Listed: Volumes I-VI

by Noelle Adams

  “I’ll think about it,” he said at last. Even that gesture was harder than it should have been.

  She leaned down to kiss him again. “Good. Please do.”

  ***

  Two days later, Paul went to visit his father in prison.

  He wasn’t sure what to expect—except more of the same. His conversation with Emily was nagging at him, though, and he figured he could survive another visit with his father. However badly it turned out, he could at least be satisfied that he’d done the right thing.

  But when his father was escorted out to the visiting room and sat down across from him, Paul was suddenly frozen. He’d thought over some ways to begin this conversation, but he couldn’t remember any of them at the moment.

  He couldn’t think of anything to say at all.

  He didn’t even know why he was here.

  Vincent Marino had always been in the habit of letting others begin conversations, since being the first to speak meant needlessly giving away the advantage. Today, however, he didn’t hesitate to begin. “You don’t look like a husband in mourning.”

  “I’m not, as I’m sure you’re very well aware. Emily’s virus has been effectively treated.”

  “Good.”

  Paul didn’t reply.

  “If you aren’t here to share your joy at her miraculous recovery, then why exactly are you here?”

  Even the wording of that question itself was uncharacteristic of Vincent Marino. It gave away too much.

  Since his father was being so unusually blunt, Paul decided he would be as well. “Were you the one responsible for us finding that report on Emily’s virus?”

  His father almost smiled. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s entirely possible you did it. It would be just like you to hide the report where we’d be likely to find it rather than just giving it to me directly.”

  “Perhaps. But that doesn’t really answer the question.”

  Paul let out a tired sigh, wondering why he was even bothering. Nothing was going to be accomplished by this conversation anyway. “Do you really expect me to play this game with you again?”

  Vincent stared at him intently for a long stretch of time. “It was never a game.” He paused before he added, almost as an afterthought. “I’m glad your wife has gotten better.”

  Paul could almost believe he meant it.

  Since his father had as good as answered the first question, he asked another one. “Were you responsible for her getting sick in the first place?”

  His father’s expression didn’t change, but something changed in his eyes. “You’re really asking me that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I ask it?”

  With a half-shrug, his father said, “It occurs to me, son, that you don’t really know me at all.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that, whoever you think I am, you don’t really know me.”

  “I do know you. I’ve known you for years. I’ve never been surprised by you.”

  “You just asked me if I tried to kill an innocent teenage girl in some sort of half-hearted retaliation for perceived wrongs.”

  When put that way, it did seem a horrible thing to accuse his father of. “You’ve killed before.”

  “Only soldiers.”

  That was what Emily had told him—months ago now.

  “And that’s supposed to be okay?”

  “I’m not trying to justify myself to you. I was merely answering a question.”

  Paul exhaled deeply. “So the answer is no? You weren’t responsible for the virus?”

  “It’s obvious that I’m responsible in some way, since it was engineered in my research facility.”

  “You know what I’m asking.”

  “What I don’t know is why you’re asking.”

  Conversations with his father always went like this—one strategic bypass after another.

  “I have no idea why I’m asking. This whole conversation was a mistake.”

  “It’s only a mistake because you began it with a preconceived notion about how it would end.”

  “If you’re not the one who gave Emily the virus, then who did?”

  “Have you not considered that’s a question I’d like answered too? The virus came from my facility, which means someone in my company was responsible—either intentionally or accidentally. I would very much like to know who.”

  Again, Paul almost believed him. He wondered if he was changing his opinion or if he was just growing weak and gullible.

  “Why should I believe you,” he asked, “when you’ve told me lies before?”

  “I’ve never told you lies. I’ve only told you truths you don’t want to hear.”

  Paul shook his head and slumped back in his chair. “Can you answer something plainly for once in your life? Did you do this to Emily or not?”

  It was silent—too silent—for a long time. Then, “I didn’t.”

  Paul believed him, despite all the reasons he had not to.

  “I wouldn’t do that to her,” his father added.

  “Okay.”

  “Or to you.”

  Paul sat perfectly still.

  His father’s face was old, grizzled, so tired. “It might be time to admit that you’ve never really known me.”

  The world was spinning around Paul—slowly and inexorably, disorienting him completely.

  He couldn’t think of anything to say, so finally he just stood up to leave.

  “Okay,” he muttered, knowing he needed to say something before he left.

  He took a step toward the exit, but turned around one more time to look back at his father.

  “I’m glad she’s okay,” Vincent Marino said.

  Paul nodded, a little jerkily.

  “She’s brave. And, beneath all the prettiness, she’s strong.”

  Paul nodded again, a strange pain tightening in his throat.

  “She’s been good for you.”

  Paul nodded one more time before he walked away.

  ***

  When he got home, he went to his home office immediately, sitting at the desk and staring at the computer screen blindly.

  He knew Emily was home, but he also knew she would ask him how things went. He wasn’t sure what to tell her.

  She found him there a few minutes later.

  She propped herself up on the edge of his desk and looked down at him without speaking.

  He met her eyes. Saw understanding, sympathy, affection, love. And all of it was stronger than the discomfort in his gut.

  After a minute, he told her, “You were right.”

  He watched as the realization processed on her face. “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He loves you.”

  For the first time in as long as he could remember, those words weren’t followed by an instinctive internal resistance. He didn’t feel happy, satisfied, or at peace, but at least he didn’t want to bite out an automatic objection.

  “Maybe,” he replied. “He’ll never be a good father, though.”

  “I never thought he would be, but it means something. Knowing it, I mean. Doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted. “It does.”

  That was all they needed to say.

  ***

  For the next two weeks, Paul went into the office every day. There wasn’t any sort of requirement for him, as long as he got his work done, but now that things had settled down with Emily, he thought it might be a good idea to be a more regular presence in the corporate offices.

  To his surprise, he actually liked it. Spending more time in the office allowed him to get to know his coworkers better. At first, they’d seemed rather suspicious, likely thinking he was entitled and useless, but they warmed up pretty quickly as he went out of his way to be both accommodating and efficient.

  After the first week, he had a pretty good sense of what work life might be for him, doing work he enjoyed, work he was
good at, for the company his mother’s family had built. He liked the idea of it.

  He could spend his life doing this.

  He got home late on Friday evening, and he found Emily in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure how long she’d been fixing dinner, but every single counter surface was a mess, and she appeared to have used every bowl and pan they possessed.

  “I think I was too ambitious,” she told him with a grin.

  “What is it?” He studied the bowls and pans, trying to puzzle out what meal they added up into.

  “Portobello Chicken Piccata. But we didn’t have all the ingredients, so I had to improvise a bit.”

  He laughed and wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing his body into her back as she pushed chicken breasts around in a pan.

  She turned down the temperature on the eye and then turned around to wrap her arms around him. “How was work?”

  “Good.”

  “Did you get that report done? “

  “Yeah. What did Dr. Franklin say?” She had a faint dusting of flour on her jaw so he gently brushed it off.

  She frowned up at him. “I told you in the text I sent. Everything is still fine. The virus is gone, so you don’t have to stress about every check-up that way.”

  Paul was pretty sure he was going to be anxious every time she went to the doctor, for at least a decade or so, but he’d have to work on hiding it better so she wouldn’t get annoyed by it. “I was just wondering if he said anything else.”

  “He said he was going to publish on this virus, and it would be the best work of his career.” After he laughed, she added, “He said I would probably be fertile again soon, so he prescribed me birth control pills.”

  “Ah. Good thinking.”

  They smiled at each other for a minute, and he tried to process the relief, joy, and awed gratitude. It made him feel kind of silly—like the kind of sap he’d never been—but there was no other way to handle the miracle that had been given him.

  Emily must feel the same way. She actually looked a little emotional, but naturally tried to hide it. “I never thought it would happen. Any of this. It gives me hope that everything that is broken has the chance of being fixed. I never thought it could happen.”

  “Me either.”

  Her expression changed then. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “What about?”

  “I want to ask you something, and I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it.”

  He gaped at her. “What are you talking about? Ask me anything you want. I’ll do anything you want.”

  Her face softened with affection momentarily before she pulled it together. “How would you feel about having another wedding ceremony. Kind of like a renewal of our vows.”

  “It hasn’t even been a year.” While he was fully prepared to give Emily anything in the world she wanted, this was the last thing he expected, and he wasn’t sure he liked the idea about it. “Our marriage was always real, Emily. It’s not like we had a fake wedding the first time. I don’t think we need to act like we’re just now married for real.”

  “I know it was real. I wouldn’t change our first wedding for anything. But I just wanted to have a wedding in the neighborhood. It’s fine if you don’t want to. It was just an idea.”

  He drew his eyebrows together. “Why did you want to do it?”

  She shrugged and looked a little embarrassed.

  “Tell me.”

  “You remember right after we got engaged, and you told me you didn’t think it was good that I was pulling away from everyone. All my friends and stuff.”

  “Yeah. But that was understandable. People react in different ways to grief.”

  “I know. But you were right. It wasn’t healthy. I feel like I’ve been living in this…I don’t know…this bubble or something because I didn’t want to let anyone in. Anyone but you.”

  He reflected on this for a moment and realized she was right. He also realized that he kind of liked the bubble since it meant that he was the only important person in her life.

  It wasn’t good for her, though, so he wasn’t about to indulge the feeling.

  “I can see what you mean. So you think having another wedding ceremony would help with that?”

  “Yeah. I could invite everyone I know from the neighborhood. And Stacie and her mom could be there. I just think it would make me feel like this marriage is part of my real life. The life I’m going to be living for a long time now. Is that okay? I didn’t mean to imply that our marriage was ever fake or that what we have wasn’t real all the time. I just—”

  “Emily,” he interrupted. “I get it. I really do. I’m happy to have another wedding.” He leaned down to kiss her. “I’d marry you every day for the rest of my life, if I could.”

  She kissed him back, hugging him tightly. Then she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. “For a notorious bad boy, you’re really kind of sappy, you know.”

  “I thought I was a geek.”

  “You’re a sappy, bad-boy geek.”

  He huffed with amusement. “Just don’t tell anyone else.”

  So, a month later, they had another wedding ceremony in a church in the neighborhood. Paul had to admit it ended up being a good idea after all.

  ***

  Paul wondered if the idea of Emily's being interested in sex again that evening was overly optimistic.

  Probably.

  This morning, Emily had been sore and exhausted and hadn't wanted to get up, and she’d teasingly told him that she’d been happy to indulge his primal nature the night before but he shouldn’t expect caveman sex again any time soon.

  Paul had drawled that he’d be happy to indulge her primal nature whenever and as often as she wanted. She’d laughed fondly, but then she’d winced as she’d gotten out of bed.

  It wasn’t really that long ago—less than six months—when he’d been absolutely convinced Emily was too young to think about sexually. She'd been completely off-limits to him, forbidden.

  Many things had changed in these last few months.

  They’d had rough, wild sex the night before. He supposed he shouldn’t hope that she would want to have sex again tonight. Just thinking about her was getting his body excited.

  He glanced at his watch and saw it was after nine o’clock. Emily would probably be home soon from her dinner with Stacie.

  He felt bored and restless and hoped she’d get home soon.

  But he forced himself to focus on the email message on his computer screen and managed to type out a reply. Then he made himself focus on the next email.

  “Are you ever going to stop working?” a lilting voice demanded from the doorway of his office.

  He whirled around in his desk chair, his spirits brightening immediately at the sight of Emily’s casual prettiness and her deep frown. “You’re the one who abandoned me all day to go to class and then have dinner with Stacie.”

  “And I’ve been back a full fifteen minutes, and you didn’t bother to emerge from your cave.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at her grumpy tone. “Why didn’t you tell me you were home?” He got up and walked over to greet her.

  “I was on the phone.” She returned his smile and was still smiling when she grabbed his shirt with both hands and pulled him into a light kiss.

  “Anything important?”

  “Chris. He’s dating someone seriously, and he wants us all the have dinner together.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Is that all right?”

  “Of course,” he said. “You know I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

  She curled up her lip. “Anything except let me stop getting tested for the virus every week.”

  Paul narrowed his eyes at the abrupt shift in topic. “Do we really have to fight about that again tonight?”

  “No,” she said, smiling again. “Not tonight. But it would make me very happy if you’d stop working for the night and come hang out with me.”

  Paul chuc
kled. She didn’t have to know he’d already intended to do just that. “For you, I’ll make that sacrifice.”

  They went to the media room to watch television, after making a stop in the kitchen because Emily wanted some ice cream. When they’d settled on the couch, Emily picked up their previous conversation. “So you’re really okay with the four of us having dinner?”

  “Yes,” he told her, meeting her eyes so she’d know he was sincere. “He’s a decent guy. I don’t mind at all.”

  “Okay. Good. Thanks.” She gave a conclusive nod—a clear sign that this part of the conversation was done. She took another spoonful of her ice cream and, when she saw him watching, she asked, “You want some?”

  “No. I’m good. How was class?”

  “Fine. Kind of boring.” She made a face, staring at the television screen. “Biology isn’t what you would call the most interesting thing in the world.”

  “It’ll be required at any university you want to attend.”

  “I know that,” she said with a sneer. “That’s why I’m taking it first thing.”

  This semester, Emily was taking a couple of classes at a local university, just to ease the transition into college full time.

  Paul had told her many times that she could go to any school she wanted. She wasn’t limited to one in Philadelphia just because she was married to him. They could make it work wherever she wanted to go.

  “And don’t think I don’t notice you trying to pick another fight.”

  “I’m not trying to pick a fight,” he objected, turning to her in surprise. “And when did I try to pick one before?”

  “First,” she began, counting off items on her fingers, a move that was somewhat hampered by the spoon in her hand. “You tried to pick a fight about my getting tested for that damned virus every other day for the rest of my life.”

  Paul stiffened in outrage. “You were the one who brought that up, and it’s not every other—”

  “And second,” she cut in, blithely ignoring all of his facts, reason, and fair corrections. “And second, you tried to pick a fight about my going to some other college, when I’ve told you over and over that, of course, I’m going to a school here in Philadelphia. Like I’m going to live in a different city from my husband if I don’t have to.”