Love To Hate You

by Isabelle Richards

  When I enter the elevator, I see a father and his daughter. She’s probably about five or six, and she asks him a million questions on our short ride to the lobby. “How does the elevator work?” “How does it know what floor we’re on?” “Why can’t it move faster?” “What’s faster: a Pegasus or a unicorn?” Her father is patient and answers every question with a smile. He reminds me of Daddy, and a warmth comes over me.

  I know in my heart that this woman’s claims are preposterous, but the doubt in David’s voice was jarring. But watching this man and his daughter pushes any uncertainty out of my mind. The valet brings me my car, but once I get in, I don’t drive away. I call my lawyer.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Aldrich, but Mr. Hampton is away at a partners’ retreat. He won’t be back until Wednesday. I could transfer you to an associate if this is an urgent matter.”

  Translation: anyone worth a damn is in Tahoe skiing, but I can talk to some recent law school grad about my impending crisis.

  I don’t think so. “I’m not comfortable discussing this matter with an associate, but it is urgent. I need you to track Wallace down and have call me back immediately.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll try to reach him.”

  “Try hard. Try very, very hard.” I push end on my Bluetooth then lean my head on the steering wheel. We pay Wallace an obscene amount of money each year to be available, and the one time I need him, he’s MIA. What the hell do I do now?

  The driver behind me lays on its horn. I put the car in first and pull onto the street, trying to figure out my next move. Driving through the crowded city streets, I try to wrap my mind around what just happened. That NDA has to be wrong. It has to be. Some sick con artist’s ploy to make a few bucks. We certainly wouldn’t be the first people to fall victim to this kind of scam.

  But David’s really giving it merit, as though he actually believes it could be true. He has to be mistaken. He works with a lot of famous people, and this sort of thing happens to them all the time. I’m sure he assumes where there’s smoke, there’s fire. In this day and age, it’s a fair assumption. Just not with my father. Not my parents. David’s wrong. Plain and simple.

  The longer I think about it, the more insane the whole idea becomes. I know my father. Possibly better than anyone on the planet. If this were true, he would have told me. I drive around for hours, telling myself that over and over, but I have this nagging feeling of doubt deep within. It’s like a parasite has latched onto my soul, draining my confidence.

  I go to the only place I can think of to get answers.

  Katie opens her door. “Well, this is a surprise.” She looks me over, then her eyes narrow. “What’s wrong?” I open my mouth to reply, and she holds up her finger. “Don’t you dare try to lie to me and tell me you’re fine. I know when you’re upset. Everyone else might have trouble seeing through that tough exterior of yours but not me.” Opening the door farther, she steps aside. “Come on in here, and let’s visit for a while.”

  I step into the foyer. “I just had a meeting with David Epstein.”

  She closes the door behind me. “Oh yeah? I’m guessing by that look on your face it wasn’t a good meeting. What was on the agenda? Booth talk again?”

  I walk into the living room and plop on the sofa. “No. Not this time. He said a woman sent a proposal to his publishing house for a tell-all book about about Daddy. Take a look.” Reaching into my purse, I pull out the folder then hand it to her.

  With a puzzled expression, she takes the folder. After she opens it, she rolls her eyes then walks to her office. “I’m blind as a bat these days,” she says as she walks back into the room with her glasses on. “This sort of thing is common after someone like your dad passes away. All the crazies come out. It doesn’t mean anyone is going to listen.” Her smile fades, and the color drains from her face as she scans the page. She slowly lowers herself onto the sofa. “Oh dear God.”

  I look at her, praying she’s going to make all of this go away. “It’s a lie, right? Tell me it’s a lie.”

  She puts the folder on the coffee table then takes off her glasses. “I wish I could, sweetie. I wish I could.”

  The air is sucked from my lungs.

  “It was 1987. Your mom had just won her third Grand Slam, and we’d all gone to the Bahamas together to celebrate. When we got back, there was a letter from this woman.” She opens the folder and glances at the front page. “This Valerie Benson. She claimed she was pregnant and the baby was your father’s. She threatened to go to the press if they didn’t pay her off.”

  I want to call her a liar. I want to scream at her to shut up. But I bite my tongue. The expression on her face tells me every word of it is true.

  “As you can imagine, it was a tough time. Your parents had only been married for a few years, and there was a lot going on for them professionally. Your parents hired a PI to look into her, and from what they learned, she was what my daddy would have called the town bus route. Everyone gets a ride as long as they pay the fee, if you know what I mean. Your mother went to Texas to handle the situation. Money was exchanged, the NDA was signed, and that was supposed to be the end of it.”

  I can’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. Who the hell are these people she’s describing? Not my parents. “The end of it? What about the baby? It sounds like it was just the beginning.”

  Shifting in her seat, she sighs. “The deal was this woman would get the money only after she had an abortion.”

  Jumping out of my seat, I gasp. “My mother would never do that.”

  “Honey, I know this is confusing, but it was a complicated situation. It was the only way your mother could protect your father. You have to remember it was the eighties. They were active in the Republican party, and an illegitimate child would have crippled them. He had a morality clause in his contract. He’d just signed three huge endorsement deals, one of which was the largest deal ever made with an athlete. Your father changed the pay structure of the industry with that contract. They were under a lot of pressure, and they just couldn’t see any other way.”

  “They couldn’t see any other way?” I shout as I start to pace. “Are you kidding me? They forced this woman to have an abortion because it could have impacted their contracts? Who are these people you’re talking about? Because they’re not my parents! My parents, my pro-life parents, would never do this.”

  Katie stands then steps in front of me, blocking my path. She puts one hand on each shoulder then looks me in the eye. “They were young, they didn’t have anyone to guide them through this sort of thing, and they did what they thought was best. According to the PI, this woman regularly used abortion as birth control. She’d had something like four abortions in five years. Based on her history, she probably would have terminated the pregnancy anyway, but this time she decided to try to get some money out of it first. Did your parents handle it as well as they could have? No. But everyone walked away happy. No one was forced into anything.”

  I can’t believe Katie can stand there and justify my parents’ actions! They paid a woman to have an abortion, and Katie is making it sound as though they had some business deal. Stepping away from her, I throw my hands in the air. “Oh, I guess this is all okay then since everyone walked away happy.” I pick up the folder. “I can tell you one person who’s probably not happy. This kid! This woman claims she had the baby and my father abandoned it and shut her up with money.”

  She takes the folder back and squints at the blacked-out lines of the contract. “Obviously I can’t read anything, but I’m certain the NDA would prevent her from discussing any of this. Your lawyers will have this book quashed. Don’t worry. Aiden’s legacy won’t be tarnished.”

  My jaw drops. “You think I give a shit about his legacy right now? In my opinion, his legacy was tarnished the moment he had an affair. I’m worried about the person who spent his or her life without a father. A child my father just cast aside like trash.”

  “There can’t be a child,
Arianna. I know your mother required proof of termination. This woman may have had a child, but it’s not your father’s. I’m sure she’s just figuring she came to this well once before so she might as well try it again.”

  “Proof? Jesus Christ.” This just becomes more and more perverse. I look down and rub my temples. “This is disgusting. I just can’t fathom that the people you’re talking about are the same parents who lectured me for hours on end about always being beyond reproach. That I had to stay poised and in control at all times. How poised and in control was my father when he was screwing some other woman?”

  She puts her hand on my shoulder. “I know this is hard. They hoped you’d never find out. One day when you’re a parent, you’ll realize that you’ve made some stupid mistakes you’ll pray your children never find out about.”

  Knocking her hand away as I roll my shoulder back, I step away from her. “No! I won’t because they drilled into my head that I was not allowed to make mistakes! Do you know what that kind of pressure does to a kid?”

  She holds up the folder. “And why do you think they did that? They didn’t want you to make the same mistakes they did.”

  Across the room, I see a picture of my parents. I take the picture off the shelf and look at it, trying reconcile the people in the picture with the people who would pay a woman to abort her baby. I look at their smiles and recognize them as my own. Head tilted just a little to the right. Chin tucked down. Not too much teeth, but bright enough to give that happy glow. Picture perfect every time. But I know better than anyone that a bright smile isn’t proof of happiness. It’s a sign of good training.

  Holding the frame so Katie can see the picture, I ask, “So the whole happy marriage thing? That was a farce?”

  She takes it and puts it back on the shelf. “No, honey, it wasn’t. I’ve never met two people more in love than your parents. I wish Pat and I had what they had.”

  I throw my hands in the air. “He cheated on her!”

  “It’s not that simple. Marriage is complicated in ways that you can’t possibly understand.”

  I roll my eyes. “Why don’t you try to explain it to me? Because I think it seems pretty cut and dry. ‘To have and to hold faithfully till death do us part.’ Nowhere in there does it say anything about a little something on the side.”

  “You forget the ‘in good times and in bad’ part of those vows. Marriage isn’t always sunshine and roses. Couples have to work together to find what works for them, and that’s what your parents did. Your parents weren’t the first, nor the last, to have a marriage that worked like this.”

  “Worked like what? What are you trying to tell me?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret saying them. I don’t want to know. I’ve heard too much today. My brain feels as though it’s about to explode, and I know my heart can’t take anymore.

  She opens her mouth then closes it as though she’s changed her mind.

  “What?” I ask.

  She clears her throat. “They had an arrangement.”

  “‘An arrangement’?” I feel dirty just saying the words.

  With a patronizing expression, she cocks her head. “Don’t act so naïve, honey. You’ve lived as a professional athlete. You’ve seen how the world works. This isn’t uncommon. You don’t have to understand it. Hell, there were times I couldn’t either. But it worked for them, so who are we to judge? One day you’ll realize how hard it is to keep a marriage and a family together. When you love one another, you move heaven and earth to make it work.”

  I can’t believe my ears. I feel as though I’ve stepped into a bizarre parallel universe where everyone has gone insane. For my whole life, my parents and the Brennans preached moral integrity, honesty, and behaving with honor. How can she sit there and make excuses for my parents’ behavior?

  Throwing my hands in the air, I pace the room. “He’d move heaven and earth but couldn’t keep it in his pants? Do you hear yourself? Clearly everyone rationalized this to no end, but I’m not buying it! And let’s not sugarcoat it. My father abandoned a child and not in the name of keeping our family together but because it might void his contract. So as righteous as you make their adulterous agreement sound, I have every right to judge.” Just as my hand reaches the doorknob, I realize I’m not done. I turn around. “Something’s been eating at me ever since I learned that my father was a no-good, lying, cheating scumbag.”

  She sighs. “Arianna—”

  “I call it like I see it.” I fold my arms. “Will you answer the question or not?”

  Her face softening, she sits on the sofa. “If I know the answer, I’ll tell you.”

  “The woman who killed my mother swore she’d had an affair with my father. Part of the reason people believed she was insane was because my father was a loyal, devout husband who would never in a million years stray. But now that we know that’s all bullshit, tell me—did my father get my mother killed?”

  Tears stream down Katie’s cheeks as she looks up as though the answer might be written on the ceiling.

  “Katie? Did my father have an affair with the woman who killed my mother?”

  “It’s not like your father had ongoing relationships; they were just a bunch of one-night stands. Regardless of if he slept with her or not, they never had the relationship she claimed they did. I asked him a few times if he knew her, but he would never answer me.”

  I feel as though my heart is going to explode, and I run out of the house without looking back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Arianna

  To say the rug has been pulled out from beneath me doesn’t cover it. The floor has caved in, and I’m plummeting. I burst through the Brennans’ front door, desperate for fresh air and space to think. I run to the running paths. The temperature has dropped, and the drizzle has turned into a downpour. The heavy drops of rain run down my face and into my eyes. My thin dress clings to me as it becomes saturated. I’m freezing, but I left my coat and purse in Katie’s living room, and I’m not going back to get them. My heels sink into the soft ground, making it hard to run. Needing to get as far away from the house as I can, I kick them off and run barefoot. Rocks stab and slice my feet, but I keep running. The pain actually feels good. It’s a pleasant distraction from the pulverizing ache in my chest.

  Blustery wind stings as it whips across my wet cheeks. The jackhammering of my teeth as they chatter from the cold antagonizes the migraine threatening to erupt behind my eyes. But even the bitter cold can’t take me out of the dark places of my mind.

  A myriad of feelings swirl together like a cyclone. Hurt, confusion, disbelief, and the most epic betrayal churn together to the point where I can’t distinguish them from each other. My entire life, I’ve put my parents on a pedestal. Every step I’ve made has been a calculated attempt to try to live up to their Everest-esque expectations. To push myself to achieve even a fraction of what they did. I was horrifically petrified of making the wrong move, of doing something that would tarnish my angelic image. My parents laid the foundations upon which I’ve built my life, but everything they stood for was hollow and false, nothing but hypocritical propaganda. I’m crumbling. This hurts more than when Daddy died. It’s like losing him and my mother all over again. No—it’s worse. Because as it turns out, I never really had them at all.

  The rain makes it impossible for me to see where I’m going, but I know these paths like the back of my hand. I run until my muscles burn and my knee throbs, then I push myself harder. Coming around the bend, I know I’m almost at my father’s house. Our house.

  Pulling the hide-a-key from its spot in the flower bed, I open the door then turn off the alarm. Walking through the house is like taking a step back in time. Everywhere I look is a memory. The kitchen table where I’d do my homework while Daddy mapped out plays. The family room where Daddy played Frank Sinatra and danced with me. Did that same man bring the woman who killed my mother into our lives? If he’d been faithful, would I still have my mother? Caked in mud,
I crawl into my bed and pray for this to start to make sense.

  “Ari?” Chase yells from downstairs. Heavy footsteps race up the steps. “There are bloody footprints all over the carpet. Are you hurt?”

  I cringe when he turns on the light.

  “Jesus Christ, Ari,” he says as he rushes to my bed. “You’re soaked to the bone. We need to get you out of those clothes.” He pulls me up into a seated position and pulls the tatters of my dress off over my head. “We need to warm you up. You’re shivering. I’m going to start a bath.” On the way to the bathroom, he grabs my cashmere robe off the closet door, then he comes back to lay it over me. He kisses my forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

  The water turns on, and he rushes back into the room. He sits behind me on the bed and envelops me, wrapping his arms and legs around me like a cocoon. His warmth permeates the chill in my bones, and I slowly thaw.

  “I bet the bath’s ready.” Scooping me up, he carries me to the bathroom.

  He lets the robe fall to the floor before lowering me into the water. The water burns as it covers my body, but I relish the pain. It gives me something else to focus on.

  He sits on the edge of the tub. “I put those smelly things you like in there.”

  “Thank you,” I say, my voice raspy like a pack-a-day-for-life smoker’s.

  After a few minutes, my fingers begin to return to their normal color and my tense muscles relax. Chase takes a sponge and gently washes my back, occasionally rubbing my shoulders. He doesn’t ask any questions, and I’m grateful. I want to tell him everything that transpired today, but I need a few moments. If anyone will understand how I feel, it’s Chase. I’m sure Katie’s news will come as just as much of a shock to him.

  When the water turns cold, Chase goes to the closet and pulls out my most worn-in sweats. “Will these work?”

  “Perfect.”

  After drying me off and slipping me into my sweats, Chase directs me back to the bedroom. He’s changed the sheets on my bed and must have turned on the fireplace at some point because the room is toasty and the fire is roaring.