Margot found herself humming while she was doing the dishes. Just having Gia in town was enough to buoy her spirits. It was her sister who was going to make it possible for her to get out of her current situation, and seeing the way out was almost as exhilarating as actually running through the door. She wanted to spend time with Gia and her parents while she could, so that tempered some of her impatience to get away, especially because she was finding that Gia’s confidence—or at least a little bit of it—had a way of transferring over to her when she was around. Margot knew she was taking a big gamble leaving her husband. She’d never been in the workforce, wasn’t sure her business degree would afford her much after so long, but she’d find a way to pay the rent. She’d do whatever she had to for the sake of her children. Besides, she had no choice. She’d become smaller and smaller and would disappear entirely if she didn’t do something, and there were no half measures with someone as controlling as Sheldon.
“Could it take you any longer to do a few dishes?” Sheldon demanded, coming into the kitchen.
He’d been cleaning his guns in the living room while watching an old Liam Neeson movie. After putting the boys to bed, Margot had assumed he’d be occupied for the rest of the evening and was taking her sweet time, enjoying being alone in what had become her sanctuary. Since he left all the grocery shopping, cooking and cleaning to her, the kitchen was the best place to retreat when she wanted to avoid him.
“I decided to wash down a few cupboards,” she said. But that wasn’t true. She didn’t plan to be living in Wakefield long enough to make such an effort worthwhile. She was leaving him the house. If he wanted clean cupboards, he could handle that himself.
Or Cece could do it...
“Really? You gotta wash cupboards on a Friday night when I’m home?”
Just the sound of his voice made her cringe inside. Apparently, this wasn’t going to be the easy Friday night she’d hoped. The realization dragged her spirits down considerably. “You were busy,” she said. “Talking to your friends on the phone, watching TV, cleaning your guns...”
“I gotta get ready for the trip, don’t I? What do you expect me to do?”
She hadn’t complained about what he was doing. He was the one complaining about what she was doing. “Nothing,” she replied. “I was just making myself useful while you were occupied with other things.”
Coming up behind her, he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him, and it was all Margot could do not to stiffen.
“I’ll finish cleaning my guns in the morning,” he said. “I can think of a lot better things to do now that the kids are asleep. Why don’t we go back into the bedroom?”
He demanded sex almost every day, but Margot couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed it. He didn’t treat her like he cared about her; he was simply using her for pleasure the way he used her to fulfill his other demands.
She was grappling for the self-control to dry her hands and let him lead her down the hall, when he added, “I’ll be gone for a whole week. Might as well stock up while I can, right? I wouldn’t want to leave my wife at home alone, hungry for a man.”
He thought he was so funny. But it was beyond her to laugh. Gritting her teeth, she steeled herself for the next fifteen or twenty minutes. “Sure, no problem,” she said.
Apparently, acquiescence wasn’t enough, because she saw his expression change almost immediately in the reflection in the window over the sink. “God, you don’t have to act like it’s such a chore!”
She must not have kept the dread completely out of her voice. But it wouldn’t be a chore if she had any desire for him, any love left. He was the one who’d destroyed those things, and now he held her accountable for it. “I didn’t say it was a chore.”
“You don’t act very excited.”
“I—You caught me at a bad time.” It was an excuse. But she’d found he usually believed what he wanted to believe—otherwise he’d know how much she hated him—so she wasn’t too worried that he’d challenge her statement.
He dropped his hands. “Jesus. Being with you is about as exciting as watching paint dry.” He opened the fridge and helped himself to another beer. “Are all wives this bad? Because if they are, it’s not hard to understand why men cheat.”
“Are you cheating?” The words came out before she could stop them. An affair could prove helpful, grant her more understanding from his parents and hers—or just ease the guilt she felt for being unable to fix her life in any other way. Cece was contacting him, after all...
His eyebrows snapped together. “Are you accusing me?”
He acted outraged, but for a split second she thought she spotted a flicker of guilt in his eyes. There was something going on between him and his ex-girlfriend; she’d bet her life on it.
Margot drew a deep, steadying breath. “Just asking,” she said and met his gaze without flinching for the first time in ages.
He popped the top off his beer. “You see why I don’t like you hanging out with your troublemaker sister?”
He hadn’t answered her question. He was deflecting it instead. “Hanging out with her?” she echoed. “Today was the first time I’ve been able to spend any time with Gia in months. And it was only breakfast! You can’t blame anything on her.”
“Just seeing her makes you different, changes you for the worse,” he insisted.
“Because I’m bolder? More willing to stand up for myself?”
He looked startled. “What do you mean ‘stand up for yourself’? I’m not doing anything to you.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No,” he said with a scowl. “It’s you, not me.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “What have I done?”
“I told you, you’re acting like your bitch of a sister, and you seem proud of it.”
“I am, actually.” She knew she was being reckless. She was drunk on the small amount of power she seemed to possess in this moment. But she knew how quickly that would change, that he’d get back on top somehow. He always did.
His eyes narrowed. “Be careful, or you’re really going to piss me off.”
Her heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of her chest, but there was another force inside her, stronger than the fear, that was urging her on. She’d been dying to tell him exactly what she thought of him for so long... “What if I don’t care?”
His jaw dropped. “What the hell, Margot? You see what Gia does? Maybe it’s a mistake to go hunting while she’s here. If I let her have that kind of influence, there’s no telling what I might come home to.”
Margot had expected him to get mad and start a blistering argument. She was suddenly spoiling for a fight—if only to avoid having sex with him tonight. But this... No, he had to go to Utah. Everything she’d planned depended on having that time before he learned what was happening.
Praying that the panic she felt at his last words hadn’t already revealed itself on her face, she shrugged and turn back to the dishes. “That’d be nice, actually. I could use your help with the boys while I deal with my mother.”
“What do you mean...deal with your mother? There’s nothing more you can do for her,” he said as if she shouldn’t still be whining about it.
“Losing your mother is...is heartbreaking and...and traumatic, especially in this way!” she said through gritted teeth.
“I have no doubt that’s true, but...let’s be real,” he said. “Everyone’s going to lose their mother at some point. That’s life.”
Shocked that he could be so callous, she turned to face him again. “Are you serious right now? What if it was your mother?” She almost said “sainted” mother, because he was such a mama’s boy, but she’d already caused enough trouble for herself for one night.
He studied her for several seconds. “Forget it,” he snapped and walked out.
“So you’re staying? You’re not going hunting?” she called out as he disappeared into the other room. The only way to convince him to go was to make him think she preferred that he stay. Reverse psychology worked on him better than most people. But there was always the chance he’d surprise her, especially if he was growing suspicious.
“I’m thinking about it,” he yelled back, and Margot dropped her head in her hands. What on earth had she done?
There were books all over Cormac’s father’s house, but they weren’t neatly organized like they’d been before Sharon had forced him to take his stuff and move out. They were piled on every horizontal surface, even on the kitchen counter—too close to the stove, but his father refused to listen. There were papers and bookmarks sticking out of them, too. Or they were lying face down, creased at the spine where Evan had left off reading to pick another book or go to work.
Reading had always been a passion for him, so much so that he’d named his three children after American writers—Cormac McCarthy, Louisa May Alcott and Edith Wharton. But these days he’d sunk so deeply into the imaginary worlds these authors and others had created, he wasn’t doing much real living. Cormac was glad Evan hadn’t lost his love of the written word. At least he still had that. But he wished his father could get some balance in his life and take care of a few other things—like mowing the yard so the neighbors would quit calling to complain.
“Hey, it’s me! You here?” Cormac yelled, confronting the mess while pocketing his keys and slamming the door behind him.
It took a few minutes before his father finally appeared from the back bedroom, looking tired and rumpled. Cormac had found him passed out drunk so many times that he had a spare key. Whenever Evan didn’t answer the door, he let himself in, as he had tonight.
Discouragement settled on Cormac’s shoulders like a heavy rucksack. “What’s going on? Didn’t you go to work today?”
“No, I didn’t make it today. I... I wasn’t feeling well.”
Because he had a hangover? It looked like that might be the case. He hadn’t even shaved or combed his hair.
Or was it that he’d been too immersed in whatever book he was reading? Lately, he’d been on a fantasy kick. “How many sick days have you taken this year?”
“I don’t know,” his father replied.
Cormac was willing to bet he had some idea—and that it was too many. “You’re going to lose your job. You know that, don’t you? And then where will you be?”
“I haven’t missed that many days,” he said with a scowl. “I didn’t want to be out and about, not with Gia in town. You think I want her to see me working at a tractor shop?”
Cormac’s head was beginning to hurt. He’d probably let himself get dehydrated since he took Mrs. Wood and Astro to the park this morning. He needed to remember to drink more water. But it was also his father. “I think you need to go on and live your life and forget about her—I mean completely. I’ve decided we all need to do that. Who cares if she’s in town? Getting fired will only...” He’d been about to say, Getting fired will only allow her to take more from you than she already has. But he could no longer bring words like those to his lips, which said something about the doubt that’d crept in over the last twenty-four hours. “Getting fired will only put you in a worse position,” he finished instead.
“Cliff’s not going to fire me,” his father said, grimacing to show his skepticism. “He and Marilou are lucky to have me down there. I’m way overqualified for the job.”
And yet he’d been a terrible employee. Didn’t he understand that his qualifications didn’t matter if he didn’t actually apply himself? “It’s a living, Dad. It pays your rent. You can’t afford to lose it. And think about them. They’re not babysitters. They’re relying on you to help with their business.”
His father raked his fingers through his hair, which had grayed and begun to thin in front. His beard growth, which was so prominent today, was gray, too, and he had deep lines in his face. “Don’t be a judgmental ass. I know what my responsibilities are. I was sick. I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
Cormac was willing to bet he’d been well enough to work today. But he hadn’t come over to try to police his father’s lazy approach to his job. As much as Cormac was afraid to learn the answer, he wanted to know if Evan had been lying about what happened with Gia that long-ago night.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Turning his bloodshot eyes toward the clock, Evan yawned. “It’s Friday night. I rarely see you on a Friday.”
Because Cormac usually went out with his friends—or had a date. After a long week at the clinic, he took Saturdays off, wasn’t even on call thanks to a deal he’d made with Vinny DiVincenzo, the vet in the next town over. Vinny covered both offices on Saturday, and Cormac covered both offices on Sunday. That way they each had one day a week they weren’t going to get called out on an emergency. “I’m on my way home from the clinic and have Duke in the truck, so I can’t stay long, but I came to tell you that Gia showed up at my office a few minutes ago.”
His father dropped his hand from his hair. “She...what? Why? She’s never approached you before.”
“It was Louisa’s fault. She called Ida today.”
“What for?”
“Because she wants what you want, Dad. What we all want. A retraction.”
“Gia won’t give us one. Not after all this time.”
Cormac studied his father, wishing he could see what was going on behind his eyes, because there were no telltale signs he was lying. Had that been the case, had there been the slightest hint of dishonesty, Cormac would’ve stopped believing him years ago. “You’ve been talking about confronting her for so long. I guess Louisa couldn’t stop herself from stepping up to say something.”
His father seemed thoughtful. “How’d Ida respond? She and I are friendly, you know.”
“Actually, I didn’t know. She speaks to you?”
“Not exactly. We don’t have any business that’s brought us together. But she treats me kindly enough when we pass on the street.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s going to take up your case against her own daughter, Dad,” Cormac said. “She’s not interested in getting involved. For one thing, she’s probably too sick. It was insensitive of Louisa to even contact her.”
Evan didn’t say whether he agreed with that assessment or not. He seemed to think it over for a few minutes. Then he scratched the back of his neck and said, “What’d Gia have to say?”
“She was mad as hell that Louisa had bothered her mother, and I can see why.”
His father walked around the counter and into the kitchen, opened the fridge and pulled out two beers, one of which he offered to Cormac.
Cormac shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood to relax with his old man and have a cold one. He was irritated by the way Evan lived his life, and he was no longer sure he could blame Gia for it. The cognitive dissonance he was beginning to experience was bringing a whole new kind of discomfort; he just wanted to be put out of his misery. And he hoped his father could make that happen by convincing him that what he was beginning to suspect wasn’t the actual way of things.
“Did you talk to her?” Evan asked.
“I did. I had to act as referee so the situation wouldn’t get out of control. Louisa was freaking out.”
Cormac heard the release of the pressure in the can when his father popped the top. “So...how’d it end?”
“You were right—Gia won’t back off on what she said.”
He raised his eyebrows before taking a big gulp of his beer. When he didn’t reply, Cormac looked around at the kitchen. There was food stuck to plates sitting between and on the various stacks of books, trash overflowing the wastebasket, milk that’d been left out to spoil... “Have you had anything to eat today?”
“Had a sandwich earlier.”
“You’ve got to clean this place up. It’s not healthy in here. It’s been seventeen years since Gia accused you of molesting her. It’s time to put that behind you whether it happened or not.”
His father’s head jerked up. “Whether it happened or not?”
Cormac had just inadvertently revealed his doubt, but he’d been planning to steer the conversation in that direction, anyway. “That’s right. Why would she say it if it isn’t true?”
“We’ve been over this! She wanted me to raise her grade!”
“She claims you invited her to the house to talk about her grade. And that’s when it happened.”
Suddenly, his father crushed the can even though it was still full, causing beer to run out onto his hand as well as the floor. “Are you kidding me?” he yelled, throwing it against the wall. “I’m getting this from you now, too? You of all people, Cormac?”
Cormac stared at the beer running down the wall and the can that’d landed on the floor. Evan didn’t raise his voice that often. Cormac had obviously touched a nerve. He’d always been so careful not to look too closely for fear he might lose something even greater than he’d lost so far. But the need to know the truth was growing and so was the desire he felt for that incident to be resolved in his mind at last. “She’s always been beautiful,” he said, keeping his voice low but insistent. “Appealing. Engaging. Sexy as hell. I remember her clearly and can see why you might’ve found her attractive. She was almost an adult. It wasn’t as if she was a little girl. You were a popular teacher. Maybe you thought her feelings mirrored your own or...or you thought she was coming on to you? Just tell me the truth, Dad! Did you do it? Because I don’t want to continue to defend you if you’re the guilty party. It’s not right. It’s not fair. Especially to someone who’s been victimized.”
“I didn’t do it!” he yelled. “How many times do I have to say it? I didn’t do it!”
Cormac closed his eyes against the echo of his father’s voice. He’d been hoping for some clarity. But he didn’t know any more now than when he’d driven over here, intent on finally pressing Evan. He couldn’t say if he’d ever know.
Evan was adamant.
But so was Gia.