Blow(27)

Cautious now, he spoke softly. “Why?”

I looked up. “Because of her. I can’t explain it, but I don’t want her or that little girl hurt.”

He drew in a breath. “They aren’t your concern.”

“I can’t leave.”

“Just say it, Logan. The woman looks like Emily.”

Unable to stand the pain of the memories, I pushed up and headed for the doorway. I knew that was coming, but still, I wasn’t going there.

My father’s reaction was to follow me. He just wasn’t going to let it go that easy. He also knew I’d never stand in the kitchen willingly and talk about it, so he had limited time to make his point.

But feeling like I owed him an explanation, I stopped just before I opened the door. “Yes, she does. But my reasons for being concerned about her aren’t what you’re thinking.”

I could tell he didn’t believe me.

“Pop, I’m not attracted to her because she looks like Emily, but I am attracted to her. And I’m afraid for her because she does look like Emily. I’m afraid of what will happen if Patrick—or worse, Tommy—notices the similarity.”

“Yeah, I am too,” he sighed.

That wasn’t reassuring at all.





ELLE


Cries in the night.

That’s what I remembered most from my childhood. The root of my self-pronounced aversion to desire. With the memories ripped open so unexpectedly, I had a hard time sleeping.

Nightmares.

My nightmares.

They kept waking me up, forcing me to remember what I’ve tried so hard to forget. My fists gripped the sheets and I fought the panic they evoked, but it was too late—they’d already surfaced.



“I asked you to take your clothes off,” he barked.

“The doctor said we should wait at least two weeks.”

“It’s close enough.”

“But Henry, the doctor said—”

“Do you think I give a shit what advice some doctor is giving you? You’re my wife and I’ll f*ck you whenever I want to.”

“Have you been drinking, Henry?”

“This isn’t about my drinking.”

“But it is. I’m not sure you’re thinking clearly. It hasn’t been that long since I lost the baby.”

He huffed in frustration. “Susan. Not this again. It’s the same thing every night. Now I’ve waited long enough. Take your clothes off or I’ll rip them off.”

My mother protested. “Henry, I’m not ready.”

Under his breath he muttered, “You never are.”

“That’s not true. I’m just not sure I’m up to it.”

“Fine, then lift your nightgown and turn around.”

My mother sighed.

My father’s voice was soft when he spoke again. “Come on, baby, I need to be inside you. It’s been weeks. You know how crazy I get when I can’t have you.”

I was confused by the silence, but then a few minutes later, I heard the mattress shift.

I was six and in my bed, clutching my teddy bear. The walls were so thin. When the creaking started, my big sister crawled in beside me and hugged me. “Don’t listen, Gabby. Don’t listen,” she whispered. She always blocked out the noises at night. I never could. I didn’t like to hear my daddy angry and my mommy upset.

There was a thumping against the wall and my mother started to cry. I couldn’t help but listen. I wanted to help her.

“What’s he doing to her, Lizzy? Why is she crying?” I whispered.

“Shhh . . . close your eyes. Think happy thoughts. Don’t listen.”

I tried, but nothing could block out my father’s words. “I provide for you. Why can’t you just take care of my needs without all this horseshit all the time?”

“I try, Henry, I do. I can’t help how I feel, though,” she whimpered.

Skin slapped against skin. “You like it this way. Tell me you do.”

“Henry, please,” my mother cried.

Sweat covered my body. I wanted to climb through the walls and tell him to leave her alone. “We should go help her,” I told my sister.

“No, never do that,” my sister warned. “Do you hear me?”

I nodded.

I heard my father laugh. “That’s it, beg for it.”

I wondered if everything was okay now, but then I heard the thumping against the wall, and it was getting louder and coming quicker.

“Please stop,” my mother cried.

He let out a huge sigh. “You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me. Could you please just stop complaining? Every time, Susan. Every time it’s something.”

“It hurts.”

“You know, Susan, if you can’t give me what I want, then you can damn well spread your legs when I tell you to or take it this way.”

“Henry, please. It’s not like that.”

“Fuck, can’t you give me anything I ask for?”

Her sobs grew. “Please don’t blame me for losing the baby.”

The thumping stopped.

“Who else should I blame? You lost my son. And now that it’s time to try for another, you’re not ready. How will the Sterling name carry on? This is on you, Susan.”