“I’m sorry, Mom. That’s the last thing he’d ever want to make you feel.”
“I agree. The fact that he does it anyway suggests he has to do it. But why? How many times can one person cheat death?”
“You know he feels responsible for his sister’s murder, feels as though Jenny might’ve been able to get out of the house if she hadn’t tried to draw their father’s attention away from him so he could hide.”
“I do. But he was so young—”
“Doesn’t matter. He has to cope with a great deal of survivor’s guilt.”
She opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out the letter she’d received from Dallas’s father. “And I gave the man who killed her Dallas’s address,” she said with a sigh.
“What? You’ve heard from his father?”
She took the letter from its envelope and stared at the tiny, cramped printing—all of it in pencil. “He wrote me from prison, pleading for a way to contact Dallas. And I...”
“Felt sorry for him?” Eli asked incredulously.
“No, not that. I was hoping he’d say something to Dallas that would heal old wounds, something that might make it possible for Dallas to forgive himself for living instead of dying that day. I thought maybe then Dallas would quit rambling around, taking such foolish chances and denying himself the community and support of his friends and family.”
“I’m guessing it didn’t work out that way.”
“Dallas isn’t happy that I gave Robert his address. He’s received a letter from him, but he hasn’t opened it. Says he’s not sure he ever will.”
“Maybe that’s for the best,” Eli said. “Maybe what his father has to say will only make matters worse.”
“In the letter he sent me, Robert sounds sincerely sorry. But you could be right. I might’ve made a mistake.”
“You never know,” Eli said. “It’s possible that it’s a good thing this is coming up again.”
“In what way?”
“If Dallas has to face it and rethink it all as a man, he might come to better conclusions than he did as a child, might finally be able to get beyond it.”
“I hope so. It’s not as if he’s been willing to go to therapy—not since I took him to that one psychologist, Dr. Smith, who retired after a couple of years with him. Remember?”
“He told me a psychologist couldn’t change the facts.”
“He told me that, too,” she said, “but he seemed to do a lot better when he was working with Dr. Smith. The nightmares eased a bit. I know that much.”
“Maybe he’ll try therapy again one day. We can’t force him. Where is he now?”
“He took Emery to LA.”
“You don’t think there’s any chance of them getting together, do you?”
“I don’t know. At first I was hopeful, but if he won’t settle down, it will only drag her into the same morass of worry I’m in.”
“Maybe she’ll be able to fulfill him. Having Cora come into my life made a huge difference for me.”
“Yes,” she said, as though that made her more optimistic. But while Eli had been severely abused as a child, he hadn’t watched his father murder his mother and sister.
That made everything permanent.
11
It was probably completely natural for Emery to touch him so often. They were friends, they’d had a couple of drinks, and they were out forgetting about Ethan and having a good time. Dallas just wasn’t used to having a woman take his hand, grab his arm or spontaneously hug him—not unless she was also open to a sexual relationship. And, as a result, his mind kept shooting off in a completely different direction, one that was decidedly not platonic.
But he didn’t have a lot of female friends. He spent half the year climbing, surrounded almost entirely by men. Even during the winter, when he worked at the gym, he dealt with more men than he did women. His students had mothers, of course, but they were usually married or too old for him. And Emery was particularly attractive...
After a delicious Mexican dinner, where they’d talked and laughed for nearly two hours, they’d decided to leave his van at Beer & Salsa and take an Uber to Rodeo Drive. They’d both had one too many margaritas, so they weren’t ready to drive back to Silver Springs, and Emery wanted to see the Christmas decorations in this ritzy area. He suspected she also wanted to show him her city. It was obvious by the way she talked about living in LA that she loved it.
As they strode along, she slipped her arm through his, and he once again told himself it was no big deal. She didn’t mean anything by it. It had been much warmer before the sun went down, so warm they’d left their jackets behind, and now it was growing chilly—that was all. But the awareness he was beginning to feel, despite trying to ignore it, was getting so distracting he was having trouble focusing on what she said.
“What do you think?” she asked.
He didn’t have an answer. He’d missed every word except the last question. He’d been too busy imagining what it might be like to kiss the girl he’d been too afraid to ask out back in high school—even as he chastised himself for considering it.
“I...” He looked down into her expectant face and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. I zoned out there for a second. What’d you say?”
She pulled her arm away. “It’s okay. Are you getting tired?” she asked as though she was suddenly worried she might be boring him. “We can go home, if you’re ready.”
“No. I’m not able to drive quite yet. I just...had something else on my mind. What was it you said?”
“I
