Chapter 5: What Naomi Said, and What She Didn't
Nobody moved for a moment after Camille's footsteps disappeared up the staircase.
Then Adrian looked at Naomi.
"What happened at Christmas?"
Naomi's chin came up slightly.
"She listened at the door," Naomi said.
"I was talking to Grandma Ruth in the back room.
She was upset because Camille had told her the guest room was being used for storage.
Grandma Ruth had stayed in that room every Christmas for eleven years." A pause.
"I told Grandma Ruth the truth.
That Camille had moved her things out two weeks before Christmas and told me not to say anything to you."
Adrian was quiet.
"That's what she heard," Naomi said.
"She heard me telling Grandma Ruth that the storage thing wasn't true.
That Camille had planned it." She looked at her father steadily.
"I wasn't talking about Camille.
I was answering Grandma Ruth's questions."
"Why didn't you tell me about the storage room?"
Naomi looked at him for a moment.
"Because I'd told you things before," she said.
"Small things.
About the kitchen.
About being asked to stay upstairs.
And you'd talk to her, and she'd explain it, and then it would be quiet for a few weeks." She stopped.
"I got tired of being the one who caused the quiet."
Adrian sat down on the arm of the nearest chair.
He didn't say anything.
Daniel came over and placed a hand briefly on Adrian's shoulder, then stepped back.
Patrice spoke quietly.
"Naomi.
Did she ever say anything to you directly?
About wanting you to leave?"
Naomi looked at the window for a moment.
"Once," she said.
"About eight months ago.
Dad was away for work.
She came to my room.
She said—" Naomi paused, chose her words carefully— "she said that she and my father had a real marriage to build, and that it would be easier for everyone if I thought about what my future plans were.
Whether I was going to stay, long-term." A pause.
"I was eighteen."
The older woman by the kitchen made a sound that wasn't quite a word.
"She made it sound reasonable," Naomi said.
"Like she was just asking about my plans.
But I understood what she meant."
"What did you say?" Patrice asked.
"I said I was thinking about university." Naomi's voice was completely even.
"And then I went to my room and I sat there for about an hour." She glanced at her father.
"And then I came downstairs and made dinner, because it was my night, and I didn't want her to have anything else to say about me."
Adrian looked up.
"Naomi—"
"I'm not telling you this so you'll feel sorry for me," she said.
"I'm telling you because you asked.
And because I'm tired of being the one in this house who keeps things careful."
Something in the room shifted.
Not loudly.
The way weight redistributes when someone finally sets something down.
Adrian stood up.
"I need to go upstairs."
"Dad." Naomi's hand came out and caught his arm.
"Don't go up there angry."
"I'm not angry."
"You are," she said.
"And that's—I understand that.
But I need you to hear me first." She looked at him directly.
"I don't need you to fight her.
I need you to decide.
Because I've been watching you not decide for two years, and it's been harder than anything she's actually done."
The room absorbed that.
Adrian looked at his daughter.
At the girl who had made dinner on her night even after being told to consider her future plans.
Who had waited.
Who had gone quiet to keep the peace.
Who had come downstairs tonight in her favorite sweater because she still, despite everything, wanted to be part of her own home.
"Go," she said gently.
"Talk to her.
I'll be here."
He went upstairs.
Patrice came to stand near Naomi.
"Are you all right?"
Naomi considered the question for a moment.
"I've been better," she said.
"But I've also been a lot worse." She looked toward the staircase.
"I just hope he actually listens to himself this time."
Upstairs, a door opened.
May you like
And then, very clearly through the ceiling, Camille's voice:
"I want to know which one of them showed you that phone."
