Little Deaths(98)

She has no idea why it seems so important to make him understand this.

“I told them there was nothing else and they’d have to go hungry if they didn’t eat it. Frankie threw his plate on the floor and I . . . I was so tired . . .”

Frankie’s stubborn face, lip stuck out, his cheek glowing from her hand. Cindy crying but refusing to eat when her brother wouldn’t. Wanting to be just like him.

“They were hungry, Ruth. And I didn’t want them grousing and whining, so I made mac ’n’ cheese and they ate some of it and went back to sleep for a while. But when they woke up, Cin started to cry.

“She said she wanted her mommy. Wanted to go home. I kept telling her to hush, to calm down, but the more I told her, the worse she got, until she was howling. Then Frank Jr. started up, yelling at me that he was going to tell his mommy, that she would be mad at me.”

She feels as though her throat has closed up. Can’t breathe.

“I was panicking, scared the guys down the hall would hear them, so I slapped Frankie and I picked Cin up and shook her. That just made it worse and she started screaming. She was red and screaming and her face was wet—I didn’t know what to do. I put one hand over her mouth and the other on her neck. And then I don’t remember much else, ’cept she was lying there, limp, and there was a sort of . . . foam coming out of her mouth. I shook her again, but there was . . . there was just nothing.

“And when I turned around, Frankie was huddled up on the couch, looking at me. I reached out a hand, but he wriggled back further right into the wall, and that made me real mad.”

His eyes on her. Burning. “You made him afraid of me. My own son.”

“I said, ‘It’s okay, Frankie, it’s okay,’ and he shook his head and he started rocking. He said, ‘You hurt Cin. You hurt my Cin.’ And he kept saying it, over and over, and I couldn’t stand it, so I had to quiet him too.”

His voice falters a little and for the first time he looks away.

“I had to make him quiet.”

She stares at him, looking for a glimpse of the man she’s known for more than half her life. She looks for the humor, the tenderness she knows is in him. And they’re not there.

She loved this man, once. Carried his children.

She wants to vomit.

Their father.

Their own father.

The fact of it is like her own heartbeat. Her own blood, pounding in time with the horror of it.

She’s trembling. “Why? Why did you . . . why?

“Frank?”

He raises his head, and through the shock of it all, she sees that he’s smiling at her. Like it’s a sunny afternoon at Coney Island and he’s just handed her a corn dog. But there’s something in his smile . . . something slithering behind his eyes.

And although his head is angled down and his breath is regular and even, the words come out sizzling.

“Ruth, honey, you were behaving like a bitch in heat. Running around with all those men. You’d spread your legs for any guy with a fat wallet and a fancy watch. You were a mother, but you wouldn’t act like one. So you had to be taught a lesson. And I was ready to forgive you, but you had to ask for it. And I knew that if the kids were gone, you’d need me again. You’d need my help. I knew you’d want me to come back.”

His eyes bore through her, all the way inside her, and his mouth twitches.

“And you did, didn’t you, baby? I was the first person you called. You needed me again.”

His smile is a red blur through her tears.

“You came back to me.”

Somehow the ring of arrogance in his voice breaks the spell and she lets out the long breath she has been holding. She realizes that beneath the horror and the disgust, she is knotted with rage. She clenches her fists and feels the nails break her skin and for one white-hot moment she feels the depth of her hate.

She lifts her head. “But we broke up again, Frank. We broke up. I’ve been with other men since you.”

His tongue flickers out, just for an instant, to wet his lips.

“Lots of men.”

He smiles again.

“Yeah. Yeah, I knew that, Ruthie. I knew you’d leave again.”

He sighs, tips his chair back, studies her with his head to one side.

“And I knew that when you got out of here, you’d disappear. You’d go off with Gallagher or someone else, and you’d think you could move on. Without me.”

Suddenly his chair lunges forward, the legs crashing against the floor, and she jumps and he’s looking over at the guard and nodding like everything is fine, and then he’s leaning toward her. She doesn’t want to give him an inch but she can’t help it, and even though she recoils he’s close enough that she can smell his sour breath as he spits his words out.

“But no matter where you go or who you’re with, no matter who you’re whoring yourself out to, no matter which rich dupe you find to take care of you, you’ll know what I did and why. I’ll be in your head every day. You’re going to get what you deserve.”

He leans back and folds his arms and that smile is back in place.

“When we were waiting for the verdict, I was so afraid you’d get off. These past four years, I finally knew where you were. Knew you weren’t with another guy. And now it doesn’t matter what happens. You could walk out of here tomorrow and it wouldn’t matter. After today, I’ll always be right here”—and he reaches over and taps his finger against her temple. Twice.