“Bite your tongue, heathen!” She laughs. “I’m twenty-four.”
“That’s a fun age,” I tell her. “I was still eating ramen at that age, I think, while my wife was in med school, but it was good.”
“Your wife’s a doctor?”
I nod. “Yeah. In the emergency room.”
“She sounds very important.”
Somehow, Zoe’s words are complimentary, but her tone is unimpressed, almost droll.
“She is,” I tell her. Because Corinne is important. And smart and beautiful. But Corinne isn’t here right now, and this isn’t about her.
“What do you do?” Zoe asks now, and she’s so interested as she waits for my every word. God, it’s flattering.
“I’m a therapist. Marriage and family, obsessive disorders, depression, etcetera, etcetera.”
“Etcetera.” Zoe laughs. “How modest.”
“I’m a very modest guy,” I tell her. “Just ask me.”
She laughs again, and she’s so enthralled with what I’m saying that she literally is sitting with her face in her hands, waiting for me to speak. I’m trained in body language, and she’s turned toward me openly, tossing her hair every once in a while, her eyes smiling along with her mouth. She’s in this moment, and she’s enjoying it.
I’m her sole focus.
I can’t lie. It feels fucking good.
“Being a therapist must be so gratifying.” She sips at her drink. “You get to help so many people through their issues.”
“Well, I’m not a doctor like Corinne, but I make do.” Now I’m the droll one.
Zoe rolls her eyes. “You’re more important in your own way, I think,” she tells me. “You heal people’s minds.”
“Well, it’s all I ever wanted to do.” And that’s the truth. “My parents wanted me to be a psychiatrist, but I never wanted that. They end up being pill pushers. I wanted to learn to actually help my patients, not just overmedicate them.”
“That’s commendable.” Zoe nods. “You hear about so many people who are just fed antidepressants and that’s the end of it.”
My phone vibrates, and a message pops up. Zoe and I both glance at it.
I’m definitely not gonna make it. I’ll be home later.
Fuck.
Zoe takes a drink and stares at me over her glass. “Are you happy, Jude Cabot?”
It should be a simple question. It really should be. But here I am, talking to this girl while my wife is at work, and suddenly, I don’t know.
“Yes,” I tell her finally. “Of course I am.”
But am I? The question actually makes me uncomfortable, and I want to change the subject.
“Enough about me. What about you?” I ask. “What’s your story?”
I’m surprised to realize that I’m actually interested in hearing it. For the first time in fifteen years, I’m enjoying a conversation with a woman other than my wife over dinner.
Corinne was supposed to be here and she’s not.
I’m not doing anything wrong.
I’m not.
14
Now
Corinne
Reflections Mental Facility
I twist and turn, but I can’t get away from the blood. It’s everywhere.
It’s spattered on the walls, on the floor, even on the ceiling. Worst of all, it’s on their faces.
My horror is immense, so much so that I feel deadly calm. My heart is a cold pool and my feet are blocks of ice as I move through the bloody rooms.
Why would my father do this?
But my stomach knows.
My heart knows.
“Miss...you can’t be here,” a policeman calls out, his face white and a drop of orange vomit on his mouth. He already threw up from the horror here. Why haven’t I?
I let him take my shoulders and lead me out, and that’s when I see my father. He’s sitting in a cop car, in the back, and he’s got blood everywhere. It’s smeared on his face, on his hands, on his shirt.
He looks at me, and his blue eyes are so cold and empty that I have to close my own. I can’t look at him.
“Fix this,” he whispers, and somehow, I hear him through the glass and across the yard. “Fix this. Corinne? Corinne!”
Then I realize that it’s not my father’s voice, it’s Jude’s.
I wake with a start, and I’m unable to shake the uncertain feeling all day.
“Why would Jude tell you to ‘fix this’?” Dr. Phillips asks me in session later in the afternoon. I fiddle with the arm of the chair.
“I don’t know. Maybe because I let our marriage go lately...this year. I was so focused on working, on trying to build our life, that I forgot we already have one.”
I feel helpless and restless, and Dr. Phillips shoots me a sympathetic look. He rarely shows warmth, so it surprises me.
“You do know that a marriage is comprised of two people, right?” he asks me simply. “You weren’t...aren’t...the only one in it, Corinne.”
“I know.” I rush to defend my husband. “Jude was always wanting me to come home early for dinner, though, and it seemed like I always had to work second shift. I never wanted to tell the hospital no. But I ended up telling my husband no all the time. My priorities had gotten skewed.”
“Did Jude talk to you about this?”
“Frequently,” I answer. “Maybe not ‘talked,’ but definitely mentioned. It upset him, and I guess I never really understood how much. I feel awful, because I remember my father...”
I trail off and I’m lost in memories, and Dr. Phillips waits patiently. Finally, he prompts me.
“Your father?”
I look at him. “My father used to mention to my mother that she spent so much time on our stuff—me and Jackie—that he felt like he didn’t have a wife anymore. And then...”
I can’t finish the sentence.
“And then he was unfaithful and became a murderer?” Dr. Phillips lifts an eyebrow. “Are you under the assumption that those were causal factors? Are you saying you’re worried that would happen to Jude?”
He’s in disbelief, and I guess it does sound dumb out loud. I smile a little.
“I guess not. I just... I neglected him. A lot. More than I realized. I was always so busy at the hospital that I sometimes forgot to answer his texts and whatnot.”
“Do you feel that your marriage with Jude was beginning to mirror your mother and father’s marriage?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. All I know is that I took Jude for granted for so long. I’d give everything I have to be able to call him right now.”
My kingdom for a simple phone call.
15
Ten days, three hours until Halloween
Jude
My phone rings and I glance at it.
It’s Corinne. A surge of resentment wells up in me. She already told me she couldn’t meet me. There’s no reason to rub it in or apologize further. Actions speak louder than words.
I let it go to voice mail and return my attention to the girl in front of me.
She’s fluttering her fingers as she speaks, playing with a strand of hair and sipping at her drink.
“You want to hear about me?” She smiles. “I’m boring. Same ol’ thing you always hear, I’m sure. Trying to make ends meet so I can get a degree and make something of myself. Yada yada yada.”
“That’s commendable,” I tell her as a waitress comes to clear my dinner plate and check on our drinks. The waitress smirks down at Zoe, and Zoe rolls her eyes.
“That’s all, Beth,” she says, and I get a glimpse of her snotty side. As Beth walks away, Zoe leans toward me.
“The other girls hate me here. I don’t usually play well with women.”
“I can see how that would be,” I agree. “They must fee
l competitive with you.”
She shrugs again, unconcerned. “Maybe. But there’s no competition, really. Once I decide on something, that’s how it will go.”
“My, what modesty.” I grin. She giggles and leans over as if to wipe my mouth. It happens before I can even pull away. And then, instead of wiping her fingers off on her napkin when she’s finished, she slides them into her mouth, sucking them clean.
I’m mesmerized even though I try not to be.
“I do have one girlfriend,” she tells me, changing the subject. The air practically snaps with electricity, and I try to ignore it. “We’ve been friends forever. I admire her, honestly. She’s so pretty and stubborn, strong-willed. But she’s gone down sort of a wrong path. She’s a stripper now. I’m really a sexually open person, but God, I’d never be a stripper. You can’t choose what kind of men you have to deal with, y’know?”
I process the information about her friend.
“She’s gorgeous, though. This one time...” Zoe drifts away into her thoughts, staring into the distance. “We were talking all night and drinking...and I told her how beautiful I thought she was, and one thing led to another and we kissed.”
My groin immediately tightens because I’m a fucking man.
She shakes her head, like she’s shaking the memories away. “It’s the only time I’ve made out with a chick, but I have to say, I liked it. I’m not gay, though.”
She stares at me thoughtfully, then laughs nervously, her fingers fluttering to her hair.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe I just told you that! I’ve never told anyone before. It must be because you’re a therapist. You’re so easy to talk to.”
“Am I?” I’m wry now because I’m hard, so I adjust in my seat so my dick isn’t constrained by the seam of my pants.
“Yeah.” She plays with the straw in her glass. “I worry about Chelsie, though. Like I said, she makes bad choices, and right now, she’s staying with an abusive boyfriend. I keep trying to talk to her about it, but she gets mad at me. Any professional advice?”
I can’t turn the therapist in me off. “Well, if she’s a stripper and attracted to abusive men, I’d say that she has issues from her childhood. Maybe abandonment issues, maybe her father was abusive. It’s hard to say. All you can do is be loving and kind to her, and maybe encourage her to talk to a professional.”
God, I sound old.
But Zoe doesn’t seem to notice. She chews on her lip. “She doesn’t have any insurance. I think most doctors want insurance. Do you see patients without it?”
I nod. “Sure. I offer a discount to cash-paying patients.”
Again, I feel ancient. But she smiles beatifically. “Awesome. I’ll tell her to look you up.” She props her face back on her hands and turns toward me. “But back to us.”
“Us?”
“Yeah, us.” She smiles, and she grips my knee under the table. Her fingers are warm and firm, and she lets them linger on my leg. I glance around, and no one else notices, and I don’t know anyone in the café. Thank God.
“There’s an us?” I play dumb, because once again, this feels wrong.
But I’m not doing anything. It’s not like I’m going to fuck this girl. Right?
She nods. “Yes. I told you. Once I set my sights on something, it’s mine.”
“But I’m married,” I remind her.
She grins. “I know.”
She’s unconcerned. I pay the bill for both of us, and Zoe watches me with satisfaction.
“See? We just had our first date.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes, and Zoe wipes her mouth with her napkin.
“I wonder, though...” she muses. “If you can handle me.”
I snort and roll my eyes. “Whatever, little girl. I’ve got more years of experience than you’ve been alive. Not that this is going anywhere, because it’s not.”
She chuckles like the joke’s on me.
“I like it rough,” she announces, and she doesn’t even lower her voice. The old lady at the next table clears her voice, and I’m fascinated once again by Zoe’s directness. “I like choking and bondage and I like being spanked, because I’m a bad girl, Jude. A very bad girl.”
She looks so innocent as she says it, and she grabs my knee again, her fingertips biting into my leg, driving home her point. I like it rough.
God, that’s hot. I’ve never been turned on by rough before, but new is always exciting. However, we’re in a diner, in a place I regularly frequent, and I’m a married man.
Gently, I grasp her hand with my own and remove it from my leg. Pointedly, I set her hand on top of the table. Letting her touch me is wrong. Fantasy is fine, reality is not.
“Sorry,” she tells me, although she doesn’t sound sorry at all.
“It’s okay. Many get carried away by my wit and charm.” I joke it off. She laughs, and we get up and walk toward the door.
“Did I scare you away?” she asks as we step onto the sidewalk. “By telling you what I like, I mean.”
“Your sexual interests aren’t my business,” I tell her, but she smirks.
“They will be,” she answers. “Can you walk me to my car? It’s dark out here.”
“Of course,” I answer, because it is dark, and it wouldn’t be right to let a girl walk to her car alone. I’m a gentleman.
She leads me to a black car, and I frown at the parking spot. “Don’t park all the way in the back when it’s dark out,” I tell her. “Park under a light.”
She smiles now. “Is that concern I hear?”
“It’s just common sense.”
She opens her door, leaning on it. “I had fun tonight,” she tells me, her eyes glued to mine. “You’re very interesting.”
She wants to linger, I can tell. But I can’t. Because there’s electricity in the air, and if we linger... I don’t know what will happen, but it won’t be right.
I’m good.
I’m good.
“Drive safe,” I tell her gruffly.
She stares up at me, and the light glistens on her lips. She licks them.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” she asks softly, and I physically rear back.
“Of course not!” I’m startled and she laughs.
“That’s okay. You will someday.”
“I won’t,” I tell her firmly, and she grins like she knows better.
“Good night, Jude Cabot,” she tells me softly. “You can go home to your wife now.”
I do go home, but my house is empty.
My wife doesn’t come home until well after I’ve fallen asleep.
16
Now
Corinne
Reflections Mental Facility
“How did you get in?” I ask Michel curiously. On my lap, I finger the books he brought me, the crosswords and the magazines. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he glances over his shoulder.
“I insisted that you needed spiritual guidance. But Jude also listed me as an emergency contact, so they kind of had to.”
“Is Jude okay?” I ask him quickly, because Jude is my first thought, always. “I hate all of this, Michel. When I think about the effect it’s having on Jude...it kills me.”
Michel flinches. “You know Jude,” he says offhandedly. “He hides his feelings and goes through the motions. He’ll be okay.”
There’s something in his voice. It stands out to me, and I examine him, his eyes. Something is there, hidden in the hazel depths.
“You’re hiding something,” I observe. “Tell me.”
Michel shakes his head, and he’s so very like his brother. “I’m not hiding anything,” he assures me. “Jude misses you. That’s all.”
I’m not sure whether to believe him, but it’s clear he’s not going to elaborate. He’s always protected his brot
her. He isn’t going to stop now.
“Are you making sure he eats?” I ask hopefully.
Michel laughs.
“Since when does my brother not eat?” He raises an eyebrow, and he has a point. I laugh. “We’ve been eating at the café a lot, and I think he’s been ordering pizza, too. He’s not starving, Co. Don’t worry about him. Let’s just focus on you.”
This makes me stare at my hands. Focusing on me is nerve-racking.
“How are you doing?” Michel asks, and he reaches out to grasp my hand. His is strong and warm, very like Jude’s, and if I close my eyes, it’s almost like Jude is talking to me.
“I’m okay,” I lie. “I’m fine. I’m just trying to figure things out so that I can get home.”
“What can I do to help, Corinne? I’ll do anything, you know.”
His voice is warm and genuine, and I hug him. “I know. There’s nothing, though. If there were, I’d tell you.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“No.” My answer is immediate.
“Okay.” He relents easily. “Don’t get upset. It’s okay.”
He placates me automatically, his tone soothing. I have to laugh.
“Are you worried that I’m going to lose it while you’re sitting here?”
His expression is so startled and open that I laugh again.
“You are!”
He chuckles now, too. “I don’t know what to think,” he admits. “I’ll just be honest. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and it confuses me now, because you’re here. I don’t know what to do.”
I shrug. “There’s nothing for you to do. Don’t worry about me, Michel.”
“Ha. Too late.”
“I’ll figure out the holes in my brain,” I tell him firmly. “You just worry about Jude for me.”
“I’ve always worried about Jude,” he admits to me. “That’s not going to change now.”
We chat a bit more, and when he stands up to go, he looks at me strangely.
“Corinne, I know they want you to focus on remembering the past. But I don’t know that I’m on board with that. Maybe you should just focus on the future. The past is behind us, anyway.”
Such Dark Things Page 10