Stranger in the Lake(91)
I puff out a breath, not a laugh exactly, but close. If Paul’s words are true—and I’m not saying they are—then I’m not the only one guilty of having blinders on. We see what we want to see, and we disregard the rest. I know this better than anyone.
“So when Sienna washed up under the dock, who did you think killed her?”
“Micah.” Paul stabs a finger into the table and leans forward. “That’s why I went to find Jax, because Chief Hunt was never going to let his own son go down for murder. I knew they were going to try to pin it on Jax. Blame the crazy person. Plant some evidence or, hell, I don’t know, drum up a witness or two. But never, not once, did I think it was Mom. You have to believe me. It didn’t even cross my mind.”
I don’t respond, because the truth is, I don’t believe him. I don’t know if what he’s saying is real or yet another falsehood from his bag of lies. A woman who was only asking about coffee, a deal to build million-dollar homes on swampland. So many stories, and I am done taking this man at his word.
“Your mother offered me money to stay through the trial, maybe longer. She said she’d set up a trust fund under the baby’s name but give me control of how to spend it.” I pause, shifting in my chair. “I don’t know how much, but I’m guessing a lot. I didn’t exactly give her time to finish.”
“You don’t need her money. You can have half of mine. Screw the prenup—I’ll split everything straight down the middle. My attorney will draw up the papers first thing tomorrow.”
“I don’t want Katherine’s money.”
“Okay, mine, then. All of it. Every cent. It’s not as much as hers, but it’s more than enough to care for you and the baby.”
“Guilt gifts, like the ones you’ve been buying Jamie Holmes.”
“This isn’t about guilt, Charlotte. This about paying my debts. Taking care of people caught in the crosshairs through no fault of their own. I know money doesn’t fix things, but I figured if I could just...take some of the pressure off, maybe it would make things easier.”
I can’t deny money makes things easier, just like Paul doesn’t deny he’s been paying for the upkeep on Jamie’s home. I should have known it was him and not Jax. Paul’s love language is money. What’s some electronics and a monthly landscaping bill to a man with so many millions? He has more than enough to spare.
“I want to take care of you, Charlotte. And our child. Please let me.”
“That’s not why I came.”
He shakes his head. Frowns.
There are footsteps outside in the hallway, moving closer. Sam coming to get me.
“I came because I need you to understand what it feels like to grow up like I did, under the shadow of parents who’ve done awful things. That shit leaves scars, and I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone, least of all an innocent child.”
My words hit him like a punch, and his eyes shimmer with regret, with pain. “I get it. Of course I do. And for the rest of my life, I will hate myself for what I’ve done. To you, to our baby. Our child will suffer because of me, because of the mistakes I’ve made, the wrongs I’ve done. I know I don’t deserve anyone’s forgiveness, least of all yours, but I need you to know that I’m sorry. I am so goddamn sorry.”
He breaks down then, sobbing into his hands, and I know what he wants to hear—that I accept his apology, that I understand and forgive him. That our baby will be okay, that together we will see to it.
But I can’t say any of those things. Maybe one day I’ll be able to, but not today. Not yet.
The lock chinks in the door, and I know I don’t have much time.
“Paul. Paul.” I slap a hand to the table to get his attention, waiting until he looks up from his fingers. “Years from now, when our baby is old enough to understand, I am going to tell him or her what you did, and I will use it as a lesson. To teach right from wrong, how to pick the good from the bad. And when I do, I sure would like to be able to say that, in the end, when push came to shove, your father did the right thing.”
The handle twists, the door creaking open, and I plant both hands on the table and lean in close to make sure my next words land, that he hears them and understands.
“Do the right thing here, Paul. Or I will.”
40
I steer Chet’s Jeep around the last hairpin turn on the driveway, and there it is, the sleek box of steel and glass hanging from rocks high above the glittering lake. I remember the first time I saw it, from the passenger seat of Paul’s fancy SUV, the excitement I felt when I counted all the windows and doors. Twelve, and that was only across the front side.
By now it’s winter, and the wind is achingly cold as I make my way to the front door, icing over my skin and rustling the plants in the pots on either side of the stoop. Hellebores, Katherine’s favorite. I know, because I heard it on “Gone Swimming,” episode 5 of Grant’s podcast, along with the fact that she was a master gardener, ate cold pizza for breakfast and detested country music. Silly, trifling details I’d been longing to hear for so long, and I heard them from a stranger.
But thanks to the podcast, media attention has been brutal. Reporters chasing me through town, ambushing me at the coffee shop and in the grocery store, shoving microphones like furry ice cream cones under my nose. My answer to them is the same every time—“no comment”—but like Micah once said, they’re a persistent bunch.