Daniel stopped working. He was careful not to react with the anger he felt on her behalf, because Lily was already carrying enough of everyone else's emotions. He sat on the edge of a low stone border so they could speak without her having to look up at him.
"Does your mother know you saw it?"
"No."
"You should tell her."
"She'll think I was snooping."
"Then tell her exactly how you saw it. More important, tell her what you're afraid of."
"I'm afraid a judge will decide I belong with Dad because he has a stable job."
"Your mother has a stable relationship with you," Daniel said. "Her job is changing. Those are different questions. I can't tell you what a judge would do, but I can tell you your voice matters and that your mother needs to know you're scared."
Lily regarded him closely. "Are you scared a lot?"
"More than I like to admit."
"Of what?"
He took his time. "That I won't earn enough to keep everything steady. That Noah needs something I don't know how to give him. That I'll be working so hard to make sure we survive that I'll miss a moment I should have been there for."
"But Noah knows you," Lily said quietly. "Really knows you. You can tell by the way he talks about you."
Daniel felt a thickness in his throat that made speech briefly difficult. "I hope so."
"My dad talks about me like I'm part of an arrangement. Mom talks about me like I'm a responsibility. You talk about Noah like he's a person you're glad to know."
He looked away toward the fence. Children sometimes saw straight through all the complicated stories adults told about themselves and found a truth too simple to defend against. "Your mother is glad to know you," he said. "She's forgotten how to show you all of it at once."
"I know."
"Go tell her about the email. Don't carry this alone."
Lily closed her notebook, stood, and went inside. Daniel heard the door close behind her and resumed tightening the final hinge. He worked more slowly than he needed to, aware that the conversation occurring in the house was far more important than the metal in his hands. When voices rose and then fell, he did not look toward the window.
Nearly half an hour passed before Catherine returned. She had changed into flat shoes and a faded sweatshirt, and there was no makeup around her eyes. The difference was not one of beauty but of effort; she had stopped spending energy presenting a version of herself that no one was allowed to question. She walked to the gate, which Daniel had just finished adjusting, and waited until he had put down the wrench.
"She told me about Richard's emails," Catherine said.
"Good."
"She asked whether I might actually lose her. I wanted to give her a guarantee I couldn't make. Instead I told her what my attorney is doing and that I'll listen to what she wants."
"How did she take it?"