I opened my eyes, with a jolt from the half memory, half dream. The horrible rotten-egg smell still permeated my nose, making my head throb. Was there a gas leak? I took a few deep breaths, and then all I could smell was the vanilla scent of my hotel room. No. My head throbbed because I’d hit it earlier.
But there had been a gas leak, in my dream. That’s what I had been smelling. And George had died because of a gas leak. Was it possible that I had been there that night, that I had put Will in danger by convincing him to stay hidden in a pantry?
The movie—and the memoir—skimmed over the night of George’s death. All I knew was the barest minimum. That the gas stove had been faulty, causing a leak that eventually caused the house to explode. Only George had been inside at the time. But the book didn’t mention where anyone else had been, Gloria, or Will. And it certainly didn’t mention that my mother and I had been staying there at the time. Had we? Was that real?
You already hurt Will once, Gloria had said earlier. Is that what she meant? Had I made him hide in the pantry with me and almost gotten him killed from carbon monoxide by not calling for help? But even if that was true, I was only a little kid. I hadn’t been trying to hurt him. And why was I even there in the first place? Was it because Max truly was my father? Did that have something to do with it?
I rolled over and watched Will sleeping peacefully now. I reached my hand up and touched his cheek softly with my thumb. With his eyes closed and his glasses on the nightstand, he looked younger. I could almost see something in his face that slightly resembled the little boy in my dream. But more, I could see this beautiful man, who, in spite of whatever might have happened to him, to both of us, in the past, he was now fiercely protective of a mother who clearly desperately needed him. And that’s when it hit me. Maybe Gloria was right about one thing: Will and I couldn’t be together. If I stayed with him, against Gloria’s wishes, we couldn’t keep this a secret forever. I was going to end up hurting him, for real.
His eyes suddenly popped open. He looked at me looking at him, and he smiled. “You should be asleep,” he murmured. He reached up and stroked my hair, tucking it gently behind my ear. His thumb traced my cheekbone, and my heart pounded against the walls of my chest.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to try and center myself. And then I reached up and gently moved his hand away from my face. “Will,” I said his name softly, but firmly. And it took every bit of acting I had left in me to say what I did next believably: “I want you to leave.”
“Leave?” The way he repeated the word like he couldn’t comprehend it, hit with a steady ache in my chest.
My heart clenched, but I nodded.
He offered a gentle Will-smile of understanding. “You want to be alone to go to sleep tonight?”
I kept my expression neutral as I continued talking and spoke calmly, with no hesitation. “You said if I ever wanted you to leave, I should tell you.”
Understanding seemed to hit him, and he rolled over and groped around the nightstand for his glasses. Then he put them on his face, sat up and stared at me hard for a moment. “You really want me to leave?” he repeated softly like he couldn’t quite believe I’d actually said it.
I nodded. “We knew this was just a quick crazy thing,” I said coldly. My heart hurt as I spoke, as I watched his face turn in surprise, disbelief and then sadness. “I want you to leave,” I repeated. I kept my voice flat, emotionless. “And we should forget any of this ever happened.”