True Places(76)

Suzanne went on. “And you told Reid you would talk to Brynn. If you had actually talked to her about the photo, she might at the very least have had second thoughts, knowing this guy was showing her photo around.” Suzanne stood, unable to control her agitation. “But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there, Whit? It wasn’t, in the end, about Reid or Brynn, was it?”

He’d had his back to her and now turned halfway around. “What are you talking about?” But he knew, he knew exactly what she would say. His shoulders were hunched, ready to absorb the blow.

She felt not a drop of pity for him. “The reason you didn’t believe Reid or talk to Brynn had nothing to do with the credibility of what Reid said. It had to do with Robby, and with his father.” She circled around him so he had no choice but to face her. “You knew if I found out, I’d insist on talking to Robby and his parents, and that wasn’t something you could handle. Instead of protecting your daughter, Whit, you chose to protect your precious deal!”

Whit straightened his shoulders. “That’s not how it was. That’s not it at all.”

“Isn’t it? Then why haven’t you called Robert and told him what his son did? Why is it that the only person you’re angry with is Reid?”

He blinked slowly and let out a long breath. “I didn’t mean to endanger Brynn. You’ve got to believe that.” He paused, waiting for her assent.

Suzanne let him hang there. Wasn’t failing to act to protect someone the same as endangering them?

“I know I should’ve listened to Reid. At the time, what he was saying seemed so far-fetched. I wish to God I had listened, but it seemed so crazy.”

“Crazy or inconvenient?”

“Suzanne. I know you’re mad—with good reason—but you can’t lay the whole mess at my feet.”

“I’m not. I take blame for what happened to Iris. I should have been stronger. I should have stuck to my gut feeling that getting in a limo with Brynn and her friends was not going to end well. I blame myself for that.” Suzanne crossed to the bed and sat. Now that she had vented her anger, sadness welled in her chest. Her nose stung. She rubbed her eyes and smoothed her hair.

Whit dropped his voice. “Don’t blame yourself. I’m the one who let Iris decide.” He moved closer. “Maybe we made the wrong decision taking Iris on.”

Suzanne jerked up her head. “What?”

“Maybe we’re not as good at being parents as we thought. What happened last night pretty much proves the point. And Iris has been a huge strain on us, you especially.”

“You’re blaming Iris?”

“No.” He took a step back, two. “I feel for her, I really do.”

Suzanne looked at Whit a long moment. Did he mean what he said? Had he always been so self-serving? She didn’t know anymore. She’d lost her ability to judge, if she had ever possessed it. Perhaps she been too busy—always busy!—to see Whit and the rest of her perfectly constructed life clearly. She had chosen to march on, iPhone in hand, through the blizzard of duties, tasks, and obligations that she’d believed until this very moment had been mandated by her choice to bind herself to this man.

Suzanne got up, went to the closet, and pulled a small duffel bag from the shelf.

Whit followed her and pointed at the bag. “What are you doing?”

She dropped the bag on the floor, pulled a few items from a dresser drawer, and stuffed them in the bag. She added a pair of pants, a couple of shirts, a fleece jacket, sneakers, and the toiletry case from her gym bag and zipped the duffel closed.

“Suzanne!”

She pushed past him with the bag, grabbed her laptop from the table next to the chair, stowed it in her computer case, and gathered both bags.

Whit stood in front of her. “Where are you going?”

“Away.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know, Whit. Long enough to think. Hopefully long enough for you to talk to Reid and Brynn without me in the way or running defense or enabling you or whatever it is that’s been going on for a very long time.”

He placed a hand on her arm. “Please don’t go. Please.”

She shook her head. “You want to blame Iris because it’s easy. It’s misguided, Whit. You ought to be thanking her for showing us who we truly are.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I hope you figure it out. I really do.” Suzanne moved past him, stuck the computer bag under her arm, opened the door, and turned to him. “Unless you object, I’m taking the Navigator.” His face was a canvas of pain, resentment, and confusion. Suzanne’s perennial response to her husband’s distress was to restore order so he could find peace again, or at least launch himself forward, always forward. Now she resisted the impulse to smooth his path so he could move through this difficult terrain. Her path mattered, too. She didn’t know what it looked like or where to find it, but nevertheless, at this moment, hers mattered more.

“And Iris,” Suzanne said as she left. “I’m taking Iris, too.”

She crossed the hall into Iris’s room and stood over the bed. The girl was curled on her side, hands pressed together under her cheek, knees drawn up. Her hair had fallen across her face. Suzanne fought the urge to brush it away and instead smoothed the cover over the girl’s shoulder.