We don’t forgive.
I saw her write our daughter’s name in the palm of her hand, like someone who fears the world will take that list away.
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When I got up, Sarah got up, too.
This time he didn’t sit in the chair.
“Can I see her?”
“Not today,” I said.
He nodded too fast.
“Okay.”
I looked at her. “Don’t go away before tomorrow.”
“Can I see her?”
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I put the yellow duckling on the table, between us.
He didn’t touch it until I got him closer.
“She’ll want you to give it back,” I said.
Sarah took it with both hands.
“I know.”
“He’ll want it back.”
***
This morning, Lily woke up before seven o’clock and entered the kitchen by dragging the blanket behind her.
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She had been sitting at the table for an hour with Sarah’s phone number written on paper with the hotel letterhead.
The yellow duckling was next door.
Back.
He hasn’t stayed with him.
Lily got on my lap and grabbed him.
“Duck.”
I gave him a kiss on the crown.
The yellow duckling was next to him.
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The phone was face down near my elbow.
I hadn’t decided what mercy was like yet.
I just had to start with something smaller than forgiveness.
I dialed the number before I could back out.
Sarah answered the second tone.
Neither of us said anything.
I was still unclear what mercy was like.
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Lily hit me the crooked wing of the duck on the cheek.
“Who is it, Daddy?”
Across the line, Sarah took a deep breath carefully.
To the loose button eye.
To the seam Sarah never arranged.
“Someone who knew the duckling before you, honey,” I said.
“Who is it, Daddy?”
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Lily brought the stuffed animal to the phone, serious and curious.
Sarah started crying without making noise.
I didn’t tell him to stop crying.
I didn’t tell him to come near.
I just put the phone on speakerphone and left it on the kitchen table.
Among us, the yellow duckling stood upright in Lily’s hands, waiting for a voice that had taken with him longer than she imagined.
I didn’t tell him to come.
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