Derek took off the navy jacket and hung it on the chair. The itinerary made a small stiff sound in the pocket. He left it there. He sat across from Jonah and looked at him in the ordinary kitchen light, which was less merciful than the airport’s. Twenty. A scrape on the knuckle. A resemblance that came and went depending on whether he was about to speak. Lauren’s mouth. Mason’s watchfulness. Nothing of Derek, and everything of the life Derek had thought he was co-authoring.
“Start wherever you want,” Derek said. “Not the apology. The thing itself.”
Jonah turned the glass but did not drink. “I grew up thinking she was my sister,” he said. “That’s the true first part. Grandma and Grandpa were Mom and Dad. Lauren sent cards and showed up at Christmas and didn’t know how to hug me. I thought I was the reason she left town. Kids make up those stories. Sometimes they’re even right for the wrong reason.”
Lauren stood at the sink with her back to them. Her ponytail had loosened. She did not correct him.
“When I was seventeen Grandma died,” Jonah said. “You know that part. After the funeral I was looking for the insurance papers because Grandpa couldn’t find anything. There was a locked drawer. Claire had the key and she didn’t want to give it to me and then she did, because Claire is the only one in that family who gets tired of secrets faster than she gets scared of them. There was an adoption decree. There was a letter Lauren wrote when I was born that nobody sent. There was my original birth record with her name on it. I sat on the floor and read it and Claire sat in the doorway and cried without making it about her, which I still thank her for in my head.”
Derek looked at Lauren’s back. “You knew Claire knew.”