He's not pressing the custody question. Is he dropping the petition? He's not saying so in writing, but he's not pressing it. Nathan sat down.
He's asking for what I would have given him anyway. She looked at the letter. He's he's cutting his losses. He's being practical.
Nathan rubbed the side of his jaw. He's also in the middle of the letter. There's a line about Margaret, about how he misses her and Caleb is all that's left of her. He paused.
It's the only part of the letter that sounds like him and not like a strategy. She thought about that. She thought about Cecilia Hargrove holding Caleb in the front room. The competence of that hold, the hunger in it underneath the stiffness.
He should see Caleb, she said. Nathan looked at her. He's an unpleasant man and his wife said things to me that I won't forget quickly, she said. But Caleb is their grandchild and they lost their daughter and they should see him.
That was always true. She met his eyes. What they did was wrong. That doesn't make what they feel wrong.
Nathan was quiet for a long time. You're more generous about it than I am. I'm not generous about it. I'm just clear about which part is which.
He looked at the letter again. I'll write back. Invite them for a visit. He paused.
You'll be here. Of course, I'll be here. I live here. He folded the letter.
Something in his face shifted in a way she'd come to understand. That look of a man processing something unexpected, resettling around it. I know. I meant.