“Please, Bruce, don’t.” Why does my mom have to plead for mercy? “If not for me, for her. Give Lenor a chance. Give them a chance. They love each other. They always have.”
Confusion has me shrink back a bit. “What’s going on?” I turn to face Zach. He stares back at my father, his chin and shoulders squared. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on?” I hate how I now sound like a lost little girl.
My question is met by silence. Suddenly no one has anything to say. Except Zach. “I want to tell Lenor myself. In private.”
His request is met by my father’s cringing laugh. “Nice try, Murdoch. I don’t trust you and I have no intention of letting you spin the truth and turn it into a nice little fairy tale.” We watch Mom retreat to her Bergère and sit down like a robot. “But, you can try. In my presence though.”
I turn my back on my parents. My heartbeat quickens and a heavy weight drops to the pit of my stomach.
“Zach, what is he talking about?” It feels as though a boa constrictor is coiling around my throat. I take back ownership of my hand and Zach stares down at his empty fingers.
Behind me, I hear my mother’s muffled sobs. Whatever it is, it’s going to hurt.
Zach’s voice is steady, his eyes seeking mine. “The night on Renegade, the night I broke up with you, your father had found me earlier with another woman. He said I should give up on you or he would tell you the truth.”
His words hit me straight in the gut. All the air rushes out of my lungs… and then I start giggling. Giggling like a woman possessed. A crease forms deep between Zach’s eyebrows.
I stop giggling. “That’s it?” That night Zach broke my heart. He casted me aside and left me to roll around in the mud. Being with another girl—before, during, after—can’t make it worse. His words already humiliated me to perfection. I shrug. “I’m not happy about it. I’m not.” I pause, reflecting on what I’m about to say next. I have to truly mean it. “But that’s the past. I know in my heart that you’d never do that to me now.”
Zach shakes his head. “That’s not just—”
“It was me.” Mom has said the words.
The décor around me turns flimsy, as if stuffed into a kaleidoscope. I lose my balance and take a clumsy step sideways. Zach catches me but I throw his arms away as if his touch has been scalding water.
My head swings like a pendulum, from side to side staring blindly at my mother, then at Zach and back to my mother again. I could be on the deck of Renegade on a stormy day because I feel unsteady on my feet and an acid taste shoots through my mouth.
“Eleanor, you keep making the same mistakes. That’s unfortunate. You should know he’s the reason why your mother asked for a divorce.” My father is back on my case. “So let’s sever the bond with Murdoch for good. You’re flying back to D.C. with me tomorrow.”
I shuffle my feet and end up facing my dad. He has that I-told-you-so expression plastered all over his smug face. I fight back the urge to punch him. I’m his flesh and blood—his only child—but he doesn’t care about me or my shattered heart.
I’ve never meant anything to him and he means nothing to me anymore. “I don’t know where I’m going next, but one thing’s for certain, it won’t be with you.”
He looks like a bulldog that has swallowed a wasp. “Don’t forget who pays your allowance.”
“Keep all your precious fucking money, Daddy.” My sudden outburst sounds like thunder and has the merit of shutting him up.
The silence is only interrupted by my mother’s sobs. If I’ve wanted to punch my father before, I now have a deep urge to slap my mother across the face. I’m on a roll and it’s family time.
“Stop crying, will you, Mother?”
She sniffs and wipes her cheeks with the tips of her manicured fingers. Her long, beautiful fingers. Fingers that should be caressing me with a mother’s gentle healing touch. “You have no right to cry. No right.”
“I know.” She gets back to crying anyway.
I can’t look at her any longer. I can’t stay in this vipers’ nest any longer either. They make my skin crawl. I turn on my heels and launch myself towards the door only to bump into Zach. His familiar scent—spices and lemon—overwhelms me. It’s so tempting to rest my head against his chest, listen to his heartbeat and let my breathing match his.
It won’t happen ever again.
“You’re just like your mother: A low-rent whore.” That was my father.
Against me, Zach stiffens. He moves me gently. My gaze is trained on him as he steps slowly towards my father. Zach isn’t as broad as my dad but, right now, I’d hate having to face him. His whole body radiates a repressed strength, an intensity that sizzles underneath his skin and is begging to burst out.
When Zach speaks next, his voice is lethal. “Do not talk to Eleanor this way?”
“Tell me, Murdoch, who’s the better fuck? The mother or the daughter?”
The crudeness of the question covers me with filth.
“Shut the fuck up.” Zach’s body is swaying forward like a tiger about to leap at its prey’s throat.
But the opposite happens. My dad’s fist crashes against Zach’s cheekbone. He doesn’t even flinch. That seems to make my father even more venomous. “Come on, Murdoch, which one did you enjoy the most?”
I cover my ears. My father’s words are so sick, so dirty, they glue me to the same spot. But the next moment, he’s spread flat on the floor like a lumpy pancake. My gaze swings from him back to Zach, who is now massaging his knuckles. The glint in his eyes is ruthless until he looks at me.
The sight of me makes him blink.
“I’m sorry, Lenor. I didn’t want—I couldn’t help—”
He stretches his hand to touch my cheek. I flap it away. “Don’t touch me.”
He moves closer and I shove him out of my way. He feels like a dead weight in my hands. I stumble down the stairs. At the bottom, I pick up my bag and sling it over my shoulder. He’s behind me, calling my name. I block out his voice. I have to go, to flee. There isn’t one coherent thought left in me.
I run across la Cour d’Honneur, out on the street and rush blindly away from what was once my home. I reach the left bank of the Seine River out of breath, but not out of tears. I’m sobbing noisily when I get into a cab, the driver throwing suspicious glances over his shoulder at me on the back seat. I’m a mess but I can’t care less. I quickly give him the address I want him to drive me to.
It doesn’t take long to reach la Rue des Vignes in the sixteenth arrondissement. Even the Champs-Elysées are pretty much deserted. I pay, get out of the cab, and press the buzzer next to the apartment number. Number eight. It almost takes as long for a response as it did to drive over here. At least it feels that way. I rock back and forth on my feet as I wait. The wait gives me the time to dry my tears. Pathetic hiccups replace the sobs, still making my shoulders shudder.
I buzz a second time.
“Non mais ca va pas! Arrêtez de m’harasser en plein milieu de la nuit.” Are you crazy? Don’t harass me in the middle of the night.
“It’s me,” I croak. “I need you.”
I hear the gate unclick and I push it open. Just my luck, a hand-written note is stuck on the elevator: “Prière d’utiliser l’escalier.” Please use the stairs. With my ever faithful Vuitton over my shoulder, I start the ascent and with each step exhaustion press harder and harder down on me. My joints hurt and my muscles feel bruised as if I have spent the night in a boxing ring.
Further up the stairs, I hear the shuffle of feet and soon Charlie appears in front of me.
“Lenor, Lenor…” She wears a teeny silk top with matching shorts. Her hair is all ruffled. “What’s happened?” She takes hold of my bag and I let her lead me. I have no strength left inside.
Charlie doesn’t wait for an answer I’m unable to give. Instead, she helps me up the rest of the stairs, her arm around my waist. By the time we have reached her floor, she’s dragging me more than anyt
hing else. We enter her apartment.
Charlie leads me to the living room and sits me down on the cushioned sofa. “I’m getting you an herbal tea.”
There are only a few lights on and Charlie has kept them dimmed. I stare around me without registering much. The pair of sneakers four sizes too big for my cousin. The leather jacket discarded on the wooden floor.
“Here we are.” Charlie sits by my side and hands me a cup, or rather she circles my fingers around it and brings the liquid to my lips. It’s lukewarm and doesn’t burn. I take three assisted sips until she removes the cup and rests it on the side table.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
I’m not crying, or sobbing, or sniffing anymore. I guess my face is a swollen red mess but, apart from that, the tsunami of emotions that has raged inside me has abated. Exhaustion can be the best anesthetic.
I’m about to start talking when I hear the floor creak in the corridor. Ziggy stands framed by the doorjamb. My gaze does a back and forth between Charlie sitting next to me and the handsome guy in the doorway.
I make a move to get up. “I’m sorry, guys. I had no idea… I should go.”
Charlie grabs my elbow and pulls me down onto the sofa. “Don’t be an idiot, Lenor. You’re staying with us.”
“I’ll go.” Ziggy announces. “If this has to do with Zach, I’m probably the last person you want to have around.”
Simply hearing his name tears me apart. My hands flow up to cover my face and fresh tears begin to fall. The overwhelming sense of loss knocks me out yet again as I keep shaking my head.
When I finally recover from my latest bout of weakness, Ziggy—true to his word—has his sneakers and leather jacket on.
“Did you know?” I bark. He shudders. I have absolutely no right to be angry at him, so I ask again, my tone more controlled. “Had he told you?”
Ziggy’s kind face reflects some of my pain. He moves the tea cup aside on the coffee table and sits down opposite me, his elbows resting on his thighs.
“Zach doesn’t let people in. He helped me when I was in a lot of troubles but it took us years to become true friends. When we did and we opened up about ourselves, your story was the first one he shared. I guess because you’re the most meaningful part of his life.”
“Meaningful?” I let out the most bitter of laughs. “Is that how you qualify what he did to me?” My words make him wince and I feel dirty and worthless for having said them. “I’m sorry.”
“Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Charlie isn’t renowned for her patience.
“Zach cheated on me with my mother.” The words burn my lips.
“Merde.” Charlie straightens up on the sofa next to me. “Putain de merde.”
“My thoughts precisely.” At least, sarcasm hasn’t completely deserted me.
“When did it happen?” she asks.
“Five years ago. Before he dumped me.”
Charlie exhales loudly and relaxes against the seat back. “Phew, I thought it had happened over here.”
I swivel on the sofa and give her a hard look. “Seriously, do you think for one second that it changes anything?” Charlie frowns as if my question isn’t making sense. “And for all I know, the two of them might still be going at it. My dad said he was the reason she’s divorcing him.”
“No.” Ziggy’s statement falls abruptly. For once, his voice has lost its honey-like effect. “I didn’t know Zach back then but I’ve an idea of how fucked-up he was. However, I know the man he is now and he would never, never, do something like that. Not to anyone and certainly not to you, Eleanor.”
I feel chastised and have to shake myself up. I’m the wronged party here. Let’s not forget. “Am I supposed to take your word or his as gospel? He still lies to me. He still did it!” I let out a frustrated roar that startles both of them. “For god’s sake, it’s the grossest thing ever. My boyfriend had sex with my mother.”
Next to me, Charlie wraps her arms around her chest and shudders. “Beurk! I’ve got to banish the image from my mind. It’s totally disgusting.” And she’s French, so that says a lot!
“Wait.” Ziggy is now leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. “What exactly do you think you know?”
I glare at him. I consider howling with anger, but it all crashes down inside me and I’m left with an infinite sadness and sense of waste. “The ‘hows’ and the ‘whys’ don’t matter, Ziggy. What matters is that it happened and that Zach didn’t tell me about it. Twice.”
Ziggy covers my hand with his. The contact soothes me. A little. “Lenor, try and get some sleep. I won’t tell anyone where you are, but please, at least, give him a chance to explain.”
He stands up and leaves the living room, Charlie in his steps.
What is there to explain? What does that guy think I’m missing?
Zach fucked my mother.
Zach rolled in the sack with my mother.
Zach had an affair with my mother.
No matter how it’s phrased, no matter which verb is used, it boils down to the same thing. There’s no future for Zachary Murdoch and me.
Charlie is now looking at me, leaning against the doorframe.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I spoiled your night with him. I don’t want this to cause a rift between you and Ziggy. He’s not Zach.”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“Charlie?”
“Yes, Lenor.”
“Do you remember the summers we spent with Grand-Mère?” My mom’s mother had a manor on an island off the north coast of Brittany. L’Ile de Brehat. Some of my best childhood memories belonged there. “We used to work ourselves up at night pretending the place was haunted. Do you remember?”
“If you’re comparing Zach to a ghost, I’ll have to stop you there, cousin. The man is very much flesh and blood, although I can understand if you want him dead.”
“No, no…. but we used to end up in each other’s bed and fall asleep hiding under the covers.”
“I remember.”
“Can you stay with me tonight?”
There’s a sad smile on Charlie’s face. “Of course, I will.”
“Thanks.” I take one last sip of the herbal tea and stand up.
“We’ll avoid my bed if that’s okay.” Charlie winks at me and I answer back with a weak smile. I assume there’ve been quite a few things happening between Ziggy and Charlie in that bed. “We’ll sleep in the guest room instead.”
Yes, please. I’ve met my quota of gross for the night.
She lends me her most demure PJs and I slide under the bed linen. I expect a lot of shuffling and twisting and turning. But as soon as Charlie joins me and switches off the bedside lamp, I shut my eyes and fall into a deep sleep.
In my dreams, I keep hearing the sound of waves crashing against the tiny shore of la Calanque. But the sound recedes until I can’t hear anything anymore.
Chapter 23
ZACH
East Hampton ~ Labor Day, five years earlier.
“Please, don’t go.” I say that in a plea.
Lenor is already getting dressed again. “I have to, Zach. God knows where she is… and with whom.”
“But that’s her problem, not yours. Why does your mom always have to drag you into her life melodrama?”
“I have to help my father. We can’t involve anyone. That’d be too embarrassing.”
“Don’t worry, whatever Louise does, the Carringtons will never fall as low as the Murdochs.”
I want her to stay with me. I need her. I need her comfort and her warmth. I am lost and Lenor is my only anchor. But I’m scared of saying that out loud.
She kisses me on my forehead, and a few seconds later, the door clicks shut. I hear her steps hurrying away along Renegade’s deck directly above me, then disappear as she jumps onto the pier.
I collapse against the bench along one side of the cabin. My hands rub my face and I let out a frustrated groan. It’s an effort,
but I manage to sit up. My jeans are unbuttoned and unzipped, my chest bare as a result of Lenor fumbling and undressing. A night swim is what I need right now. Without the interruption of her father’s call, we’d have finally sealed the deal. I’d be buried inside her for the first time. For her first time. We’d be happy together.
I jump to my feet and cross the narrow space to the mini-fridge built into the fitted cabinets in the kitchen corner. Lenor probably won’t be back for the night and there’s been a can of Coke chilling inside there for a while. The light inside the fridge breaks into the semi-darkness of the cabin. I grab the can and am about to close the door when I notice the untouched bottle of vodka lying in the top shelf freezer.
I stare at it. For a long time. Enough time for me to come up with a couple of perfectly valid reasons why I really need a shot of Smirnoff. One, I buried my mother one week ago. Two, my girlfriend has just bailed on me.
I give myself a nod. Yes, if Lenor wants me to stick to her no-booze/no-drug policy, she should stick to me. I grab the bottle and forget about the Coca-Cola. I’ve already relapsed anyway with that bottle of bourbon at the funeral.
One hour on and I’m already feeling more upbeat. I miss Lenor’s taste, but the buzz of booze is easier to deal with than the emotional turmoil she triggers. She makes me feel and, right now, I don’t want to feel. I beg for oblivion.
I pour myself another shot and knock it back. I cough, then pour another. I want to drown my guilt for letting Mom down, for not taking better care of her, for not being with her when she received the divorce papers, for everything. What if I had driven back faster from the country club? What if I hadn’t gone to the country club in the first place?
What if? What if? What if?
The divorce papers would have still been served in my absence, but I could have softened the blow. I could have taken Mom in my arms and told her she was going to be alright. I could have convinced her that it was a new beginning, that all she had to do was take a chance. On herself. On me. On us as a family.
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