Something Reckless
Page 60

An amazing man. How many times in my life have I heard those words used to describe my father? How many times have I shaken the hand of a potential voter and used those words myself? I was starting to believe them too. It had been years since the ordeal with Jacqueline, and my parents worked hard—both of them—to fortify any weakness my father’s infidelity caused in their marriage.
Liz is studying my face, her lower lip drawn between her teeth, and she’s stroking my chest with her thumb, right between my pecs, right over my heart.
“You are an amazing man too,” she whispers.
Rising off the bed, I take her face in my hands and kiss her hard, and she sighs and melts into me. When I break the kiss, I pull her on top of me, settling her head on my chest and her legs between mine.
“My father and I have a difficult relationship,” I say. I don’t know if I’ve ever admitted as much to anyone. Della knows, of course, but it’s not something I ever had to tell her. She gets it because she was there. She lived it.
“I noticed. Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, her breath warm against my chest.
“No one has ever been able to read me like you do. Did you know that?” I slide a hand into her hair, toying with the soft strands and reminding myself to breathe. “He had an affair when I was in elementary school—cheated on my mother with one of the tellers at the bank.” She tries to pull back, but I hold her tight, keeping her still. “Jacqueline.” Saying her name out loud feels like a betrayal to my family. We agreed never to share what had happened, and even as a kid, I understood how important that promise was.
“I’m sorry,” Liz says. “I didn’t know.”
“It was . . . ugly. Very Fatal Attraction. Dad tried to break it off, and she wouldn’t have it. She was new to town, but we’d met her at the bank and a couple other events, and one day she came to school and got Della and me out of our classrooms, said Dad needed us. No one at the office questioned her, though I’m sure that would never happen today.”
She tenses in my arms. “Where did she take you?”
“She took us to her apartment and tried to act like everything was normal.” I close my eyes, remembering the smell of banana bread in the oven, the sound of Christmas music playing in the background. She’d bought me a new Transformer and a Barbie for Della. On the outside, everything seemed great, but I could see that something was off about the way she looked at us, the way she moved around the apartment, a flurry of nervous energy. “Ryann and Ian weren’t in school yet, or she probably would have taken them too. They were with Mom at the preschool where she volunteered.”
“What did she do?” She’s holding me now, one hand behind my neck, the other wrapped around my bicep. Her touch grounds me, and her scent brings me back from the memories of the Transformer and sickeningly sweet banana bread.
“She called my dad and told him not to be late for dinner because we were going to celebrate. I remember thinking that Dad rarely made it home for dinner. He certainly wasn’t going to make it here to have dinner with this woman.” I shake my head. “I didn’t realize she was the reason he was home late every night. So much of what was said, I didn’t put together until much, much later. I was naive.”
“You were a child.”
“When my dad pulled into the driveway, she put us in the basement with the new toys and closed the door. Della and I could hear them fighting. We didn’t understand, but we knew it was bad. Della started crying, and I held her until Dad came down to get us and take us home. Even though she was younger than me, Della seemed to understand. She wouldn’t talk to our father. It was as if she hated him, and I didn’t get that, not until later.”
“That must have been very scary for you both. What happened to Jacqueline? Did she leave your family alone?”
“She committed suicide, overdosed on sleeping pills, and Della and I were told never to talk about that day at her house. It would be bad for the family and for the business. So, we didn’t.” I take a long, shuddering breath, surprised at how tight my chest feels at telling this old story. “Della wasn’t the same after. She was sullen and quiet. She snapped at everyone and had trouble in school. Eventually, she forgave my father, but it took her a long time. He hadn’t just cheated on our mother. He’d cheated on all of us.”
“I’m so sorry.” Turning her face into my chest, she presses a soft kiss over my heart.
“That’s why I didn’t want her to marry Connor,” I admit. “She has enough trouble with trust, and when Connor cheated on her with you . . .”
She stiffens in my arms and slowly pushes herself up. She sits rigid on the edge of the bed, her back to me.
My heart—that soft, mushy place that was in the center of my chest just moments ago—cools and hardens.
“It’s always going to come back to that, isn’t it?” She isn’t looking at me. “It was a mistake, but I am not like your father’s mistress.” She goes to the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.
I press my palms against my eyelids, then I climb out of bed and go after her.
She’s standing at the sink, splashing water on her face.
“You’re nothing like Jacqueline,” I whisper. “I’m sorry if I made it sound like there was a comparison to be made.”
She turns off the water and hangs her head, and I stand behind her and take her shoulders in my hands.