Chapter 2 - The Suitcase
Daniel crouched until he was level with his son. “Nobody is sending you anywhere without talking to you and me first. I promise.”
Oliver searched his face as if promises were objects he had to inspect for cracks. Then he nodded once, but he did not let go of Rosa.
Sloane gave a small, exhausted laugh. “This is exactly what I mean. He has learned that if he cries hard enough, everyone changes the rules.”
“Which rules?” Daniel asked.
“The rules that keep him safe.” She folded her arms. “I spoke to a residential grief program in Vermont. They work with children who have experienced loss. Six weeks away from the pressure of this house could help him reset.”
“You spoke to a program about our son without telling me?”
“I was trying to solve a problem you haven’t had time to notice.”
The words hurt because they were partly true. Daniel often worked through dinner while Oliver sat across from an empty chair. Sloane saw the guilt land.
“I know you’re overwhelmed. I’m trying to carry some of this for you.”
Daniel stepped away from her hand. “Show me the papers.”
She blinked. “What?”
“The forms Oliver thinks I signed.”
“They’re in my office. They’re preliminary. You approved the consultation last month.”
“I did not.”
“You were exhausted. We discussed it after the Harbor Light dinner.”
He remembered the Harbor Light fundraiser, a late flight, and Sloane sliding a folder toward him. He could not remember agreeing to send Oliver away.
“Bring me the forms,” he said.
Her smile thinned. “Fine.”
As she walked toward the office, Daniel noticed a small navy suitcase beside the stairs. It was open. Inside lay Oliver’s pajamas, two books, his favorite dinosaur shirt, and the stuffed fox Julia had bought him on his fifth birthday.
“Why is his suitcase packed?” Daniel asked.
Sloane stopped.
“For a trial overnight. I wanted to make the transition easier.”
“Without telling me?”
“I was going to tell you tonight.”
Rosa led Oliver into the sitting room.
“You are not taking my son anywhere.”
For the first time, her polished expression cracked into something cold.
“You should be careful, Daniel. A child in distress needs professional help. If you refuse it, people may start asking whether you’re capable of putting him first.”
She carried the forms into her office and shut the door.
May you like
Daniel stood alone in the hallway, staring at the suitcase. A folded sheet had slipped from the side pocket. He picked it up and saw his name at the bottom, written in a signature that looked almost like his.
Almost.
