Andrew had no answer better than the truth. “Because I was afraid you’d never speak to me again.” Mark looked down at the phone in his hand. “You may have gotten what you were afraid of anyway.” He ended the call.
The next morning, the Whitmore house smelled faintly of cold turkey and coffee. Laura was already awake when Mark came downstairs. She sat at the kitchen table wearing the same rust-colored sweater from the day before, hair unstyled, face scrubbed bare. She had a mug in both hands but did not seem to be drinking it. “I talked to Andrew,” Mark said.
Her eyes closed. “He told the same story.” Laura nodded. “That does not make it better.” “I know.”
Mark sat across from her. “We’re getting a legal paternity test.” Laura looked up. “For Tyler?” “For all of us.
No more percentages interpreted from a consumer report. No more maybes. If Tyler agrees, we confirm it properly. She nodded.” “And then?”
Mark’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know.” That uncertainty frightened Laura more than anger would have. For most of their marriage, Mark had been the person who knew the next practical step. Car trouble, roof leak, college savings, aging parents—he made lists.
He called people. He created sequence from disorder. Now the most important relationship in his life sat beyond the reach of procedure. A test could answer biology. It could not tell him whether to stay married, whether to forgive his brother, whether Tyler wanted Andrew in his life as anything other than an uncle who had lied.
At ten-thirty, Tyler came home. He entered quietly through the mudroom, wearing yesterday’s clothes beneath his coat. His eyes were red from little sleep. Mark stood from the kitchen table at once but did not approach. Laura stayed seated.
“Can we talk?” Tyler asked. Mark nodded. Tyler took the chair farthest from his mother. “I want the real test,” he said.
Mark had expected hesitation. The certainty surprised him. “Okay.” “With Uncle Andrew too.” Mark’s stomach tightened.
“Okay.” “And I want him here when we get the result.” Laura whispered, “Tyler—” He looked at her sharply. “No. You got eighteen years to decide how everybody else should hear things.
You’re done deciding that.” Laura lowered her eyes. Mark felt the cruelty in the sentence and also the justice. “You can set the terms,” Mark told him. Tyler nodded.