The next meeting with Matthew was easier.
Not easy.
Easier.
We had already sat together without discussing the disappearance for most of an afternoon.
That gave me something to build on.
I arrived with no photograph and no notebook.
I wanted the time to belong to us.
Matthew was waiting when I arrived.
He stood when he saw me, then seemed unsure whether he should sit again.
I smiled.
"You don't have to stand every time I walk into a room."
He gave a small, uncertain smile.
We sat down.
I asked whether he wanted something to drink.
He did.
I ordered two drinks and returned to the table.
We talked about ordinary things.
I told him about a meal I had tried to cook and ruined.
He asked how someone could ruin something so simple.
I told him that he would be surprised what I could manage.
He laughed.
It was brief.
But it was the first time I had heard him laugh without feeling that I was listening for a sound from the past.
It was his laugh.
I did not know what kind of humor he liked.
I did not know whether he laughed easily with other people.
I did not know what made him feel comfortable.
I wanted to learn those things without making him feel observed.
So I told him another story about myself.
I let him decide whether it was funny.
When the conversation slowed, I asked whether he wanted to see the house where I lived.
He thought about it.
Then he said he wasn't ready.
I told him that was fine.
I meant it.
There would be no surprise visit.
No pressure.
No expectation that he should want to see the place where I had kept his things.
The house belonged to my life now.
It did not automatically belong to his.
We continued talking.
He asked whether I had kept his room the way it was.
I hesitated.
"No. Not exactly."
I explained that I had kept some of his belongings, but the room had changed over the years.
I had moved.
I had needed somewhere to sleep, eat, and live.
I could not preserve an entire childhood forever.
Matthew nodded.
I wondered whether he had expected me to say something else.
I told him that I had kept the red bucket and the stuffed elephant.
He asked whether the elephant still had the folded ear.
I smiled.
"Yes."
He seemed interested in that.
I told him that I had tried to repair it once.
The stitching had never looked right afterward.
He listened.
For a moment, we were talking about a toy instead of eleven years.
I treasured the difference.
Then he asked whether I had ever blamed Robert.
The question brought me back to the reason our lives had been interrupted.
I took a breath.
"Not at first."
He waited.
"I blamed myself. Then I accepted the explanation that you had been lost at sea."
I looked at him.
"I didn't know enough to blame anyone else."
Matthew nodded slowly.
I explained that I had recently begun examining my memories more carefully.
I had written down what I could remember about Robert's behavior.
I had spoken with Ramirez.
I had asked Robert questions directly.
None of those conversations had given me a complete answer.
Matthew asked whether I believed Robert had lied.
I did not answer immediately.
I wanted to give him certainty.
I wanted to tell him that I knew what had happened.
But I did not.
"I think there are things I still don't understand."
He looked down.
I continued.
"I don't want to tell you that someone did something unless I have a reason to believe it."
Matthew's expression tightened.
I wondered whether he thought I was defending Robert.
I explained that I was not trying to protect him.
I was trying to be honest about what I knew.
"I spent too long accepting an explanation because it was easier than living with the questions. I don't want to do that again."
Matthew looked at me.
He did not say anything.
I let the silence remain.
After a while, he asked whether I would keep looking into the case.
"Yes."
"Even if it takes a long time?"
I nodded.
"Even then."
He looked away.
I wondered whether that answer gave him any comfort.
I could not know.
We finished our drinks and left together.
Outside, Matthew asked whether I would call him before our next meeting.
I told him I would.
He gave me a number where I could reach him.
I saved it carefully.
The number appeared on my screen beside his name.
I stared at it longer than I should have.
For eleven years, I had no way to call my son.
Now I could.
It was such a small thing.
It felt enormous.
When I got home, I wrote the number on a piece of paper and placed it beside my telephone.
I did not want to lose it.
Then I called Ramirez.
I told her that Matthew and I had spoken about Robert.
She asked whether he had shared anything relevant to the case.
I explained that he had asked whether I believed Robert had lied.
I told her that I had answered honestly.
Ramirez said that I should continue to avoid pressuring Matthew.
I agreed.
She told me that she would contact me if there were developments.
After the call, I sat at the kitchen table.
The red bucket was still there.
I had moved it away from the edge because I kept knocking against it when I passed.
I picked it up and placed it on a shelf.
It was no longer something I needed to see every time I entered the kitchen.
I could remember Matthew without keeping the bucket in front of me.
That felt like progress.
I opened the notebook.
I wrote down the date of our meeting.
I recorded the questions we had discussed, but I did not write down my guesses about what Matthew's expressions meant.
I had learned that I could misread a silence.
I could mistake hesitation for anger.
I could mistake a brief smile for forgiveness.
I did not want to turn every moment into evidence of something I hoped was true.
When I finished, I closed the notebook.
Then I looked at the telephone.
I wondered whether Matthew would call me.
I decided not to wait beside it.
I made dinner.
I washed the dishes.
I went to bed.
The next morning, his message was waiting.
He had asked whether we could meet again the following week.
I read it twice.
Then I replied that I would be there.
I put the telephone down and sat quietly for a moment.
I was still afraid of what the investigation might uncover.
I was still uncertain about Robert.
I still had no explanation for the years my son had been missing.
But I had something I had not possessed in eleven years.
A future meeting with Matthew.
I decided to give that the attention it deserved.
Click here to continue reading: PART 16: The More I Learned to Live With My Son’s Return, the More I Understood That Finding Him Was Only the Beginning of the Truth
For Eleven Years, I Believed the Sea Had Taken Everything From Me, Until One Photograph Made Me Question the Man I Trusted
Part 15 of 20
