The Bitter Season (Kovac and Liska, #5)(94)

“Why would you do that?” Taylor asked. “That was the last time you will ever hear her voice.”

“And listen to her say how disappointed she is, and how sad she is, and why couldn’t I do something about it?” he said, building up a head of steam as he paced. His eyes filled. His voice strained. “Why would I save that? I have enough memories of her being disappointed in me. I don’t have to keep them on my phone.”

“Why was she disappointed in you, Charlie? You’re the success story of the family. You graduated, got a good job, never in trouble—”

“Because it’s never enough,” Charlie muttered. “Nothing is ever enough. Something is always wrong or bad or not enough.”

“Well . . . it’s over now,” Taylor said.

Charlie stopped his pacing and looked at him, a quiet fury in his eyes.

“You have to go,” he said quietly. “Please go.”

Taylor hesitated, testing him.

“How did you feel about your dad donating his collection to the university?” he asked.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“We spoke with his insurance agent this afternoon. Your father called him Monday and wanted a new appraisal done because he was planning to donate the collection. Isn’t that what you argued about at dinner Sunday night?” he asked. “He was angry with your sister. Maybe he found out about her and Sato. Did he decide to trump her charge against him by giving his collection to the school?”

“He wouldn’t have done it,” Charlie said, agitated. “He was always making threats like that. He wouldn’t have actually done it.”

“Well,” Taylor said with gravity, “he won’t now, will he?”

Charlie Chamberlain’s body went rigid; his good hand balled into a fist. His mouth twisted with rage. “Get out. Get out!”

“Thanks for your time,” Taylor said, stepping slowly toward the door. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride to an ER?”

“Get out!”

The door slammed shut behind Taylor as he stepped into the hall, and the neighbor stuck her head out again and looked at him. Taylor smiled at her and reached into his pocket for his ID.

“Miss, I’m with the police. Can I have a moment of your time?”





28


The nightmare would go on forever, Charlie thought as he paced his apartment, working around his swollen lip to chew on the cuticles of his left hand. His fingernails were already bitten to the quick. The trajectory of their lives, his and Diana’s, had been charted before they were even born, without their consent, by women they had never met, and had been moved forward on that line by every event thereafter, hurtling them toward disaster for twenty-four years. This was the life they had been placed into.

What lucky little children they were, they had been told, to be adopted by parents who could give them opportunities and education and life experiences. They had looked like the perfect family from a distance. From within the bubble, their life experiences were learning how to survive in a house where children were not welcome, with parents who had wanted them for all the wrong reasons. They were supposed to be cute and quiet and well behaved, to reflect well on their parents, to be seen only on cue, to speak only when spoken to.

Don’t bother your father . . . Mommy has a headache . . . Be quiet! Never touch the things in your father’s study! . . . You’re dirty! Go wash your face . . . Go change your clothes . . . You’re an embarrassment . . . You’re a disgrace . . . Behave or we’ll send you back where you came from! Slap! Pinch! Go to your rooms!

They had spent their childhoods trying to protect and comfort each other. Diana got the worst of it because she asked for it. Charlie always came to her defense. He learned to read the moods of all concerned, and worked to circumvent trouble before it could happen. Meanwhile, Diana ran headlong into it.

Their father belittled Charlie for trying. He called Charlie Diana’s minion from the time they were small. Even when Charlie didn’t know what that meant, he knew it was an insult by his father’s tone and by the sneering face that went with it.

Charlie always thought of himself as his sister’s hero—unsung, for the most part. He believed that was his purpose. He had been placed into the life he had to protect her. Diana, more often than not, had no lasting appreciation for his self-sacrifice. She was quick to use him when she needed him, and just as quick to dismiss him after. She used her love as a bargaining chip to get what she wanted from men, including him, and he fell for it every time because she was the only family he’d ever had, the only one who had ever given him any love at all.

There was a part of him that admired her and envied her for her recklessness, her passion, her violence. There had never been a line drawn that Diana wouldn’t step across just to defy authority. She did what she wanted no matter the consequences. Charlie didn’t have that in him. He was the dutiful son, the rule follower. He worked within the system like a good little drone, ever hopeful he would be rewarded for being a good boy. Diana had no system. She lived on emotion and thrived in chaos.

At times, he even envied Diana her mental illness. Her bipolar disorder was the built-in absolution for everything, from her erratic behavior to her hypersexuality. As much trouble as she got into because of it, she got out of because of it. Poor Diana, she can’t help herself. Poor Diana, the medication has such unpleasant side effects. Poor Diana, she’s trying so hard to be good.