Chapter 2 - The Little Boy Who Answered the Call
Caleb didn't come any farther down the stairs.
He stood gripping his tablet, waiting for an answer.
I went to him.
“No, son. You didn't do anything wrong.”
He looked past me.
“Mom was really mad when I answered.”
Simone followed me into the hallway.
“Baby, I wasn't mad at you.”
Caleb didn't respond.
I crouched so we were eye level.
“You answered a phone. That's all you did.”
“But you and Mom are fighting now.”
I felt something tighten in my chest.
“We're having a difficult conversation,” I said. “That's between the grown-ups. It isn't your responsibility.”
He considered that.
“Are you mad at me?”
“Never for telling me someone's calling.”
He leaned against my shoulder.
I held him longer than usual.
Then I asked if he wanted to finish his drawing while I prepared dinner.
He nodded.
When he returned upstairs, I stayed in the hallway for a moment.
Simone was standing near the kitchen.
Her cheeks were wet.
“Andre, I didn't mean for him to hear any of that.”
I turned toward her.
“But he did.”
She lowered her head.
That evening, we ate in near silence.
I couldn't bring myself to eat much.
Simone served Caleb his favorite chicken and rice, but he barely touched it.
Normally, he would tell us everything about his day, whether we wanted to hear it or not.
He could spend ten minutes explaining why one cartoon character was stronger than another.
That night, he asked only whether he could have some juice.
After dinner, I washed the dishes while Simone helped him get ready for bed.
I heard her asking what book he wanted to read.
He said he wasn't tired.
She told him to choose anyway.
Ordinary words.
But the easy warmth that usually filled our home was missing.
When she came downstairs, I asked her to give me some time.
“I need to think,” I told her.
She nodded.
I went up to Caleb's room.
He was sitting on his bed, arranging small toy cars along the edge of his blanket.
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
I sat beside him.
He handed me a blue car.
“You can have this one.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
For several minutes, we raced the cars across his bedspread.
Then Caleb stopped.
“Dad, can I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“Why did Uncle Daniel call Mom baby?”
I placed the little car down.
I wanted to say he'd misunderstood.
I wanted to explain it away.
But Caleb had heard exactly what I'd heard.
So I chose the only answer I could give without making him carry adult details.
“Your mom and I have something important we need to work through. It's not because of anything you did.”
Caleb looked at his toy cars.
“Is Uncle Daniel a bad person?”
I thought carefully.
“I don't know everything about Daniel. But grown-ups sometimes make choices that hurt people.”
He nodded slowly.
Then he surprised me.
“Mom talks to him a lot.”
My heart began beating faster.
“When?”
“Sometimes when you're working.”
I kept my expression calm.
“Okay.”
“She goes outside on the porch.”
I waited.
Caleb pushed a red car into a neat row.
“Once I asked who she was talking to, and she said Daniel from work.”
He glanced at me.
“She said if you asked, I could just say it was work.”
I stared at the little blue car in my hand.
Simone hadn't just hidden the relationship from me.
She had allowed our son to become part of the hiding, even if he didn't understand it.
I didn't question him further.
He was eight.
He wasn't supposed to be collecting evidence about his mother's private life.
I kissed his forehead.
“Thanks for talking to me, buddy. You don't have to worry about anybody's phone calls anymore.”
He looked relieved.
“Can we still make pancakes tomorrow?”
Every Sunday, Caleb and I made pancakes together.
It was a tradition we'd started when he was four.
He poured the batter.
I flipped the pancakes.
Simone usually sat at the counter drinking coffee and pretending to complain that we were making a mess.
I thought about all those Sundays.
How many had passed while she was carrying this secret?
“Yes,” I said.
“We're still making pancakes.”
Caleb smiled a little.
“Even the chocolate-chip ones?”
“Especially those.”
When I left his room, I found Simone waiting near the stairs.
She had heard enough to know why I looked at her differently now.
“Did he say something?” she asked.
I walked past her.
“I'm not going to turn our son into a witness against you.”
“Andre—”
“But you and I need to talk about what you've been asking him to keep quiet.”
She followed me downstairs.
I turned at the bottom step.
“You didn't just lie to me, Simone.”
She said nothing.
May you like
“You put our child in the middle of it.”
And for the first time that night, she didn't try to explain herself.
