I shove the table, and stomp around it. I grab the first thing I see, a picture frame, and hurl it against the wall. It dents the plaster and falls to the ground, breaking the glass in a long diagonal crack. I am shaking everywhere. My head hurts and I feel like I might throw up. My emotions are so overwhelming now, and I thought I managed to put a little distance from it in my mind. I thought, I really did, that I wouldn’t fear my desire to physically hurt him.
He moves. I hear his shoe sliding on the tile flooring and jerk my face up to his. I put my arms out while shaking my head. “Stay back! Stay away from me. Don’t come near me. Ever. Ever. Don’t come near me, you two–timing, cheating bastard!”
I’m screaming… and hysterical. Somewhere in my brain, I realize that, but I’ve gone too far now to stop or control it. My sobs become deep, gulping gasps. I’m trembling and a dull pressure blinds me as it starts building behind my temples. He ignores me and grabs me, pulling me against him as he tries to hold me there. He’s saying something in a soothing tone. Soothing words. I push at his chest. I’m strong, but not strong enough to push him off me, especially while gasping for air and with my tears blinding me. I feel myself weakening.
“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” I’m still hysterical, screaming and punching his chest. I do it hard. Hard enough to bruise him, and I use my fists. I may be losing it and hysterical, but I’m still strong and I know how to fight.
That’s what makes my heart hurt so much. It feels like it’s been slit open and blood is pouring out of the gaping wound. I don’t want to hurt Sam. I don’t want Sam to hurt me. I want… Sam. I want to love him and be with him, but he ruined it all. I can’t understand my odd reaction. I don’t grasp why he did it, or why I’m crying on him, even after it happened. Nothing is clear–cut for me. Nothing is easy.
Inexplicably, I quit hitting him, I clutch his shirt in my fists as if letting him hold me up before burying my face in his chest. I can feel his mouth on my hair as he whispers and clutches me closer to him. How can I quit fighting him? How can I let him touch me? He repulses me, but I also repulse myself. So I cling to him hysterically.
How can you love and need the same person who hurt you the most? And whom you most detest and hate and curse?
“Why are you doing this to me?” I finally whisper, my head hanging down. My voice sounds odd and weak, even to my own ears. The unexpected onslaught of emotions finally wanes and I start to feel numb. Cold. I’m totally depleted of everything. From my energy to my emotions. I feel hollow and empty. Drained.
I push him off me after I finally regain control of my tears and rage. He barely loosens his hold on me. My legs are trembling. He gently places me back on the couch. He sits down in a chair close by and his butt rests on the edge. Bending his legs, he rests his elbows on his thighs. His head is down and his shoulders are drooping. I sit up, finally calmer.
“I don’t want to end it, Natalie. I don’t want you to divorce me. I’ll do anything. That’s it. The reason I’m here. And why I had to find you.”
“You already did enough.”
“I know.” He stares at his hands before him. There is nothing about his slouching, defeated demeanor that I recognize. His tone is as hollow as my insides feel. He might as well have carved me out like a knife in a pumpkin, and scraped out all my internal organs. I have nothing left inside me. I am empty. Devoid of all life. I almost have an out–of–body experience, feeling like I am someone else sitting there now as I almost calmly talk to him.
Silence falls between us again, and I am dumbfounded by it. After the shocking display of my anger and tears, along with Sam’s own apologies, and all the things we need to discuss, or end, or deal with, a thick silence engulfs us? It’s incomprehensible. But there it is. We are both staring down at our fingers. Is this how our marriage ends? Our apathetic, sad, hollow emotions hopelessly trying to draw any kind of sense from it?
“You threw your phone out your car window somewhere, didn’t you?”
I glance up at his quiet question. Startled, I nod. How could he know that?
“How did you figure out where I was?”
“I lay in bed for days, trying to figure out where you might have gone. I thought and thought. I even went to see your dad. But I knew you wouldn’t go anywhere near work, or my family, or our friends. I realized you’d taken off for parts unknown, of course. It finally dawned on me while I was trying to convince Dustin to tell our mom what I did. I don’t… I didn’t want to tell her.”
“What did Dustin say?” I picture Dustin’s indignation over Sam doing that to me, but I know Dustin would still have been there for his brother. He is that kind of a man.
“Grow up. Do it myself. Start somewhere.”
That’s where he got the “start somewhere” mantra that seems to be his holy grail. Does it make it easier for him to sleep at night? Or face himself? He’s picturing how to charge in and fix everything. He has a plan, an end goal in his mind. I know how much that would comfort and empower him. He can’t handle ambiguity. He thinks he can do and fix anything. Too bad; this time, he finally fails.
“Anyway, it got me thinking about family and with you already running, it seemed like the perfect time for you to go after Christina. I know you, Nat. Nothing changes that.”
“You don’t know me.”
The pervasive quiet lingers. He shakes his head and leans forward. “I did know you once. I used to know you better than anyone. We used to—”
No. Oh, my God, no! He’s not going to blame this on me. Yes, things changed last year. Yes, we grew apart, and were having problems, but nothing like this. Nothing that was as bad as this. There was no smoking gun and I was never so horrible as to lead Sam to do that.
“Don’t you dare blame this on that!” My voice sounds low and raw.
He glances up and shakes his head, holding my gaze. “I never have. But since then, you have quit trying to talk to me.”
“I didn’t talk to you enough? Or have enough sex with you? Somehow, poor, neglected Sam earned the right to go screw another woman?” Wow, my anger rises fast. I jerk the strands of my hair behind my ear.
“No. The point is, I know you. I know you better than yourself, and have for years. For a couple of decades now. You don’t always know your true self, Natalie. I won’t allow this to become the one thing I did that erases everything we had previously.”
“The one thing you did?” My mouth hangs open in disbelief.
He sighs. “This sin. This lie. This terrible, evil, horrible deed that I committed. I know what it is. But I found you because we need to talk. We need to talk about it. All of it. If we’re done, we need to at least talk about it. You can’t run forever. You can’t freeze me out forever. If you’re hiring a lawyer the minute you return to San Francisco, I won’t be surprised. But don’t we owe it to the kids we once were together? Or the teens and newlyweds we once were to at least talk about it? We have to at least acknowledge what we once had and were, and how this happened. I, at the very least, need to say the right words, I’m so sorry. Do I think you will accept them? No. I don’t. Do I expect my apologies to help you at all, or do any good? Again, no. But I still have to say them. What kind of uncaring monster would I be otherwise? I am so panicked and worried about losing you that I have to at least say that to you.”
He’s compelling. He can argue points with cool logic in his warm, deep baritone voice. And he makes so much sense. Somehow, Sam, in this critical moment, makes sense.
But that doesn’t mean his actions make any sense to me.
I lean forward, resting my aching forehead on my knees as I stare at the floor. Tears blind me again. I’m so sad. It hits me like someone is pressing on my back, trying to force me to the floor.
“You found your mother,” he states finally after a long, terrible silence.
I shrug.
“She’s not what you pictured.” I want to ignore him. But he’s the only one I’ve ever voiced my thoughts to in regard to
my biological mother and father. He is the only one who knows for years how I wondered about my origin. He knows that after my mother died, I got so depressed, I had to take antidepressants as I tried to learn the identity of the woman who gave me away. But I didn’t get anywhere. He knows all that. Sam knows. He knows me. Which makes his betrayal that much more bitter. He knows it never occurred to me that my biological mother would be kind of normal and nice, much less raising a decent family.
“Natalie, I’m here. I want to be here. You were never going to seek out your biological family, but I think you need to face it, just as much as you need to hear me out. Let me be here for you. Let me help you face this. I can do that. I can support you. When we go home—” His voice falters and he clears his throat. “When we go home, you can decide what you want to do about us. But I don’t think you can handle this alone right now. You’ve had too much happen at once. You are the strongest woman I know, but even you will break at some point.”
“Just leave right now and I’ll be a whole lot better.”
“I could just stay. Here. With you. I’ll sleep on the couch. I won’t… I won’t talk about it again unless you want to. I’ll listen. I’ll just be your friend. For this. Because I know, Natalie, I know what this means to you.”
His tone is caring, and so seductive. There is no one I ever let my guard down with, except Sam. And I am exhausted right now. My ragged emotions feel like they’ve been dragged over a barbed wire fence. I’m shredded. But I can’t just run. I’m here. And he’s here.
“I don’t think I can ever be your friend again.”
“Just be my friend here. How long did you agree to stay?”
“A week.”
“What’s one more week for us? We’ve been together since we were kids. Please, just let this go for one more week. Then…”
I shake my head. “I hate you.” I whisper as my eyes scratch and ache from all the tears I’ve cried.
“I deserve that. But who else knows you as well as me? Who else is here?”
The loneliness I feel makes my heart drop down into my stomach. He is manipulating me, of course. He knows how much I miss my family, and how devastating it is to watch my father losing his mind and me to dementia. He knows how I ache for family again. How I cling to his family. But he ruined that. How could I go running to them with my broken heart? They’d have to take his side, or at least, try and reason with me to accept his apology.
It’s not like I consider these strangers my family. A week is nothing compared to a lifetime. There is no recapturing that. Or creating that kind of deep bond. There is, maybe, being pleasant or friendly. There are some answers. But no connections to compensate for the ones that were abruptly severed from my life.
“I don’t want you here.”
“Let me stay. I’ll stay at a motel. Just let me be here for you. Let me do this one last thing for you.”
“I don’t want them to know. And what would be more obvious or strange than my husband staying in town at a motel?”
He tilts his head. “Okay. You’re right. Let me stay here. They don’t know us yet. They won’t know anything. And… you’re not all alone. It’s not you against them. It’s you and me against them. I was your best friend once, Nat. Long ago. Years ago, I was your best friend. Let me be again for just a few days more.”
So reasonable, isn’t he? So freaking correct too. He was my best friend once, and facing all this alone makes me feel less anchored in a world where nothing and no one is familiar. It’s a bit disconcerting to leave town and have no one other than Sam worry about me. Sam is the only one who would know I’m gone. Sam is the only one left with that kind of connection to me, and feels that kind of concern.
“Let’s call a truce. For this week, let’s call a truce and when it’s over, we’ll figure everything out. Either way. We’ll do this together. But right now? Let me just be here for you.”
I drop my chin. I can’t believe I’m even allowing him the same air to breathe in my vicinity. But here I am. I’m confused, unsure, and at least he’s familiar. He feels normal. Even if there is nothing normal about us anymore. “One week.” I close my eyes, my chest feeling tight and constricted. “Then it’s over, Sam. It’s all over.”
He nods. His expression is bleak. “One week.”
Chapter Ten
Natalie
I don’t know how to deal with Sam being here. But he is. He somehow conned me into a truce, of all things. I leave the small apartment immediately after dabbing some makeup on my eyes to reduce the appearance of tears, and hastily find refuge with the strangers inside the house. So far today, I’ve hung out with the three girls who are my sisters. The morning was spent driving around their small town. They took me to one panoramic point that overlooked the town and a long stretch of land that faded off like a smudge in the mountain. It was a stunning vista revealing the flatness of the area, but also the endless sprawl of farms, ranches, houses, trees, and rivers. There were huge, white fan–looking things in the distance, the blades of a wind farm. There was nothing really to see, but also everything. We walked the university campus and browsed the few places dedicated to the students. They showed me their aunt’s house and where Max lived. I saw their elementary school and their dad’s office in town. It was a tour of their childhood roots in a town that they obviously were proud to be connected to despite making so much fun of it. I got the distinct feeling the older two would never leave it. Emily? Who knows? She can’t look at me without her cheeks burning up with embarrassment or confusion. She has no idea what to say to me.
And now? Sam is here and I have to avoid him. He comes into the house where the family is. They are all home from work and their various errands as the dinner is being prepared. I help this time. Although not a great cook, I can follow directions. Sam comes up behind me and offers his help, winning Jessie and Melissa’s grateful smiles. I grit my teeth. He is such a suck–up! And why are women in general so bowled over with pleasure when a man offers to help with dinner, or the dishes, or any other domestic chores? With women, it’s kind of expected. If I didn’t offer my services, they’d have most likely commented about it behind my back. Yet no one really expects Sam to help.
Sam knows how to read people and how to react to them. He knows how to play them too, but not in an evil way. He’s just so damn charismatic and likeable. I watch him work his magic on these people with whom I am still stiff and unnatural. He’s wearing his usual designer shirts that cost ridiculous amounts of our money. It drives me crazy how much he spends on his clothes. I used to fight with him over it, but eventually had to give up. Despite all of our fights and my protests, he still bought them. His reasoning was obvious: he made that much money and “needed” to look the part. Whatever. But here in Ellensburg? It’s totally wasted. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows in precise folds and digs into the dough Jessie wants him to put on cookie sheets to bake for dessert. All the while, he makes casual, easy, funny conversation with the Hendrickses. No one can resist him. I wish I were kidding. He’s completely magnetic. Yeah, where I’m the reliable, safe Volvo, he’s more like a Porsche, or a Jaguar or a Ferrari that everyone marvels and drools after.
I say little to Sam, trying to avoid glancing up. He purposely comes behind me, blocking my body with his as he pretends to reach around me for a hand towel, and later, a wooden spoon in a container in front of where I diligently chop the vegetables. His body wraps around me, and his warm chest touches my back. His hand casually extends as his face approaches the side of mine. My breath catches and every nerve ending reacts to his presence. He is deliberately trying to remind me of us. Our sexual chemistry was never in question. I finally step back, and using the heel of my boot, I step on his toe. He jerks with surprise and steps back, releasing me from his almost hypnotic captivity. When he’s close to me, oh hell, close to anyone, we sort of lose our heads around him. He’s just that attractive. His innate animal magnetism has always affected me strongly, far stronger than any
other man’s presence.
Dinner tonight is much easier than the night before was, and it galls me. The reason it’s easier is because Sam is here. Sam sits next to me and engages in three different conversations, one with Jessie, one with Will, and all the while teases the younger two Hendricks girls. All too easily, he ingratiates himself to them. The two teens stare at him with big, curious eyes and almost tongue–tied crushes. He’s lively, smiling and easy to relate to. There is not a single day when Sam carried a chip on his shoulder. He is always wide open to the world and the people around him. He loves strangers. He loves meeting people and hearing their personal stories. His voice is full of warmth and honey. Yet he is totally appropriate with the girls, and can effortlessly switch over and be just as serious and interesting with Jessie and Will. He is well read, and makes a huge effort to stay that way. Naturally, it’s part of his image. No one but me knows how much time and effort he puts into trying to cover up his true history and roots. It irritates me how much he tries to cover up that which I am most proud of.
We also discuss some of my cases, the funnier ones. Actually, there are more tragic and sad cases than there are funny ones. But I stick with the funny ones. Like the time a guy pulled into a drive–through at a fast food place with his gun in hand, and ski mask on, demanding cash. The quick–thinking sales clerk simply shut the window and ducked down. The perp was caught a few blocks away. They also ask about the strange calls that I investigate. Like the man who reported a stranger lurking on the porch, and I kindly asked him if he’d done any on-line shopping of late. Yes, the man had and I handed him the package, after explaining it was the delivery man. Another time, someone reported a baby in a trash can at a local discount store, only to discover it was actually a breakfast burrito. On and on my stories go. Sam keeps staring at me, pleased to see me smiling, laughing and somewhat at ease. I must admit I feel a companionship we haven’t shared for a long time.
Leanne Davis - Natalie (Daughters Series #2) Page 14