by Brenda Novak
“Let’s go before I break this fool’s jaw,” Dallas ground out, his face stony.
“I told you he was a hothead,” Cain said as Emery scrambled from the booth.
They headed to the exit without responding.
“Sorry if I ruined your evening,” Cain called after them, but Emery could tell by the smile in his voice that he wasn’t sorry at all.
* * *
Everyone else was asleep by the time they got home, and Dallas was glad. The dark, quiet house meant that it wouldn’t seem odd when he said good-night to Emery and went straight to his room, where he could be alone. He wanted to get hold of that letter his father had sent him to see if Robert had mentioned getting out of prison. Maybe it was his own fault that he’d been blindsided tonight. Maybe that was the reason Robert had written in the first place.
He closed the door behind him as soon as he walked into his room and went straight to the drawer where he’d stuffed the envelope.
“Damn you,” he muttered to his father, scowling at his own name, written in what had to be Robert’s hand. Most people would easily recognize the writing of their own parent. But Dallas hadn’t seen enough of Robert’s to be able to distinguish it.
This was the first time his father had ever reached out. Part of Dallas couldn’t believe it had taken him almost twenty-five years. Another part was angry that he’d tried to contact him even now.
With Cain’s words still echoing in his ears, he pulled out his pocketknife so that he could carefully slit open the top. For all he knew, the way his father had sealed the envelope was intended to give him hepatitis, if not something worse. Robert simply wasn’t someone who could be trusted. He was a consummate actor, could fool just about anyone—at least when he was sober. Even before the murders, he’d been embezzling from the financial planning company where he worked. He’d just been caught the week he’d opened fire, which is what had pushed him over the edge. Although he denied it afterward, Dallas firmly believed he’d planned to kill his family, take off and start over.
The letter inside was written on lined paper—it, too, in pencil.
Setting aside the envelope, Dallas spread what turned out to be one page on the desk at the side of the bed and ironed out the folds.
Dear Dallas,
I’ve thought about you so often over the years—every day, if you want the truth. You might scoff at this, but I feel as if I know you. I can remember holding you, feeding you, teaching you to walk and to throw a ball as if it was only yesterday. For me, time has stood still. But I understand that everything must’ve changed for you and you can’t possibly remember me, at least not in any favorable light. You were too small when I did what I did to be able to hang on to the man I was before that day.
Filled with disgust and too many other emotions to name, Dallas squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. That day? What about everything he’d done before? But Dallas had already known this letter would be full of lies and, therefore, difficult to read.
With a heavy sigh, he steeled himself, opened his eyes and continued reading:
My actions must seem unfathomable to you, the actions of a crazy person. I wish I could claim that I was crazy. It’d be easier to forgive myself. But I’m not sure depression would qualify, even a depression as dark as the one that encompassed my mind in that moment. I’ve attended group therapy for years here in prison, and if it has taught me anything, it’s to take responsibility for my actions and try to apologize. But in this case, there’s no way an apology could ever be sufficient, and I know that.
Lip service. This was all bullshit. Dallas couldn’t help but clench his jaw. Robert wasn’t taking any responsibility for everything that led up to that day, was blaming it all on one act caused by depression, but only because depression had become such a buzzword, which made it a ready excuse. He’d never mentioned being depressed before—certainly at the time and not even in court. It was alcohol that brought out the worst in him, not depression, but anyone who would embezzle, especially when he was making a decent living as it was, had to be an asshole to begin with.
Still, I’m willing to talk to you about how it all came to pass—not as an excuse, only as an explanation—so that you will at least know what made me snap. The murder of your beautiful mother and sister is not something I like to dwell on. Since I can’t take any of it back, or fix it in any way, it just reopens a wound that will never heal. But if it might help you come to terms with the past, to understand how a father who really did love his family could do what I did, I’ll tell you everything—not that I pretend to truly understand it myself.
Dallas laughed without mirth. He was saying all the right things—exactly what his therapist must’ve told him.
Please let me know if you’d like to meet. You have never written me, or come to see me. Maybe you’re better off left as you are. But I’ve nearly served my time. I’ll be getting out soon and wanted to let you know that. I also wanted to offer to do whatever I can, little though it may be.
Love,
The man you once knew as “Daddy”
Dallas sat there, letting it all sink in, and didn’t realize he was weeping until a tear dropped off his chin. Frustrated that his father could still cause him pain—after so long—he swiped at it with impatience and irritation. But he knew it wasn’t just sorrow for the loss of his mother and sister that he was feeling; it was sadness for what might have been if only his father was capable of the sincerity to which he pretended.
Carefully folding the letter back up, he shoved it into its envelope and put it in the drawer. He didn’t want to see his father. Robert was right. Depression wasn’t an excuse he could accept, because he didn’t believe his father had been depressed. It was narcissism, not depression, that drove him that day, just like every day.
He tried not to think about Robert or anything else as he got ready for bed. He was tempted to head back to Vegas and be done with Silver Springs. It was easier to forget his past when he kept moving forward, kept rolling on, constantly looking toward the next day.
But he couldn’t leave before the wedding, would never do that to Aiyana.
It was at least an hour later, when he was still staring at the ceiling—sleep miles and miles away—that he heard a knock. It was so soft that at first he wasn’t positive there was really someone out there.
“Come in,” he said.
Emery slipped inside the room, wearing an overly large T-shirt. He didn’t know if she had anything on underneath.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said. “I just... I couldn’t sleep. The way things ended tonight... I was too worried about you.”
“I’m fine.” He heard the remoteness in his own voice, the “leave me alone” tone of it, and felt bad, but he didn’t know how to bridge the sudden distance between them.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He could tell she wanted him to open up to her the way she’d opened up to him about Ethan and that sex tape. She had to be surprised by what she’d learned tonight. He hadn’t mentioned what his father had done—even that his father was in prison.
“Okay.” She hesitated for another few seconds, giving him a second chance.
He wanted to reach out to her, to pull her into bed with him. But he struggled with the fact that it felt as though he needed her. He couldn’t help fighting that dependence; the desire alone suggested he should deny himself, or maybe he’d come to need her, which he couldn’t allow.
“I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” she said at last and turned to go.
Before she could let herself out, he managed to force her name past the lump in his throat. He could help her with Ethan, could reach out because she needed him. It was much harder for him to admit when he needed someone.
“Yes?” she said, looking back at him.
He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, but he lifted the cove
rs.
She didn’t react right away. He held his breath while she stood there, deliberating. For some reason, he couldn’t bear to see her go, and yet he had too much pride to ask her to stay, too much fear of how she made him feel and the vulnerability those emotions created.
His heart jumped into his throat when she closed the door, padded across the floor and crawled into bed with him.
He kissed her immediately, parting her lips with his tongue, and started to remove her shirt. He assumed she wanted another sexual encounter. He certainly wasn’t interested in talking. He expressed himself much better physically, and he looked forward to converting all the negative emotion coursing through him into sexual energy—and a release.
But she resisted, letting him know that her shirt would stay on.
“Emery?” he said, slightly confused.
She didn’t answer. She just pulled him into her arms, pressed his head to her shoulder, and combed her fingers through his hair in a soothing and hypnotic motion. She was refusing to let him change this into something sexual; she was asking him to accept her comfort on a different level. For him, it was a deeper level.
He wasn’t sure he was capable of that. But as the minutes ticked by, he found himself settling more comfortably against her. Then he started to relax. And, at last, he was able to drift off to sleep.
When he woke the next morning, she was gone.
19
Monday, December 14
The following morning, while Emery worked at the cookie store, she kept checking her phone. She was worried about Dallas. He’d seemed so tortured last night, and she felt terrible for how consumed she’d been with her own problems while remaining oblivious to his.
She was hoping to hear from him, that they could talk about what she’d learned. She understood that his past wasn’t his favorite subject—he preferred to suppress the pain—but she thought having a shoulder to cry on might be therapeutic for him. Whether or not he was willing to open up would also reveal if he really trusted her.
So there was that. And her lawyer had said that Ethan would be served today, that he might even be served at work. Since they were also suing the TV station, it made sense to serve them both at the same time.
How would they react? She was especially worried about Ethan. She’d seen how vicious he could be when angered. Would he post something else on the internet—another video or some naked pictures of her she didn’t know he possessed? She had no doubt he’d strike back or try to do something to get her to drop the suit.
She remembered the many times she’d showered at his house while getting ready for work. Had he secretly filmed her?
The possibility made her queasy. She felt as though she was just beginning to cope, didn’t want to backslide. She’d expressed her concerns to her lawyer this morning over the phone as soon as she left Aiyana’s, and he’d said they’d be lucky if Ethan did post something else. Then they’d have fresh evidence against him.
But that was easy for her lawyer to say. His primary concern was winning the case. She had to survive the next few months and couldn’t bear the thought of further humiliation. With the holidays approaching, people were finally turning their attention to other things.
Or maybe it only seemed that way because she was keeping her head down and staying out of sight. Either way, by the time she returned to LA, she hoped the scandal would be mostly forgotten—was loath to face a whole new onslaught of embarrassing photos or video.
“I’m going to run down the street and grab a bowl of soup. Would you like me to bring you something?” Susan asked. She’d been in the back baking all morning. With Emery there to serve any customers who came in, and to watch the front, Susan didn’t have to get up quite as early and could bake some of the less popular cookies after the store opened. It was nice to see her looking more rested.
“No, thanks. I’m good.” Emery had to keep moving and was too anxious to eat. She counted the bowl of oatmeal she’d eaten for breakfast as a mistake. It was still sitting heavy in her stomach.
“Okay. You’ve got the store,” she said, and went out the front.
As soon as her boss was gone, Emery checked her phone again. Nothing from Dallas. Maybe he was waiting until she was home and they could talk in person. But she hadn’t heard from Ethan, either. Or the station. Had the process server done his job? Was he there now? Or was he so busy he’d put it off another day?
She hated the thought of it not happening right away almost as much as she feared the consequences once it did. If she had to sue them, she wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.
The store was so busy over lunch, Emery couldn’t obsess about anything. But when things slowed down an hour later, she sat on a stool behind the counter, nervously tapping her foot while performing a Google search on her name to see if anything new popped up.
Nothing.
Thank God. Except she was once again presented with a link to the original video. As soon as she petitioned one place to pull it down, claiming copyright infringement, another put it up. Trying to get rid of them all was like playing a game of Whac-A-Mole.
The bell sounded, and Emery jumped to her feet.
“It’s just me,” Susan said. “I brought you a bowl of broccoli cheddar soup. I know you told me not to, but it’s after one. I can’t imagine you won’t be hungry before long, and I don’t want you to be miserable.”
“Thank you.” It was a thoughtful gesture and Emery was grateful. If only she wasn’t sleeping with her hostess’s son, who had a tragic background, and suing her former employer and her former boyfriend, she might be able to relax enough to eat.
“Margie Brennan, who owns the drapery business down the street, was at the café,” Susan said. “Normally she doesn’t talk to me. I’m not among the business owners here in Silver Springs who can afford to participate in all the promotional things she tries to get the Chamber of Commerce to do. But she made a beeline for me when I was waiting to order the soup.”
Emery tensed. Susan had to be referring to Cain’s mother, who ran a drapery business, and Emery was slightly concerned with what she might have to say to Susan. “What did she want?”
“She said that you went out with her son last night and asked me what you were like.”
This fortified Emery’s impression of Cain’s mom as a busybody, which didn’t ease her mind. “What did you tell her?”
“That you’re a wonderful person.”
“Despite the video.”
“That had to be what she was getting at, yes.”
After how Cain had behaved, Emery couldn’t believe she was the one who could be considered unsuitable, but she knew she’d probably face this with almost any guy she dated in the future. Modern feminism or not, fair or not, her reputation had been ruined.
Cain was so different from Ethan, and yet she saw a commonality—a vindictive streak in them both. After what she’d been through with Ethan, she definitely planned to steer clear of Cain. “Actually, she doesn’t have anything to worry about. I have no romantic interest in her son. We grabbed a quick bite to eat—but only as friends. We went to high school together.”
Susan rolled her eyes. “If he’s anything like his mother, I can see why you wouldn’t be overly excited about him. Margie thinks she’s better than everyone else. And he’s just as special, of course. Like I said, I haven’t had a lot of contact with her, but whenever I do, it seems she’s singing his praises. Is he really that great?”
Emery’s opinion of Cain was decidedly less flattering than his mother’s. “He has an interesting job,” she said, trying to avoid making a statement either way.
“That bad, huh?” she said with a laugh.
Emery couldn’t help laughing with her. “Yeah, that bad.”
“What does he do that’s so interesting?”
She started to explain how he dived
into water tanks to suck up the sediment, but her phone buzzed, and when she glanced down, Caller ID showed KQLA.
They must’ve been served with the lawsuit. She couldn’t think of any other reason they’d contact her right now. No doubt management would be angry and shocked...
She told herself she shouldn’t answer it, but she couldn’t resist. Her curiosity was too great, and the only way to ascertain how things might go was to hear what they had to say. “Can you excuse me?” she said. “I can’t miss this call.”
She wasn’t sure she even gave Susan the chance to respond. She pressed Talk as she hurried out the back way and into the alley, where she could have some privacy. “Hello?”
“Emery, this is Heidi.”
She could hear the tension in her former producer’s voice. They must’ve been served, all right. “What can I do for you?”
“There must be some misunderstanding here.”
It was chilly, and Emery hadn’t grabbed her coat, but she could scarcely feel the cold. “What kind of misunderstanding?”
“The reason we had to let you go has nothing to do with the video that showed up online.”
Showed up online? Emery made a noise of disgust. “Heidi, nothing just shows up online. Someone has to put it there. Ethan loaded that video on a popular revenge porn site and then emailed a link from a fake email account to every local and national news station he could think of. This was a cyberattack, and cyberattacks are illegal.”
“He claims he didn’t do it, and there’s no way to prove he did, so how are we supposed to know who to believe?” she asked defensively.
“Common sense?”
“That’s between the two of you. We let you go because the chemistry between you and Ethan wasn’t right anymore, and you know how important it is for the two major anchors of any newscast to have a certain...rapport on camera. That’s part of what creates viewer loyalty.”
