Taking Turns (Turning #1)(83)

“I see.” That’s about all I have to say about that.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m moving on in life.”

“OK,” I say. “But I don’t know why you felt this deserved an unannounced face-to-face meeting. Is there more to this? Like, is she pregnant?”

Another incredulous burst from Smith. My father glares at him.

“She is,” my father says.

“Well, that explains the accusation you just lobbed at Chella,” Smith interjects, unable to stay quiet any longer. “Feeling guilty much, Senator?”

My father ignores him. “We’re getting married next week. You’re not invited and I didn’t want you to hear about it on the news.”

I wait for the stab of pain. The kind that comes from betrayal, but there’s nothing there in my heart. Just a few weeks ago I’d be devastated by this announcement. But now? I shake my head at my father. No. He has no power over me anymore.

“I came here to say goodbye, Chella. To the life you were part of. To your mother. I loved her once and I hope she’s found her peace in death. But I can’t—won’t—be trapped in that life any longer. I’m moving on.”

The three of us sit there in silence for several seconds.

Is there anything left to say?

“Are you finished?” Smith asks, his voice low and calm.

My father just looks at me, frowning. “I hope he’s the one, I really do, Chella. He’s pretty much what you deserve.” He drags his eyes over to Smith who stands up and extends his hand to me. “I know who you are, Mr. Baldwin.”

“Good,” Smith says. “Let’s go, Chella. I don’t think there’s anything left to say.”

I take his hand and draw in a deep breath as I stand up, looking down at my father. “I’m sorry I was never the daughter you felt you deserved. And I hope this new family gives you what you need.”

I don’t say goodbye. It’s not even necessary. I just let Smith lead me through the restaurant. We collect our coats and wait for the valet to bring my car in silence. I let him drive us home. And when we’re sealed up tight inside the dark garage, with nothing but the sound of silence between us, he sighs and says, “I’m so f*cking sorry.”

I open my door and get out. Smith does the same.

“Don’t be sorry,” I say as we walk to the door of the house. “This has been coming for a very long time.”

Smith opens the door and places a hand on the small of my back, ushering me inside. He drops my keys on the table where I usually keep them. The lights are all on, like he left in a hurry. And when I walk through to the kitchen, I notice just how much of this place already belongs to him.

“Do you want me to call Bric for you?” Smith asks.

I shake my head and start climbing the stairs.

“Chella,” Smith calls after me.

I just keep climbing.

“Chella?” Smith calls again.

I guess if he had something to say, I might stop and listen. But he’s speechless. And my name isn’t enough to pull me back from this… this darkness.

When I get to the top floor I start taking off my clothes. I hang up the dress, slip on a white bathrobe, and start the water for the tub.

Smith is standing in the doorway of my room. Not in, not out, but between.

“What?” I ask him as I go looking for a bubble bomb in my closet. “Just say what’s on your mind and then get out. I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want company tonight. Go back to the Club and leave me alone.”

I find what I need and go back into the bathroom. Smith is in that doorway before I can close it up. Whatever. If he wants to gawk at me while I take a bath, who cares?

I drop the bubble bomb in the hot rushing water and stand there watching them form. When I’m satisfied with their progress I drop my robe and step in. It’s hot, but not hot enough to keep me from sinking down and going under.

I let the calm thunder of the water drown out my life on the other side, close my eyes, and relax.

He can’t hurt me. He cannot hurt me.

And he didn’t. I feel so much nothing inside my heart, there’s an echo in there.

I sit up and rub the water out of my eyes so I can open them.

Smith is still standing in the bathroom doorway. We stare at each other for a few seconds and then he says, “Do you know why I liked you so much?”

“When?” I ask. “When did you like me so much?”

“That first night. After I took you home I looked you up on the internet.”

“Oh,” I say, looking away.

“There’s not much about you online. Before you took this job at the gallery, anyway. There’s plenty about you recently. But it’s the stuff that came before that intrigued me.”

“I’m not talking about it.“

“Just listen to me, Chella. OK?”

I shrug and start playing with the thick, frothy white bubbles.

“When I found all the gaps in your childhood I was excited.”

I give him a sidelong glance from the corner of my eye. “Why?”

“Because my childhood is the same way. Did you look me up, Chella? On the internet?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“And what did you find?”