Payton sags in her chair. After a long pause, she scoffs and shakes her head.
"Move forward. Just that simple. Next month on Halloween, when all the other children are trick-or-treating, my son will still be dead. On Thanksgiving, when he should be making turkeys out of the outline of his hand, he will be dead. On Christmas, when he should be trying to stay up to watch for Santa, he will be dead. And on New Year's Eve, when everybody else is kissing and celebrating a fresh year ahead of them, I will be looking at the first year that my son isn't alive in since he was born."
She stands up and stares into Sam's face, venom coating every word.
"But sure, Sherriff. It will be easy to just move on."
Chapter Sixteen
"What happened?" I ask twenty minutes later as I watch a drop of condensation roll down my water glass.
“With what?” Sam asks.
“With Peter,” I say, raising my eyes up to him.
“I told you, no one is sure,” he says. “Everly said he fell down the stairs, but there seems to be some evidence of multiple trauma to the head, like he was dropped or slammed on the floor.”
I shake my head.
“That's not what I mean. I mean, what happened with his parents? Most of the time, the mother gets custody, right? Especially with a child as young as Peter. Even when the father is far wealthier and has more resources, as long as the mother isn't dangerous or some sort of addict, she gets the baby. Is that what happened? Was Payton an addict?” I ask.
"No," Sam says.
"Then what? She seems devastated. What I just witnessed in there was heartbreaking. Why didn't Peter live with her?" I ask.
“Because she didn't want him to,” a voice says from beside the table.
I look up, startled by the flat, almost emotionless answer. A man with inky eyes and a drawn, chiseled face stares down at us. I recognize him from the news coverage of Peter's death and then Everly's. It's Michael Blair.
“Michael,” Sam says. “We've been trying to get in touch with you.”
“I know,” he says. “I've been disconnected. I went to the station to talk to you, but they said you were here. I hope you don't mind.”
“Of course not,” Sam says.
He slides out of his side of the booth and comes over to join me so Michael can sit across from us. There's a strange moment of expectation, both sides of the table waiting for the other one to say something and guide the conversation. I try to understand the emotion on his face and the way he holds his body. What a person doesn't say is often far more powerful than what they do. But I can't read him. He holds himself steady, firm and in place like nothing affects him. His expression hasn't changed.
"Payton and I were never a serious relationship. She was a lot of fun, and we enjoyed being together, but neither one of us was confused about what we were. There were no delusions of a passionate love connection or a future together. That didn't change when she found out she was pregnant. She wasn't sleeping with anyone else, so I knew the baby was mine. I was excited. Being a father was always something I envisioned, and it didn't really matter to me what the circumstances were. Some people might have wanted me to, but I didn't buy into the idea that it would have somehow been better if he was born to a married couple. That wasn't something Payton or I wanted. We didn't mind being together. We enjoyed each other, and our relationship worked. For a time. But she didn't want to be a mother.”
“She didn't want Peter?” I ask.
“That's a heavily loaded question. But it's one nobody ever thinks twice about asking. The reality is, no. She didn't want him. She never imagined herself having children and was beyond shocked when it happened. For a long time, she was under the impression she was incapable of having children. Not that we weren't still careful. But he happened anyway.”
A distant light comes in his eyes, rising at the same time as pain.
“He was a miracle. That doesn't mean her thoughts about having children suddenly changed. I think it's a really popular notion that some people just don't know they want children until they have one. I don't think that's always the truth. I think it's much more likely that people who don't want children find themselves in circumstances where they have them, and their only way to cope with it is to convince everyone around them they are suddenly deliriously happy, that they saw the light and their whole lives fell into place. It's not only dishonest; it's damaging.”
"Damaging?" I frown.
“When people say that, they have no idea who they're talking to. The person who hears it might still be holding onto feelings of hesitation or fear. They might not be excited or feel like they could possibly handle having a child. Hearing that can just leave them feeling more broken and alone. No one should feel that way, and no child should be raised by someone who felt that way. So, did Payton want Peter? No. She didn't. But did she love him? Absolutely.”
The three of us sit in awkward silence for about a minute too long. What could I even say to that?
“How long were you together after he was born?" I finally manage to get out.
“Not long. She had her own life to live, and I had mine. It wasn't hard to come up with a plan for how we were going to raise him. I wanted him with me, and I could afford to give him everything I possibly could in life. She would have visitation and come to see him whenever she wanted to. It was exactly right. For all of us. There were legal papers, but they didn't require hours in court or a judge making proclamations. We sat in my living room with my attorney. It was smooth and easy. And it stayed smooth and easy. She saw Peter all the time, and there was never any discomfort or difficulty between us. We always got along. She even got along really well with...”
His voice cuts off in a painful choke, and he looks down at his hands folded on the table. The waitress comes by with our food and lowers plates in front of us. She looks at Michael with expectation, but he shakes his head, and she walks away.
“Look, Michael,” Sam starts. “I know this is a horrible time for you, and I am so sorry to have to do this, but I'm going to need to talk to you about a few things. Can we set up a time for you to come by my office?”
“Let's do it now,” he says.
“We don't have to,” Sam says. “I can imagine this is not something you really want to talk about here in the diner.”
“I don't want to talk about it at all. I don't want to have to talk about it. I want to go home to my fiancée and my son. But it's never going to happen again. Nothing is going to make this conversation comfortable. If I have to have it, I'd rather get it over with.”
Sam nods.
"It's my understanding you haven't gone back to your house since the night Peter was injured. Is that true?" he asks.
"Yes. I went to the hospital and stayed with him," Michael answers.
"And after he died?" Sam asks.
He does it in the straightforward, matter-of-fact way that is the only way to manage that type of question. Trying to be too gentle or tender could stir up difficult emotions. It's better to come at it clearly.
“For reasons you can probably understand, I didn't much want to go back to the house. Instead, I went to one of my other properties,” Michael answers.
“What other property?” Sam asks.
“A mountain cabin. It's somewhat remote, a few hours’ drive from here. It gives me the quiet I need to think.”