.”
Natalie’s face changed.
Not rage.
Pain.
“Why?”
Lucas shrugged.
“She wants to be my mom.”
Natalie’s jaw tightened.
Damian expected her to attack Celeste.
Instead she said:
“You already have a mom.”
Lucas smiled weakly.
“And Celeste doesn’t get to decide what you call anybody.”
After the call, Lucas seemed lighter.
Then suddenly furious.
He kicked a couch pillow.
“She knew!”
Damian sat nearby.
“Yes.”
“She knew Mom was alive!”
“Yes.”
“Why did you love her?”
The question pierced him.
Damian could have defended himself.
He didn’t.
“Because people can love someone before they understand everything that person is capable of.”
Lucas frowned.
“That’s stupid.”
Damian almost smiled.
“Sometimes.”
May you like
The boy climbed into his lap.
For the first time since the fireplace, the silence between them did not contain another hidden adult conversation.
