***
The following morning, he called.
“I’ve been thinking about renovating the girls’ bedroom.”
“That’s generous.”
“I could pay for everything.”
“Why the sudden interest?”
His entire return seem suspicious.
“Because I’m their father.”
“Then tell me what Debbie likes for breakfast.”
“Emma, don’t start.”
“What do you actually want, Mark?”
“I want to help. Speaking of which, do you still have the twins’ birth certificates?”
I could pay for everything.
I stopped stirring my coffee. “Why?”
“For medical insurance.”
“They already have coverage.”
“I could arrange something better.”
“You don’t need their original documents for a conversation about insurance.”
What do you actually want, Mark?
“Fine. Forget what I asked.”
He hung up.
I called Margaret, Mark’s mother.
She’d always loved the girls, but after our divorce, Mark had made it difficult for us to stay in touch. Eventually, we’d stopped talking altogether.
“Emma,” she whispered. “Has Mark contacted you?”
