Chapter 21
A new venture could be launched.
There was always another deal.
But some things did not want a comeback story.
Some things wanted accountability.
Clara eventually allowed me into her new home.
At first, only to pick up Noah.
Then occasionally for coffee.
The first time she left the room while I was alone with him, I noticed.
She trusted me enough not to watch.
It lasted perhaps three minutes.
It felt greater than any award I had ever won.
Trust returned differently from money.
Slowly.
Without spectacle.
In amounts too small to brag about.
One evening, after I brought Noah back, he refused to release my shirt.
“Come on, mate,” I whispered. “Your mother needs to put you to bed.”
He clung harder.
Clara stood in the doorway.
“You can stay until he sleeps.”
I looked at her.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
I carried him upstairs.
His room was smaller than the nursery in the penthouse.
There was no designer furniture.
No imported rocking chair.
No marble bathroom next door.
Just soft lamps, books, toys, a crib and a chair near the window.
It was warmer.
I sat down.
Noah rested against me.
Clara remained at the door.
“You used to hate being stuck under a sleeping baby,” she said.
“I didn’t know I liked it.”
“You didn’t try it often.”
“No.”
She walked closer.
Rain began tapping the window.
The sound pulled me backward through time so quickly that for a second I could smell champagne.
See marble.
Hear Sabrina say, To freedom.
My chest tightened.
Clara noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She waited.
I corrected myself.
“The rain.”
Understanding moved across her face.
“Oh.”
“I think about that night every time it rains.”
Clara sat on the edge of the bed.
“You shouldn’t.”
I stared at her.
“I thought you’d want me to.”
“No.”
Her voice was quiet.
“I wanted you to understand it.”
She looked at Noah.
“I didn’t want it to become the only night of your life.”
I swallowed.
“I deserve to remember.”
“Remembering and living inside it are different.”
I looked down at our son.
“Do you forgive me?”
The question escaped before I could stop it.
Clara did not answer quickly.
“I don’t know.”
Fair.
“I don’t hate you anymore.”
That was more than I expected.
“But forgiveness isn’t the same as going back.”
“I know.”
“And changing doesn’t buy you another chance.”
“I know.”