Chapter 2: The Other Versions
Dad picked up the birthday invitation.
It was from Chloe’s eighth birthday party in September.
A glossy invitation with a photograph of Chloe, Dad, and Renee at the aquarium.
Across the top were the words:
FROM THE CARTER FAMILY.
Dad looked confused.
“What am I supposed to see?””
I sat on the edge of the couch.
“That picture was taken on my birthday.””
His eyes lifted.
Renee immediately stepped forward.
“That's ridiculous.””
“No, it isn't.””
I pointed to Dad’s shirt.
“You remember that blue shirt?””
Dad looked down at the invitation.
His expression slowly changed.
We’d gone to the National Aquarium for my sixteenth birthday.
Dad had promised it would be my day.
Renee complained that Chloe would be bored if we did what I wanted, so the afternoon gradually became about Chloe.
Chloe picked the restaurant.
Chloe picked the dessert.
Chloe wanted pictures by the shark exhibit.
And when a stranger offered to photograph all four of us, I stood beside Dad.
The invitation showed the same picture.
Except I was missing.
Dad turned toward Renee.
“You used Micah’s birthday picture for Chloe’s invitation?””
“I used a family photo.””
“He was in it.””
“He didn't need to be on an invitation for an eight-year-old’s birthday.””
“That isn't the point.””
Renee snatched the invitation.
“You two are searching for reasons to attack me now.””
I reached for the second item.
A newsletter Renee had emailed to relatives last spring and later printed for Grandma Carter.
At the bottom was a paragraph:
Daniel and I couldn't be prouder of our little family. Chloe continues to amaze us every day.
Dad read it.
His face tightened.
“Where's Micah?””
Renee laughed nervously.
“It was mostly an update about Chloe.””
“It says ‘our little family.’”
“Daniel, you're twisting words.””
“No,” I said.
“She isn't.””
Renee spun toward me.
“Stay out of this.””
That stunned even Dad.
“He's the subject of this,” Dad said.
“I am tired of being interrogated in my own home!””
“Our home,” Dad corrected.
Renee stared at him.
The air changed.
Dad rarely challenged her.
He hated arguments. Since Mom died when I was nine, Dad had become the kind of person who would absorb tension rather than risk another loss.
Renee knew that.
So did I.
Maybe that was why I had stayed quiet.
I picked up the framed photograph.
Dad recognized it immediately.
It had been taken at his company picnic.
Four of us stood beside the Chesapeake Bay.
Except the framed version contained three.
“Where did you get this?”” Dad asked.
“Hallway closet.””
Renee shook her head.
“That's not even displayed.””
“It used to be.””
Dad looked at me.
“What?””
I swallowed.
“It was on the upstairs table after the picnic.””
I remembered walking past it every morning.
Four smiling faces.
Then one afternoon I came home and saw another version.
Dad. Renee. Chloe.
I had asked Renee about it.
“She told me my face looked awkward,” I said.
Dad slowly turned toward his wife.
“Did you say that?””
“I might have said the picture wasn't flattering.””
“You told me I ruined it.””
“I never said that.””
“You did.””
“Prove it.””
The words came out instantly.
Sharp.
Automatic.
Renee realized her mistake a second too late.
Dad’s eyes narrowed.
“Why would he need to prove it?””
Renee tossed the invitation onto the table.
“Because teenagers exaggerate!””
My throat tightened.
There it was.
The escape hatch she always used.
If I objected, I was sensitive.
If I remembered something, I was exaggerating.
If I questioned her, I was disrespectful.
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“Micah, what's the emergency contact sheet?””
That one was worse.
I handed it over.
It came from my school.
Dad read the names.
Primary guardian: Daniel Carter.
Secondary guardian: Renee Carter.
Emergency contacts: Renee’s mother and Renee’s sister.
Dad frowned.
“Where's Aunt Paulette?””
“She used to be my emergency contact.””
Dad looked up.
“Why was she removed?””
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to.
Dad looked at Renee.
She exhaled sharply.
“I updated the forms because Paulette lives forty minutes away.””
“She lives fifteen minutes from his school.””
“I didn't know that.””
“You've been to her house twenty times.””
Renee’s cheeks flushed.
Then Dad saw something else.
At the bottom of the form was a handwritten note.
Student's biological mother deceased. Please contact stepmother regarding family matters.
Dad stared at it for a long time.
“Who wrote this?””
Nobody spoke.
“Renee.””
“I probably did.””
“Why?””
“So the school wouldn't get confused.””
“Confused about what?””
She hesitated.
“About our family structure.””
I stood.
“What family structure?””
Renee looked at me, and something cold surfaced in her face.
“You have never made this transition easy.””
Dad froze.
I felt the words before I understood them.
“What transition?””
“Renee,” Dad warned.
But she had spent too long defending herself.
Now she couldn't stop.
“I came into this house trying to build a family. I tried with you, Micah. I really did. But every holiday, every tradition, every room in this house still revolves around someone who isn't here.””
My chest tightened.
Dad’s voice dropped.
“Don't.””
Renee pointed toward the mantel.
A photograph of my mother still stood there.
My mother, laughing beside Dad years before cancer hollowed out her face.
“There,” Renee said.
“That. Every day.””
“That's Micah’s mother.””
“And I'm your wife!””
Dad went silent.
Renee’s eyes filled with furious tears.
“For seven years I have lived with a ghost.””
I looked at the Christmas card.
Suddenly, the crop made sense.
It had never been about composition.
It had been about replacement.
Then Dad’s phone buzzed on the coffee table.
A message appeared on the screen.
*Paulette Carter: Daniel, call me before you believe anything Renee tells you about that Christmas card. I kept the original photo.*
Dad read it.
May you like
So did Renee.
And all the color drained from her face.
