“No.”
“Then what did she tell you?”
“That work came first.”
Darian paused.
I imagine that answer hurt because, on other occasions, it had been true.
He had missed things.
Not this time by his own original choice.
But enough times for the lie to sound familiar.
Julian said he thought he was helping.
He knew Max liked him.
He offered to take photographs.
He sat in the seat.
In the foyer, Helena introduced him to two parents.
“This is Max’s dad.”
Julian claimed he thought she had misspoken.
“Did you correct her?”
He hadn’t.
“Later?”
No.
“When someone asked how proud you were?”
Silence.
Then:
“I said he did well.”
Darian asked whether Julian noticed Max looking toward the audience.
He had.
“What did you think he wanted?”
Julian answered after a long pause.
“You.”
That was the part Darian repeated to me later.
Not with satisfaction.
With disbelief.
Another adult had seen exactly what the child wanted and allowed the lie to remain in place.
Before Max slept, Darian came upstairs.
He stopped at the doorway.
“Can I come in?”
The boy nodded.
His father sat on the rug.
Not on the bed, where Max might feel he had to make room.
I remained in the chair beside the lamp.
Darian told him Julian used the ticket because Helena said he couldn’t attend.
Max looked confused.
“But she told you I didn’t want.”
“Yes.”
The child took time with that.
“So it was different.”
“The stories were different.”
“Why?”
Darian did not pretend to know more than he did.
“I’m still asking.”
