Coldly, I tell him I’m fine, not taking my eyes off of Oliver. He asks me if I’ve had anything to drink or eat, and I tell him no. “I already checked my blood pressure. It’s normal.”
Aunt Peg and the doctor look at each other for a passing second.
The doctor asks me what my reading was, and I tell him normal again.
“It’s wonderful that you perform your own blood pressure reading, but I still have to do a regular check-up.”
He takes my blood pressure with a more advanced monitor than mine, and whispers “one-twenty over fifty-nine” when the reading comes up.
I go at the closet after he un-cuffs my arm, and dig through the drawers. I slip on a sweater and some tennis shoes. I haul my suitcase and begin slamming clothes inside it.
“Sophie, what are you doing?” Aunt Peg asks, too careful with her tone.
I continue to go about my packing. I zip the suitcase shut, grab the handle, and drag it up. I feel Oliver’s hand on my waist, coming from behind me. “Sophie,” he says.
“Please, don’t touch me,” I whisper like I’m sore. But he makes no move to do as I say. Slowly, I turn around with my brows scrunched up and face him. Aunt Peg and the doctor scurry out the door.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“Do you want to leave? Is that it?” He waves his glass dismissively. “You want to run away from everything? You want to hide and pretend like it’s not happening? You never let up in that department, do you?”
“You don’t understand and I’m not going to explain it to you.”
“This is not easy on anybody, Sophie. Not for you, not for me, not for your sister—”
“She’s not my sister!” I scream from the darkest of my pits. “Don’t say that again! Don’t you ever say that again!”
He takes a big gulp of the glass. “Yeah, well, go ahead, if this is what you want then leave. Leave me. But know that if you leave and anything happens to you, I will lose myself. You hear me?” His voice raises. “I will lose myself.”
“What about me? I’ve lost myself already.”
“I’ll bring you back, Sophie. This is your home. Whatever it takes, I’m here. Look at me.” He cups my face with his hands. “I’m here. I want to be with you. Don’t keep me away. Not now.”
I’m fighting to keep the tears back once again. I slowly shake my head to make him let go of my face. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
He hurls his glass at the wall and smashes it. I flinch for a second. “I was supposed to keep you safe!” I don’t think I’ve heard him shout before. He must have seen my shocked expression because he soon comes close and looks at me with such pain in his eyes. In the time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him display such emotion.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” he says, reaching for my hand. “People lie all the time, Sophie. To you, to me, to everyone. You have to play with the hand you’re dealt.”
“This isn’t a game! I’ve never lied to you!”
“You haven’t?”
“No. I haven’t! Not like this!” I angrily wipe a tear that is starting to slide down my cheek.
“Tell me you aren’t keeping something from someone right now.” Naturally, my brain, that opportune piece of machinery, tosses a thought involving Jess, Eric, and I. “Let me ask you this, have you or haven’t you kept the truth from someone because you were trying to protect them?”
“That’s...that’s not how it is. Don’t turn this around!”
“How is it then?”
Surprisingly, I come up with a quick answer. “We don’t lie to protect the other person, Oliver. We lie to protect ourselves from the consequences. We lie because we don’t want to deal with our own feelings. We lie because we don’t want things to change. Not by our hand. So a wall starts to build. Don’t think I don’t know that since I moved in you’ve been distant, closed up like a clam, avoiding me...I didn’t know why. But, I know now.”
His thick eyebrows slant down a bit, giving a sad look. “You remember when I ran off at four in the morning?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Yes.”
“It was Sarah saying that Bridges had escaped from prison. I had so much going through my head.”
“Ah, everything makes sense when you see the whole picture.”
“Your aunt didn’t want me to tell you. She was supposed to tell you herself. I wanted to. I swear I wanted to. I found out the truth about Sarah the day you moved in. I came home and found you in the closet. I had never seen you cry. Seeing you like that did something to me, Sophie. I didn’t have it in me to tell you, to cause you more pain. I was a coward. That’s the truth,” he explains softly. “Sarah had already testified against Bridges. She made several statements about Bridges, implicating herself, which had him convicted for multiple crimes. I was trying to handle things on my own. I had it all thought through in my head.” He grits his teeth in fury. “I had a plan and it didn’t happen.”
“And what? You’re upset?”
“Damn right I am,” he says firmly. “I was trying so hard. For you. For us. And I failed.”
I frown. The sadness in his eyes is doing all sorts of weird little things to my heart. “Don’t...don’t say that.”
“He escaped goddammit!” He overthrows the bedside lamp with a blow of his fist. My hands twitch as his wrath consumes him.
Everything is telling me to scream “why?” But why is a dangerous question. It’d be wise to ask him about John Bridges. It’d even be wise to ask him what he wants me to do next. But I can’t seem to verbalize the words. There’s something stuck in my throat, something blocking the words from coming out.
He gently grabs the back of my neck, making his forehead lean against mine. “I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry, baby.”
“I don’t need any more apologies.” My voice sounds more pained than anything.
“What do you need?” He looks into my eyes. “Whatever you need, I will provide.”
“I need you to let me go.” I pause, the words burning as they pass over my tongue and lips like acid. “Can you do that?”
“No, of course not. I can’t. Why would I let you go?”
I look around to avoid eye contact.
“Sophie.”
“Because I can’t do this! I’m spent. I had you on a pedestal, Oliver. I would’ve gladly walked on shattered glass for you. Put my hands in fire for you, because I had no doubts. You would never betray me.”
“I already said I was sorry.”
“Do you know what hurts me the most?”
He looks surprised for a moment, then a little sad.
“Let’s try this,” I say. “If you answer the question correctly I’ll stay and I’ll forget all about this.”
He thinks for a moment, contemplates seriously. “You already said why. I kept the truth from you.”
“Wrong answer.” I grab my suitcase’s handle.
He takes my wrist and looks me straight in the eye. “Tell me, please.”
Silence.
“Sophie, tell me.”
“Because you decided I couldn’t take it!” I shout. “You kept the truth from me because you thought I couldn’t handle it. You were so wrong! I can take it straight up! That’s what hurts me the most. I’m not some fragile thing that needs to be treated like a glass house, Oliver. It’s humiliating and it just pisses me off that you pretend like I’m not strong. I get that you’re a man...you feel the need to protect me. I get that you’re afraid and my strength feels dangerous to you. And you know what? It should feel that way, because it is. It’s power. I assure you I’ve been through hell and made it back fine. My world isn’t going to come crashing down because I suddenly have a sister I didn’t know about. I know how to deal with pain and it’s not going to kill me. But this,” I shake my head, “this is...killing me. I trusted you.”
He looks at me with such sad eyes, and it is wholly unbearable. He gently p
ulls me against him and kisses the top of my head. We breathe together, quiet, until Oliver moves out of the way. I’ve been choking on a sob all this time, dying from the fear of losing him. The hardest part of watching him go out the door—when all my body really wants is to be held tightly—is knowing he might’ve agreed to let me go already. But at the same time, there’s a fiery rage penned up inside me and the weight of that is pushing down on me, crippling me, crushing me like a stone. I love him, but being with him is hurting me.
I know in my gut that leaving Oliver and this house behind will be painful, and possibly a mistake, a mistake that might create another list of new obstacles. Nothing changes. I take a minute or two to think about how much of an adjustment this is. Oliver leaves the room. I look at the bed longingly. It’s just a bed, I say in my head. It’s just a house. It’s just a man.
I trek out of the room and pull my suitcase up the steps—hearing the wheels click-clacking against them—that lead to the living room. When I reach the top, the first thing I hear is, “How can you possibly let her leave, Oliver?”
He paces back and forth. “She wishes to leave, Margaret,” he answers.
“No! She can’t leave. You know what danger she faces! I’m not willing to take a risk here, Oliver. That’s my family right there! We have to think about what we’re going to do! She doesn’t know any better! We have to—”
“I can hear you, Aunt Peg. I’m standing right here,” I say as she keeps shouting.
She says I have to face this. She says I can’t run away from this. She says I need to start being responsible. “Sarah is gone and we don’t know where she went. Poor thing is alone out there. We have to find her.”
“Oh, and this is my fault? How is all of this my fault?” I extend my arms horizontally. “I believe this is your fault.” I point to Aunt Peg. “And your fault.” I point to Oliver. “You screw up, you fix it. You correct your own mistakes. Don’t blame me for them. Don’t make me pay for them. I’m done fixing everything for you! I’m done being the fixer! I’m done paying your bills! Get a job! Make Uncle Pete get a job!”
“Sophie, that’s enough.” Oliver’s voice rumbles.
“He’s been lying to you! Start with that! Start with your husband!”
I’m caught by a horrifying surprise. I don’t even know what’s happening until I hear a loud clap and my cheek fires up. She hit me. I had never seen her temper blown. It makes me feel powerless and degraded. I clutch my face, eyes watering.
“You’re just like her,” I say, my voice breaking. “You’re just like Susan.”
“Sophie...” Her face contours into a mask of agony. “I’m...sorry. I...didn’t mean to.” Realizing what she did, she covers her mouth and collapses onto the sofa.
“Where do you want to go?” Oliver asks with one hand on his hip like nothing just happened, the other running through his disheveled hair.
I reply with the lowest whisper, “My apartment.”
“This is your apartment.”
“No. This is yours.”
“All right. I’ll take you myself.”
“No, I don’t need you to—”
“I didn’t ask you a question, Sophie. I will take you.”
“Fine” is all I have to say.
***
AUNT PEG IS able to gather and say the words, “Please be safe” to me, just before Oliver leads me into the kitchen and through a not-very-visible door.
“Where are we going?”
“To get the car.”
It’s dark in the room. The only thing I can see is Oliver putting his palm on a wall-mounted panel. Lights come up in a second. Four roadsters appear behind the glass walls.
At this point, I know it’s stupid, but I ask anyway, “You’re driving?”
“Yes.” He takes my suitcase and lands it on the back seat of a radiant blue car.
“Aren’t you drunk?”
“I had a few drinks. So?”
“You can’t drive.”
“On.” He commands, once we are in our seats. The engine blazes its power. An automated female voice greets, “Welcome, Mr. Black,” as a flash of the words Tesla Motors appear on the navigation system screen.
“I’m fine. I wouldn’t jeopardize our lives or someone else’s. Would you rather drive instead?”
Metal clanks and resonates, but the car doesn’t move. I’m wondering how a car—kept at the penthouse floor—will make it out to the streets, but then he drives us to where the floor starts moving, and we begin to descend. Car elevator is my conclusion.
“No. I don’t know how to drive,” I say, staring out the window, trying to understand the auto lift.
“You mean a stick?”
“I mean a car.”
“You don’t?”
“I never needed to learn. I don’t know anything about cars. I don’t even know what kind of car this is.”
The car elevator stops all of a sudden. He presses a button on the sun visor, and the garage door begins to lift. He slips on a pair of brown-gradient aviators.
“This is a Blue Galina. It’s my own design,” he says.
“Of course is it.”
The car’s interior is pure extravagance. A portion of the leather could very well find a place inside New York’s Museum of Modern Art. The letter B is embossed on the elegant steering wheel and on the headrests.
“Now where are we going?” I ask as he turns a wrong corner. “This is not the way to my apartment.”
“You haven’t had any food.”
“I’ll have food when I’m there. You agreed to take me home.”
He doesn’t look at me or say anything, but by the way he grips the wheel and grits his teeth, I can only guess he’s rigid with fury.
When we get to the building that harbors my apartment—or what used to be mine and is now Jessica’s—Oliver unfastens his seat belt while I stay still.
I squeeze my eyes and breathe. “How did you find out?” My voice is close to a whisper.
He stares at the windshield. “Does it matter?”
“Yes.” I look at him. “Yes it does.”
“The day I met Sarah, at the yacht party, I knew she was lying. I knew she wasn’t looking for the powder room. And she knew who I was, even though she said she didn’t. Everything that came out of her mouth was a lie. There was something more going on. I was interested in knowing what.”
“How did you find her?”
A heavy sigh escapes him. “After I asked my sister about her and it turned out that she had never seen or heard of Sarah before, I called in favors. Bribed. Threatened, really. And I found Sarah.” The quiet that comes next isn’t comforting. It’s wretched.
“Tell me everything.”
“I asked her too many questions. I wasn’t very nice to her. In fact, I’m sure I was so insulting that I made her feel ashamed of herself. Then, she tells me the truth...that she’s your sister. But she hates you, she’s sure of that.” Tears well up my eyes. I look at him and can tell every word hurts him as he says it. And it hurts me, too. Even if I want to be in denial, the truth still hurts. “She tells me about Bridges. She’s been sucked into his dark, twisted game and she can’t get out of it.”
What I see is not a cold, heartless man. I see a man in emotional pain, a human being, a different person.
“If you were trying to hide her from me, why would you invite her to the Halloween Party?”
“I did nothing of the sort. She calls me. She tells me she’s scared. She tells me she needs me. Bridges had threatened her after she gave him up to the police. He would find her and kill her.”
“I needed you more,” I say hoarsely, such ache in my voice, a tear rolling down my face.
“For God’s sake, Sophie, come to your senses. She’s your sister.”
I step out of the car and Oliver follows a moment after, probably giving me room to think. Inside the apartment building the elevator is out of order, a roach crawls along a wall, a reeking smell wafts through th
e air—most probably coming from my Chinese neighbor cooking meth in his apartment, and construction workers hammer away outside the large window near the apartment door.
Oliver breathes hard as we reach my front door. He shakes his head in disbelief. “You would rather be here?”
His eyes turn the deepest shade of blue. It is heartbreaking to see him so devastated. Why is he so devastated, exactly? Is it because of me? Is it because of him? I don’t know. But, I still love this man. It’s a feeling growing deeper each day. Nothing has changed. And I can’t come up with a way to tell myself he deserves whatever he’s going through, that maybe this time he’ll learn it isn’t acceptable to lie, to keep secrets, to be controlling, and to think there will be no consequences.
I unlock the door. “It’s not about you having the better apartment, Oliver.”
“No. That is completely out of the question. Look around,” he says as we go inside, waving a hand in the air. “Anyone could fly in through the window or break the door down. This is a deathtrap. It is not safe.”
“You’ve got me all under surveillance. Don’t think I don’t know Reed will be right outside. What more do you want? What is it going to take for you to—?”
“You know what I want. I want John Bridges behind bars. And I want you, with me, home, in my bed.”
Jess comes out of her room, not a care in the world with her hair cinched back in a messy bun. “Soph! What...what are you doing in here?”
“I hope you don’t mind, I let myself in. I didn’t know you were home. Is it okay if I stay here for a couple of days?”
“Of course! Of course! What happened? Is something wrong?” Her big-eyed, silvery stare lands on Oliver like a thick and heavy cloud.
“I’ll explain later.”
She arches an eyebrow and says, “You better,” then waddles back to her room.
TWENTY-FIVE
I SPEND THE rest of the day locked away in the apartment. I don’t talk to Jess and I don’t take Oliver’s calls. I help myself to a glass of Jess’s fancy wine, and then another, and by the third, I stop counting. I’m half-dozing, stretching out on the sofa in front of the TV when a rerun of Dr. Phil comes on. I sit straight and stare aghast at the little pixels that make up a talk show studio. It’s one of those episodes where a woman has been in a relationship with a man and is engaged to marry him. But, after the woman finds out that her soon-to-be-husband is already married—has been all along—to another woman, she vents out her anger and pain to Dr. Phil on live television.
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