Chapter 5: What Sandra Knew
Claire typed back one word: *Talk.*
The reply came in under a minute.
A phone number.
Then: *Call when he's not in the room.*
She waited until Daniel took Ryan to the bathroom to wash up.
Then she stepped out the back door into the garden and called.
Sandra Cole picked up on the second ring.
Her voice was thin.
Careful.
The voice of someone who had been measuring their breath for weeks.
"You're Claire," she said.
"Yes."
"He told me about you.
Early on.
Before Ryan was born." A pause.
"He said you were the one he actually loved."
Claire stood in the garden with the late afternoon light going flat around her and said nothing.
"I'm not calling to make you feel sorry for me," Sandra said.
"I made my choices.
I knew what Daniel was when I went back to him." Another pause, longer this time.
"But Ryan didn't make any choices.
He's just a boy."
"I know that," Claire said.
"He came to your house because I asked him to.
I told him his father would take him in." Her voice caught slightly.
"I need to know if that's true.
Because if it isn't, I need to make other arrangements while I still can."
Claire pressed her free hand flat against the garden wall.
"What are the other arrangements?" she asked.
"My sister in Leeds.
She'll take him.
But she has four of her own and not much room and Ryan—" Sandra stopped.
Started again.
"Ryan has had a hard enough time already.
I don't want hard to be all he knows."
"What has he had a hard time with?"
"Daniel," Sandra said simply.
"Waiting for Daniel.
Believing me every time I told him his father was a good man.
Watching me believe it too." The thin voice went quieter.
"I did believe it.
For a long time.
That was my mistake, not Ryan's."
Claire heard the back door open behind her.
She turned.
Daniel was standing in the doorway, watching her.
She held up one finger.
He stayed where he was.
"Sandra," Claire said.
"I need to ask you something directly."
"Go ahead."
"Did Daniel know about Ryan from the beginning?"
A long silence.
"He knew I was pregnant," Sandra said.
"He asked me to—" She stopped.
"He asked me to handle it.
I didn't.
When Ryan was born I sent him a photograph.
He never responded.
When Ryan was three I called him and told him he had a son who was asking about his father.
He sent money.
He asked me not to contact him again."
Claire closed her eyes.
"He sent money," she repeated.
"Every month.
Into an account.
Enough to keep me quiet, I think, more than enough to raise a child.
It stopped two months ago." Sandra's voice was steady now.
Flat in the way that comes after too much feeling.
"That's when I knew something had changed.
And then I got sick, and I thought — Ryan needs to know where to go.
He needs to know his father's face.
So I showed him the photograph.
I told him the address.
I told him to go and knock on the door."
"He threw a brick," Claire said.
A sound on the other end.
It took Claire a moment to realize it was Sandra laughing.
Soft and tired and real.
"That's Ryan," she said.
"He doesn't wait well.
He gets that from me."
Claire opened her eyes.
Daniel was still in the doorway.
She looked at him directly.
"I'll call you tomorrow," she told Sandra.
"I need tonight."
"Thank you," Sandra said.
"For picking up.
For not hanging up." A breath.
"For feeding him.
He texted me.
He said you made him a sandwich."
After she hung up, Claire stood in the garden for another minute.
Then she walked back inside, past Daniel, and sat down at the kitchen table where Ryan was drawing something on a piece of paper Lily had given him.
"Your mother says you don't wait well," Claire said.
Ryan looked up.
The corner of his mouth moved.
Almost a smile.
"She says that a lot," he said.
Daniel stepped into the kitchen.
"Who were you talking to?"
Claire looked at her husband.
"Sandra," she said.
The color left his face.
"She told me about the money, Daniel," Claire said.
"The account.
Every month.
And when it stopped."
He said nothing.
"She told me what you asked her to do when she was pregnant."
Still nothing.
Ryan had gone very still.
His pencil was down.
He was looking at his father.
"Is it true?" Ryan asked.
His voice was quiet.
Direct.
A child's voice asking an adult question.
"Did you ask her not to have me?"
The kitchen was completely silent.
May you like
Daniel looked at his son.
And for the first time since Ryan had walked through the door, Daniel Bennett had no answer ready.
