we feel like it. Perfect with me. I hope you’ve been seeing someone.”
“One someone. A girl.”
“I hope it’s a girl.” She laughed. “In Montana?” “Nashville.”
“Recent development, then. Nice girl?”
“Yeah. Really nice. She’s studying anthropology.” Paul wished he hadn’t mentioned Sherry. “She’s young. Too young, I think.” It wasn’t a relationship, though maybe it could be.
“She’ll be at home in Montana?”
At home in Montana? No, I don’t think it’s like that at all. God, I wish I could grab her and things could be the way they were. Paul shifted his weight so the cane took more of it off the floor. His leg hurt. “Saw the paintings downstairs. Well, I didn’t look close. I wanted to. I’m glad your career has… You’ve done so well.”
“We get by financially. Hell, we do really great in that department. It’s just hard because there’s never enough time. The kids help out and don’t complain too much, but I’ve been working seven days a week. The show.”
“Germany. I heard. We always planned to go to Germany, remember?”
She dropped her arms to her sides. “I need to start getting the children ready if we’re leaving. For the boat, I mean.”
Paul caught something in Laura’s eyes. Something soft. A memory passing through. She has to feel something… deep inside, maybe?
“Laura. I’m changing,” he blurted.
“I’m happy for you,” she said. “I hope we’re all changing.”
“The last time we were together… I seem to remember that we had a fight.”
She laughed. “Had a fight? Had a fight? Paul, you have a talent for understating. The police came. You destroyed our bedroom. Threw a doorstop through the TV set. Slapped…”
“I hit you?”
“Yes, you did hit me. But I accept my share of the blame. Drop that weight here. That’s the past and you weren’t yourself.”
“Your share?”
It was as if a curtain that he had been peeking under lifted to reveal a reality he had covered over in his mind to make it bearable. He remembered the way a drunk will remember the night before, in swatches, unpleasant swatches of humiliating moments. He remembered that he had made a sexual overture after a day of throwing temper tantrums and snapping at the family. He remembered pulling Laura close and kissing her. He remembered that she had pushed him away and started crying. “Don’t touch me!” she’d said. “Who the hell are you? I don’t even know who you are!”
“What’s wrong?” he’d said.
“What’s wrong? Look in the mirror. Tell me what’s wrong. You aren’t the man I married, the man who fathered my children. You’re a mutilated madman who terrorizes my family. What makes you think I want to sleep with you?” She had turned to leave. “I’d rather take a beating.”
He had seized her from behind by the shoulders and thrown her to the bed. Then he had pinned her and started taking her blouse off. And she had… she had… laughed. She had laughed. “Oh, please fuck me, mister,” she had said, laughing. “It’s my best fantasy. To be screwed by a monster.”
Then he had taken her, and he had taken her in anger. He had torn her clothes off and had forced himself on her. Had she resisted? Or did she give in? When he had expended himself and collapsed on top of her, she had lain there, still, beneath him.
“Thank you,” he’d said. Thank you? Why not I’m sorry, forgive me? Help me because I hurt and I can’t do anything to feel better.
“Get off me, you freak.” Her voice had been a hard whisper, a hiss.
And he had slapped her, and she had fled to their bathroom and locked the door. He had wanted to apologize, he had wanted to take it all back. He had been ashamed beyond belief. He had flown into a rage that controlled him completely, and he had destroyed the house like a drunken vandal. He remembered sobbing and railing at the injustice of life. He remembered the police banging on the door and finally coming in with their weapons drawn. The image of Laura holding the side of her face, which was swelling, and telling them that everything was okay. Then, through the fog of emotion, Thorne arriving and explaining to the cops what Paul had been through in Miami. He remembered that was why he had left. Anger and shame and the sure knowledge that she and the children were better off alone. Safer alone. He had known that he wasn’t good enough for them as he was. And he was haunted by a future that was lost.
He looked at Laura. I love you… forgive me… God, please, Laura. I love you so much. I feel like I will die without a chance to start again… make up for what I’ve done to you, my children, to myself. But he couldn’t say any of it. “You still have that pocket gun I gave you?”
“Yes. In a box in the closet.”
“I want you to get it and put it in your purse and keep it with you until this is over. I don’t want you to tell anyone, and I mean anyone, that you have it. Not my people, not even Reid.”
“Why not even Reid?” The softness in Laura died and was replaced with stainless steel. “Who the hell are you to tell me to keep something, anything, from him? He cares about me… us. I don’t even know who you are. You can’t even trust your own men. What’s going on here?”
“You share everything with him?”
“Did I ever keep secrets from you?”
We weren’t talking about me. Paul shook his head. “No. I don’t imagine you did. I apologize.”
“I won’t mention it. I mean, if you really believe it’s best. You’re the professional. But I don’t like it.”
“I need to talk to the children.”
She frowned. “Well, Paul, you’ve already talked to your son. You remember, don’t you? I do. I found him staring out the window at three o’clock in the morning thinking about how wonderful the experience was. And Erin probably has a few things she wants to impart, but I doubt you want to hear them.”
“I’ve made some-”
“Mistakes, you weren’t really going to say mistakes, were you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let’s make this the last mistake, shall we?” She stood again. “Let me see if they want to say good-bye. Then, either way, I want you to just leave us in peace. A bunch of false promises will just… You’ve already done enough damage for a lifetime.”
“I said I’ve changed.”
“What, you just read Embraced by the Light or The Road Less Traveled or something? Had a spiritual awakening, have you? Oh, Paul, give me a break.”
“No.”
“Do what you want, you always have.” She whirled and left the room, leaving only her scent lingering. Paul fought the urge to throw himself onto the bed and cry like a baby. Inside, where his heart lived, he did just that. He was sick with himself. Facing himself as she saw him was more painful than anything he had ever felt before. It was torture.
Erin was staring out the window when her father tapped at her door.
“What?” she said, her voice filled with irritation. “Is he still here?”
He opened the door and stuck his head in. “Erin, I wanted to say something to you. As your father.”
“You aren’t my father.” She lifted the picture of her on Paul’s shoulders. He was smiling-her tongue was sticking out at the camera. “This was my father, but he’s dead.” She tossed the photo onto the bed, facedown.
“Erin,” he started. “I’m leaving in a few minutes. I wanted to say that I know what I have done to you, what I’ve been, and I hope the future can be different from the past.”
“It will. Because I won’t waste time caring about you anymore. I wasted a lot of days and nights thinking about… feeling responsible for… Never mind. Why don’t you just get out of here? We don’t need you.”
Paul searched her eyes to see if she was serious or talking out of pain. He realized he didn’t know how to read his child’s eyes. He didn’t know who she was. He felt as if he had walked into a world where things reminded him of something he had once known, but where he was a stranger. He felt unwelcome-was unwelcome. Why shouldn’t I feel like this? he wondered. These people don’t know me. Why did I think they would?
