Chapter 3 - The Years Between
Vincent's first letter arrived at the studio three days later, in a plain envelope addressed in his own handwriting. Anna waited until her afternoon class had emptied before opening it. North Street Studio occupied two storefront rooms on Madison's east side, where schoolchildren made cardboard cities and retired neighbors came to learn watercolor. Vincent had once regarded community workshops as charitable hobbies. Anna had built this one with grants, late nights, and a small salary she earned every month.
The letter was only one page. He acknowledged that he had abandoned her during the evacuation, not merely been separated by the accident. He wrote that nothing he had done afterward could undo the decision. He asked whether Eli could meet him by video for ten minutes, and he promised not to call himself a father to a child who had not been prepared for the introduction. He said nothing about money.
Rina read the final paragraph at Anna's invitation. “It's an unusually restrained letter for a man who used to send people three pages of instructions about where to park,” she observed. She set it down. “What does Rebecca think?”
“That he hasn't asked for anything outrageous yet.” Anna began rinsing paintbrushes. “She also says I can't treat my fear as an entire parenting plan.”
“She's right.” Rina took the brushes from her. “You can know that and still be afraid.”
That Saturday, Nora Bennett drove in from her home outside Milwaukee. She carried a loaf of banana bread and the expression she wore when they had to talk about something neither sister enjoyed. Nora was older by six years, practical, and incapable of pretending a problem could be handled by keeping busy. She had been the first person Anna called after waking in the regional hospital, and she'd answered at two in the morning without asking why her supposedly dead sister was speaking.
“I heard he found you,” Nora said once Eli had gone into the yard to inspect his rain boots. “I'm sorry it happened in front of so many people.”
“I knew he might be at that gala. I checked the guest list.” Anna spread the bread on a cutting board. “I told myself I could leave before the speeches. I wanted to accept the award in person for once. I was tired of letting his name decide where I went.”
Nora nodded, taking in the admission. “That was your right. Bringing Eli wasn't wrong, either. It was a family program. But what happens now can't be decided by what you owe Vincent or what he owes you. There is someone else at the table.”
“Eli,” Anna said. She was irritated by the reminder because Nora was right. She had used the word protect so often that she'd nearly stopped asking whether protection still looked the way it had in a hospital bed three years earlier. Back then, she had survived a head injury, a fractured ankle, and a pregnancy made frightening by every contraction. Silence had felt like one decision she could control.
“Did you ever regret helping me disappear?” Anna asked.
“Every time I saw him on television talking about the crash. And every time I saw you wake up shaking.” Nora cut two slices of bread. “I helped because you were alive and terrified, not because I thought pretending you were dead forever was sustainable. We should have found someone you trusted to help you tell him. I should have said that more firmly.”
Anna did not absolve either of them. She remembered holding her newborn in Nora's spare bedroom, listening to the microwave timer and telling herself she'd contact Vincent once she could sleep through a night. Days became months. Her son's ordinary dependence gave her both courage and another reason to postpone what she dreaded. She had mistaken postponement for a permanent solution.
On Monday, Rebecca arranged a preliminary exchange with Vincent's counsel. There was no custody order, no immediate lawsuit, and no agreement about travel yet. Both sides would preserve records and avoid public commentary. Anna agreed to allow a short video introduction on Wednesday while she sat beside Eli, provided Vincent did not record it or promise anything about future visits. The plan felt almost ridiculously cautious until she considered the damage one careless adult sentence could do.
Wednesday evening, Eli propped his stuffed green dinosaur against the tablet and asked whether Vincent owned a train. Vincent appeared on the screen in an ordinary gray sweater, seated in what seemed to be a kitchen rather than an office. He had arranged two small toy dinosaurs on the counter. Anna suspected an assistant had helped him choose them, but he had apparently learned not to offer an entire toy store.
“Hello, Eli,” he said. “Your mom says you know a lot about dragons.”
“Dinosaurs,” Eli corrected patiently. “Dragons are not real.”
“That's important information. This one is a stegosaurus, I think.” Vincent held up the wrong toy.
“That's a triceratops.” Eli leaned forward, delighted by the opportunity to teach an adult. For nine minutes they discussed horns, what dinosaurs might eat, and whether a very small dinosaur could fit in a suitcase. Anna saw Vincent trying not to look at her between answers. She appreciated that he kept his attention where it belonged.
When the call ended, Eli asked why Vincent hadn't come through the screen. Anna explained that screens showed people who were somewhere else. “Does he have a mommy?” Eli asked next. She said everyone started with one, though families were different. He seemed satisfied and went back to his blocks. He did not cry, demand a visit, or deliver the emotional verdict the adults might have imagined for him. He was a little boy with building to do.
Later, Vincent sent a brief message thanking her. Anna replied with the name of a family counselor Rebecca had recommended, Dr. June Wallace, who could help them talk with Eli as the relationship developed. Vincent answered that he would participate. He did not try to move the next call sooner. Keeping a small boundary should not have felt remarkable, yet Anna found herself checking her phone less often for an argument.
The next afternoon, a parcel arrived containing her discharge summary and several accident-investigation records Rebecca had requested with Anna's authorization. They described the rear evacuation route and the separate county response that had transported her. The documents supported her account, but they also exposed the point where official mistakes ended and her own decisions began. In the margin of an old follow-up instruction, she found Nora's handwriting: Tell him when you're ready. We will do it together.
Anna sat with that sentence for a long time. Nora had offered to stand beside her. Anna had never accepted. That evening she called Vincent rather than sending a message, and told him she wanted the next conversation to include something she'd avoided admitting. “I could have reached you after I left the hospital,” she said. “I didn't. I was afraid, and later I was ashamed of how long I'd waited.”
Vincent let out a slow breath. “I am angry about the years,” he said. “I don't want to lie to you about that.”
May you like
“You don't have to.”
“But I heard Eli laugh today. If I spend every conversation asking you to account for the past, I'll miss whatever chance I have to know him now.” Anna closed her eyes. His restraint didn't make the lost years smaller. It made the next step possible. She offered to meet him with Eli at a quiet children's museum the following week, with Rina nearby and an agreed departure time. This time, when she ended the call, she was afraid of something new: not that Vincent would fail to come, but that Eli might begin to hope he would.
