The Comeback(90)

Once she’s gone, I follow Emilia like a ghost into the kitchen, where the girls are sitting. Ophelia is playing with the cheese board in front of her, but Silver is anxious, watching her mother closely.

Able storms into the kitchen and opens all of the cupboards, searching for something.

“I’m sorry, why are you still here, Grace?” he asks as he slams another cabinet door.

“Don’t be rude,” Emilia says sharply. I think of her, sitting on the steps in her pajamas, still lifting her cheek for everyone to kiss good-bye because the worst thing in her world would be to be impolite.

“I’m tired, I just got back, and I would like to spend some time alone with my family,” Able says quietly, leaning against the counter and folding his arms across his chest. I recognize the pattern of behavior instantly: the steely quiet before he blows up.

Silver tugs at her mom’s sleeve, but Emilia is still staring down at her hands.

“The hands are the first thing you notice. People say it’s your neck but it’s your hands,” she says quietly.

“Okay, Lady Macbeth,” Able says, always irritated by the oblique. “I need another drink. Girls, why are you still up? Where the fuck is Marla?”

“Marla broke her leg,” Ophelia says, not lifting her eyes from the piece of Brie she has wedged her fingers into.

“I told you that twice,” Emilia says.

“Can I have some wine?” Silver asks, trying to get anyone’s attention. Her cheeks are flushed, and she’s on the verge of a tantrum. I sit frozen, watching the family portrait unfold around me, despite me and because of me at the same time. I am unable to move.

“We’re out of everything,” Emilia replies to Able coolly.

“I’m going to go and pick something up then.”

Able pushes off the counter too quickly and has to grip the back of a chair to steady himself.

“You can’t go anywhere in this state.”

“Daddy’s drunk,” Silver sings desperately, willing even to sacrifice herself to change the dynamic in the room.

“Well, then you go get me something,” Able says challengingly.

“I’ve drunk too much too. It’s enough. We’ve had enough. Able, sit down. The night’s over. It’s over.”

Emilia’s voice is hard and Silver starts to cry. Emilia turns to comfort her.

I stand up then, slowly and deliberately.

“I can drive you, Able. I haven’t had anything to drink.”

Emilia looks between the two of us, her expression unreadable as Able finally meets my gaze.

“Yes, Able. Why don’t you let Grace drive you?” Emilia asks tautly, daring her husband to say something. The air stops moving around us all.

“Fine,” Able says as he turns and walks out of the room, knowing that I will, of course, follow him.





CHAPTER FIFTY





Able tosses me the keys and slides heavily into the passenger side. My heart is pounding, but I try to steady my hands as I turn the key in the ignition. A Tom Petty song plays softly through the speakers. I pull out onto the road.

“I hear you’re speaking to John Hamilton about Anatopia,” he says, tapping his fingers on the console between us. “It’s a smart move for you.”

I shake my head. “I know what you’re trying to do. It’s not going to work.”

He shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

Neither of us speaks for a moment.

“Do you ever feel bad about it?” I ask, my voice tight.

He stares out of the windshield and pauses for long enough that I think he must be considering it at least. “I try not to feel bad about anything.”

“No regrets,” I say, thinking about how my mom has always said the same thing, and neither of us has ever lived by it.

He touches the car audio system, skipping a couple of tracks before he lands on another Tom Petty song. That he feels the need to even control what song is playing infuriates me so much I can’t think for a moment.

“You need to leave my family alone, Grace. I know you know that.”

“Emilia is the one—”

“Emilia feels sorry for you because you’re lonely, and you’re mentally unstable,” he interrupts, holding up his hand to stop me.

“Don’t pretend this is about her. You still need me,” he says, so simply that I almost believe him.

“I don’t need you.” Almost.

“Why are you hanging around my family then? Always in my house? You can’t keep away from my life.”

“That isn’t what I’m doing.”

“You don’t know yourself like I know you, Gracie. You never have,” Able says. “You want me to notice you. That’s why you’re doing all of this.”

My breath is coming thick and fast now as I try to wade through his words, unpicking them like I always have to. He moves his hand up to my head and starts to gently stroke my hair as panic floods through me, its icy claws gripping my heart.

“After everything you’ve done to me, please, please don’t make me feel like I’m crazy too,” I say. My memory of the assaults are sometimes razor sharp, but at other times they break and shatter like a strobe light. I can’t quite reach any of it right now, when I need to believe in myself the most. My eyes fill with tears but I blink them away.