Chapter 1 - Daddy’s in There
Ariel’s third birthday was supposed to be easy.
That was the word I kept using.
Easy.
No rented venue.
No oversized balloon installation.
No professional princess wandering around the backyard while twenty toddlers melted down in coordinated outfits.
Just our house in north San Antonio, eight preschoolers, a swimming pool, sandwiches, fruit, cupcakes, and enough inflatable animals to make the water look like a plastic zoo.
By two in the afternoon, the backyard smelled like sunscreen and grilled chicken.
Music played softly from the outdoor speakers.
Parents sat beneath umbrellas.
Children shrieked every time someone jumped into the pool.
Glen was manning the grill in a blue polo shirt while pretending he was not checking work email.
I was carrying a tray of lemonade when Clara arrived.
She was thirty-nine.
My stepmother.
There were only eight years between us.
That fact had been uncomfortable since the day my father introduced us fifteen years earlier.
I was sixteen.
Clara was twenty-four.
My mother had died two years before.
Dad was forty-six and lonely enough to mistake intensity for certainty.
Clara was beautiful in the effortless way that made people forgive her for knowing she was beautiful.
Blonde hair.
Clear pale skin.
Perfect teeth.
A laugh that carried across rooms.
At first I hated her because she existed where my mother had existed.
Later I disliked her for reasons that belonged entirely to Clara.
She could make every room subtly competitive.
If I mentioned a client win, she talked about a friend with a larger company.
If I bought a house, she admired it and then asked why we had chosen “such a practical neighborhood.”
If Glen cooked dinner, she called him “trained.”
None of it was terrible enough to justify a family war.
So we learned distance.
Birthdays.
Christmas.
Thanksgiving.
An occasional dinner.
That was our relationship.
The pregnancy had changed things slightly.
Clara announced it at thirty-eight.
Dad was sixty-one.
He cried.
I was surprised but happy for him.
He told me:
“I thought this part of life was over.”
I hugged him.
Then I hugged Clara.
Her stomach was beginning to show now beneath a floral summer dress.
Seventeen weeks.
People kept touching her arm, congratulating her, asking whether they knew the sex.
Clara smiled.
“Not yet.”
Ariel had been running around barefoot for almost an hour when she stopped in the middle of the patio.
Her little pink swimsuit was dripping.
One sandal had vanished somewhere near the pool.
She stared at Clara.
Then screamed:
“Mommy!”
I looked over.
“What?”
Ariel pointed.
“Daddy’s in there!”
There was one beat of silence.
Then laughter.
My cousin Beth nearly dropped her drink.
Someone said:
“Oh my God, kids.”
Another guest laughed:
“Should we tell Richard?”
Even Dad laughed.
Clara’s smile tightened.
I thought she was embarrassed because Ariel was pointing at her stomach.
I hurried over.
“Ariel.”
She kept pointing.
“Daddy’s in there!”
I crouched.
“We don’t point at people’s bellies, sweetheart.”
“No!”
“Ariel.”
“Daddy’s STILL in there!”
Her voice cracked.
The laughter softened.
I reached for her hand.
She jerked away and stamped her foot.
Tears appeared instantly.
Not tantrum tears.
Fear.
“Mommy, get him!”
I stopped smiling.
Glen approached from the grill.
“What’s happening?”
I turned Ariel toward him.
“Look. Daddy’s right here.”
She looked at Glen.
For one second, relief crossed her face.
Then she twisted back toward Clara.
“No!”
Her entire body shook.
“Daddy’s THERE!”
Clara rolled her eyes.
“She’s three, Natalie. Children say nonsense.”
Ariel heard her.
She began crying harder.
“Not nonsense!”
I wiped her cheeks.
“Okay. Show me.”
That changed everything.
Ariel grabbed two of my fingers.
“Come.”
She pulled.
Not toward Clara.
Past Clara.
Toward a lounge chair.
A large cream canvas beach tote sat on ground.
Clara’s.
Ariel pointed.
“There!”
Clara’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But I knew people professionally.
I had spent seven years running Northstar Design Collective, a commercial interiors company with forty-two employees.
Clients lie about budgets.
Vendors lie about schedules.
Executives lie about why projects are failing.
Fear changes faces in predictable ways.
Clara looked afraid.
“Ariel,” she said sharply, “don’t touch my things.”
My daughter flinched.
Then slapped the side of tote.
“DADDY!”
Something vibrated inside.
Bzzzz.
Everyone heard.
Clara lunged.
“Don’t.”
I reached first.
My hand went into tote.
Towel.
Sunglasses.
Sunscreen.
A paperback.
Then plastic.
A phone.
Blue case.
Cracked lower corner.
Silver star sticker beside camera.
I forgot how to breathe.
Five months earlier, Ariel had put that star sticker on Glen’s secondary company phone because she thought his plain case was “sad.”
Three days later, Glen left for a client meeting in Dallas.
He came home without the phone.
“Lost at airport,” he told me.
Northstar replaced it.
IT suspended the old line.
We filed device as missing.
And now it was in my stepmother’s beach bag.
Glen stopped moving.
Dad looked confused.
“Is that yours?”
Nobody answered.
Clara reached.
“Give it to me.”
I pulled back.
“Why?”
“It’s mine.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Ariel put this sticker on Glen’s phone.”
“It’s a common case.”
I looked at Glen.
“Tell me.”
His mouth opened.
“Nat…”
“Is this your phone?”
Silence.
That was answer.
Then the screen woke.
The phone had apparently connected automatically to our backyard Wi-Fi.
Notifications began pouring in.
Messages delayed while device had been offline.
Email sync.
Chat sync.
One preview.
C:
We need to talk before Tuesday.
Another.
C:
Richard has another meeting with the estate lawyer.
My father’s smile disappeared.
Then:
C:
Stop staring at me today.
Then the final one.
C:
May you like
He still thinks the baby is his.
Nobody laughed anymore.
