With a heavy sigh, he steeled himself, opened his eyes and continued reading:
My actions must seem unfathomable to you, the actions of a crazy person. I wish I could claim that I was crazy. It’d be easier to forgive myself. But I’m not sure depression would qualify, even a depression as dark as the one that encompassed my mind in that moment. I’ve attended group therapy for years here in prison, and if it has taught me anything, it’s to take responsibility for my actions and try to apologize. But in this case, there’s no way an apology could ever be sufficient, and I know that.
Lip service. This was all bullshit. Dallas couldn’t help but clench his jaw. Robert wasn’t taking any responsibility for everything that led up to that day, was blaming it all on one act caused by depression, but only because depression had become such a buzzword, which made it a ready excuse. He’d never mentioned being depressed before—certainly at the time and not even in court. It was alcohol that brought out the worst in him, not depression, but anyone who would embezzle, especially when he was making a decent living as it was, had to be an asshole to begin with.
Still, I’m willing to talk to you about how it all came to pass—not as an excuse, only as an explanation—so that you will at least know what made me snap. The murder of your beautiful mother and sister is not something I like to dwell on. Since I can’t take any of it back, or fix it in any way, it just reopens a wound that will never heal. But if it might help you come to terms with the past, to understand how a father who really did love his family could do what I did, I’ll tell you everything—not that I pretend to truly understand it myself.
Dallas laughed without mirth. He was saying all the right things—exactly what his therapist must’ve told him.
Please let me know if you’d like to meet. You have never written me, or come to see me. Maybe you’re better off left as you are. But I’ve nearly served my time. I’ll be getting out soon and wanted to let you know that. I also wanted to offer to do whatever I can, little though it may be.
Love,
The man you once knew as “Daddy”
Dallas sat there, letting it all sink in, and didn’t realize he was weeping until a tear dropped off his chin. Frustrated that his father could still cause him pain—after so long—he swiped at it with impatience and irritation. But he knew it wasn’t just sorrow for the loss of his mother and sister that he was feeling; it was sadness for what might have been if only his father was capable of the sincerity to which he pretended.
Carefully folding the letter back up, he shoved it into its envelope and put it in the drawer. He didn’t want to see his father. Robert was right. Depression wasn’t an excuse he could accept, because he didn’t believe his father had been depressed. It was narcissism, not depression, that drove him that day, just like every day.
He tried not to think about Robert or anything else as he got ready for bed. He was tempted to head back to Vegas and be done with Silver Springs. It was easier to forget his past when he kept moving forward, kept rolling on, constantly looking toward the next day.
But he couldn’t leave before the wedding, would never do that to Aiyana.
It was at least an hour later, when he was still staring at the ceiling—sleep miles and miles away—that he heard a knock. It was so soft that at first he wasn’t positive there was really someone out there.
“Come in,” he said.
Emery slipped inside the room, wearing an overly large T-shirt. He didn’t know if she had anything on underneath.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said. “I just... I couldn’t sleep. The way things ended tonight... I was too worried about you.”
“I’m fine.” He heard the remoteness in his own voice, the “leave me alone” tone of it, and felt bad, but he didn’t know how to bridge the sudden distance between them.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He could tell she wanted him to open up to her the way she’d opened up to him about Ethan and that sex tape. She had to be surprised by what she’d learned tonight. He hadn’t mentioned what his father had done—even that his father was in prison.
“Okay.” She hesitated for another few seconds, giving him a second chance.
He wanted to reach out to her, to pull her into bed with him. But he struggled with the fact that it felt as though he needed her. He couldn’t help fighting that dependence; the desire alone suggested he should deny himself, or maybe he’d come to need her, which he couldn’t allow.
“I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” she said at last and turned to go.
Before she could let herself out, he managed to force her name past the lump in his throat. He could help her with Ethan, could reach out because she needed him. It was much harder for him to admit when he needed someone.
“Yes?” she said, looking back at him.
He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, but he lifted the covers.
She didn’t react right away. He held his breath while she stood there, deliberating. For some reason, he couldn’t bear to see her go, and yet he had too much pride to ask her to stay, too much fear of how she made him feel and the vulnerability those emotions created.
His heart jumped into his throat when she closed the door, padded across the floor and crawled into bed with him.
He kissed her immediately, parting her lips with his tongue, and started to remove her shirt. He assumed she wanted another sexual encounter. He certainly wasn’t interested in talking. He expressed himself much better physically, and he looked forward to converting
