Evan, on the other side of the world, had a photograph of the porch in his wallet, taken in summer, the gray sofa visible through the open door, Megan’s sandals on the mat. He looked at it when the work allowed. He did not know the sandals had been replaced by boots, and the boots by Darren’s boots, and the mat wiped because Janelle had made a policy. When he came home the sandals were in the closet. He found them a week later and held them and put them back. Megan saw the closet door ajar and understood. She did not offer a speech about sandals. She made the bottle. Speeches had failed in the doorway. Bottles had a measurement.
Ruth wanted a lawyer. Megan went once, a woman named Karen above a tax office, fake plant, gray carpet. Karen said marriage, paternity, and support could be three different papers. Megan said she did not want three papers in month seven. Karen said papers did not care about months. Megan took the folder home and put it under the tax folder and did not open it until Grace was four months old. Then she and Evan and Darren signed what Karen wrote: acknowledgment, schedule, a support number Darren did not argue. Evan signed the acknowledgment as the husband who was not the father. His hand shook. He signed anyway. Karen did not congratulate anyone. She said file the copies. They filed the copies. The copies were the opposite of a deleted text. Megan was glad for them on days she was not sick of them.
Janelle kept ginger ale in her fridge for a year after it was needed, a superstition. She told Megan, “I am not your friend about this. I am his sister. But I will not lie for either of you.” Megan said that was fair. Fair was a word the doorway had not been given. They used it in smaller rooms.
Grace’s first winter she got a cold that turned into a night of breathing Evan did not like the sound of. He drove. Megan sat in the back with the seat. Darren met them at the clinic because Wednesday was his and the schedule did not pause for fear. The nurse asked who the father was. Megan said his name. The nurse looked at Evan’s jacket, the armory one, and then at Darren, and then did her job. Grace had an ear infection and a temper. They went home in two cars. At the house Evan carried the car seat in. Darren carried the prescription. Nobody carried a speech. Megan heated a bottle. The onion pan was not on the stove. The house smelled like the heater and the cream they had put on Grace’s chest. Evan said, “I thought it was worse.” Megan said, “So did I.” Darren said, “The dose is on the bottle.” They stood in the kitchen until the bottle was empty. Then Darren left by the side door. Evan locked it. Megan did not tell him the lock was unnecessary. She let him lock it. Some locks were for the person turning them.