Chapter 74 - The Third Voice
The drive back to the house was quieter than I had anticipated.
Maisie sat in the back of the station wagon with her headphones resting around her neck, staring out at the bare oak branches lining the state highway. The winter sky was a uniform, chalky gray, threatening snow before sundown. Chloe sat in the passenger seat beside me, her profile calm, one hand resting on the center console near mine.
"You okay back there, bug?" I asked in the rearview mirror.
Maisie caught my eye in the glass. "I feel lighter."
"Lighter?"
"Like I was carrying a heavy backpack all week, and then I took it off," she said. She leaned her forehead against the cool window. "He wasn't what I thought he'd be. I thought he was going to argue with me."
"Eric knows what he did," I said. "He spent two years trying to argue with lawyers. It didn't work."
"He told the truth about Grandma," Maisie murmured. "That was the only part I liked. He didn't pretend she was just misunderstood."
When we pulled into the gravel driveway, my father’s dark green truck was already parked near the woodshed. Arthur was standing by the porch stairs, his heavy canvas work coat buttoned to the chin, a thermos in his gloved hand. He had stayed behind while we met Eric, honoring the boundary Maisie had set, but the tension in his weathered jaw told me he hadn't rested a single minute while we were gone.
Maisie unbuckled and climbed out before the engine had fully died. "Grandpa!"
Arthur’s face softened instantly, the deep creases around his eyes folding into warmth. He set the thermos down on the porch railing and opened his arms. Maisie walked right into his embrace, burying her face into the rough wool of his collar for five long seconds.
"You alright, sweetheart?" Arthur asked, his voice low and rumbling.
"I asked all four questions," she told him, pulling back with a small, proud smile. "He answered all of them. And I told him he can't come to my soccer games."
Arthur looked over her head at me, his bushy gray eyebrows rising slightly. He saw the composure on her face, the absence of tears, and he let out a long breath that formed a white plume in the freezing air.
"Good for you," Arthur said softly, patting her shoulder. "A person’s got a right to choose who stands inside their circle."
"I'm going to make hot cider," Chloe announced, stepping onto the porch and ushering Maisie toward the front door. "With the cinnamon sticks Arthur brought from the farm stand."
"Save me a cup," Maisie said, disappearing into the warm hallway.
I lingered at the bottom of the porch steps with my father. The cold wind caught the hem of my jacket.
"How did he look?" Arthur asked.
"Tired," I said. "Honest, for once. He didn't try to sugarcoat it for her. He told her straight out that he traded her dignity for a truck payment."
Arthur gave a grim, humorless grunt. "At least the boy didn't lie to a child. That's more than his mother ever managed."
Before I could reply, the sharp chime of my cell phone vibrated against my hip. I pulled it out, expecting a text from the lumber yard about Monday's cedar delivery.
It wasn't the lumber yard.
It was an unknown ten-digit number from our local area code. But the voicemail notification flashed immediately after the ring died. I tapped the screen, set it to speaker, and held it between Arthur and me.
A voice spilled out into the freezing afternoon air—clipped, brittle, and sharp as broken glass.
"Grant," Judith’s voice rang out, trembling with an indignation that two years of exile had failed to blunt. "I know Eric met with your daughter today. Don't think for one second that you can use my own son to turn my granddaughter against me behind my back. If Arthur thinks that fraudulent trust protects you from family court, he’s senile. You will answer this call, or my attorney will file the motion on Monday."
May you like
Arthur and I stood in the driveway, the silence between us heavier than the winter sky.
***
