4: 4
I bent to pick up the prenatal report.
Nellie was faster, closing it in her fist.
"We'll talk at home."
I braced myself against the shelf. "We'll talk here."
Charles shook his head, his eyes red. "Chris, it's not what you think."
"The hospital made a mistake. I went with Nellie to register the file, and the nurse assumed I was the father."
I kept my eyes on Nellie. "You tell me."
She was quiet for a long time.
Long enough for the clerk to quietly cut the music, long enough that my foot had gone numb with pain.
"The baby might be Charles's."
She finally spoke.
"The night before Charles came back home, he got drunk. I went to pick him up. I don't remember clearly what happened the next day."
No denial. No explanation.
One "I don't remember" pushed three years of our marriage to the edge of a cliff.
I asked, "What do you plan to do?"
"Wait until the baby's born, then run a paternity test."
"And if it's his?"
Nellie pressed her lips together on reflex. "I'll handle it."
I laughed. "Handle it how?"
Charles cut in, crying. "I won't take Nellie from you. Once the baby's born I can leave with the baby. Chris, don't blame her, I was the one who got drunk."
"Shut up."
It was the first time I'd cut him off in front of everyone.
He froze, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes, like he'd been wronged beyond measure.
Nellie moved him behind her. "It's my fault. Don't take it out on him."
I watched the gesture, and suddenly even my anger felt like too much.
Back home, Nellie helped me upstairs.
She undid the loosened brace for me, then brought an ice pack and laid it against my ankle.
Her hands were still as practiced as ever.
"I'll get to the bottom of the baby thing."
"Where's the ring?"
Her fingertips stopped. "What?"
"My wedding ring."
Nellie took the ring out of her coat and set it on the nightstand.
An extra little star had been engraved inside the band.
Charles's nickname was Star.
I flicked it with a fingertip, and the ring rolled to the edge of the carpet.
"You didn't take it to be resized. You took it to be engraved."
"He said he needed something to hold on to before the paternity results came back. I didn't notice the clerk gave me the wrong ring."
I closed my eyes. "Get out."
"Christopher, it really was an accident with him."
"Get out."
She stood there a long while, and in the end she closed the door for me.
The next day was the annual charity gala the Matthewses hosted.
I hadn't planned to go, but my mother came to the door herself and took my crutch.
"The media and the family elders will all be there tonight. If you don't show, what will people say about Charles?"
"He's tangled up with my wife, even got her pregnant, and you're worried what people will say about him?"
Scarlett's face darkened. "Nellie had too much to drink that night, and Charles wasn't clearheaded either. One is your wife, one is your brother. Won't you be satisfied until you've driven them both to their deaths?"
I pushed up off the edge of the bed to stand. "So I'm the one who deserves to die?"
She looked away. "That's not what I'm saying."
Before the gala began, Nellie came to get me.
She'd brought a looser pair of men's shoes, crouched down and put them on for me, then set the crutch by my hand.
"Tonight Dad's going to announce Charles is taking over Cloudperch. Don't make a scene there. Once I've had the baby and done the test, I'll give the project back to you."
"And me? After the baby's born, what am I?"
Nellie's grip on my ankle tightened without her meaning it to.
"You're still Mr. Winfield. If the baby's Charles's, we'll raise it together. He can call you Dad."
I looked at her for a long time.
"Nellie, you really are cruel."
Halfway through the gala, my father called Charles up onto the stage.
The big screen lit up with the Cloudperch renderings, the credit line already changed to Charles's name.
Amid the guests' applause, Charles thanked me with red eyes. "The person I owe the most for this project is my brother. He made it possible for me."
Right after, my father took the microphone again.
"There's one more happy occasion today. Nellie is pregnant. The father is Charles."
The whole room broke into an uproar.
I looked at the seat beside me.
At some point Nellie had already gone up onstage, shielding a pale-faced Charles from the cameras.
My mother sat down next to me with a document in hand.
"You and Nellie get divorced first. After the baby's born and the test is done, if it isn't Charles's, the two of you remarry."
"And if it is?"
"A child can't grow up without a whole family."
She pushed the pen into my hand, her voice low. "You'll have a hard time having children of your own, and Charles is the baby's father. Nellie's willing to let the child call you Dad. She's already looking out for you."
Onstage, the host mistook them for an engaged couple.
Nellie didn't correct him.
She only looked at me across the crowd, her eyes calm, as if certain I'd give in in the end.
I opened the divorce agreement.
The house, the savings, the shares. Not one of them was mine.
The additional clauses said that after the divorce I could still live in the Winfield home, responsible for caring for the pregnant Nellie and the child.
So it turned out they'd even parceled out the rest of my life.
I didn't cry. I didn't demand answers.
I signed my name on the last page and slid the other document, long since prepared, across to my mother along with it.
The moment she read the title, the color drained from her face.
