Page 71 of Grift

Jessica

It’s almost dawn when Patrick comes home.

Pale streaky light, that barely-dawn that happens on the long, dark winter mornings of Boston, brightens the sky.

He called to tell me that something came up at the casino, and he’d be working an overnight.

The huge bed is so empty without him, a fact that I don’t let myself dwell on too much. He’s come home, just standing in the doorway instead of sliding into the luxurious sheets and comforters with me.

But one look at his face tells me something is very wrong.

I sit up against the nest of pillows.

“Are you okay?” My voice is groggy with the in-and-out sleep of the night. I reach out for him, but at first, he doesn’t come to me. He just stands there, regarding me, and then eventually leans closer and gets to the edge of the bed.

“We need to talk.”

A knot forms in my stomach. My brain isn’t processing fast enough. He’s coming home in the middle of the night to break up with me? My fingers curl around the edge of the comforter, tugging it closer to me.

He watches in the dim light, and his huge hand moves over mine. The skin is hot, but hard to the touch. Heat sparks between us and he pulls it back suddenly, abruptly.

“Take your time. Meet me in my study.”

His study. Patrick’s study, with its leather couch and fireplace. The most him room in the whole place, and the one room where we’d spent so little time. For long moments, I lean back in the bed, closing my eyes and taking deep steadying breaths. Willing my pounding heart to cease slamming in my chest, and the fear whispering tension into every corner of my body to stop.

If I’d learned one thing in recent weeks, facing things head on is better than dodging them. I slip out of the silk nightgown I’d worn, hoping Patrick would join me in the wee hours.

I slide into dark casual pants, a t-shirt, and sweater. I wash my face and pull my hair back. And then I pad the distance down the hall and knock lightly on the study door which is ajar. It’s dark, but the gas fireplace is blazing. Patrick sits in one of the two leather chairs in front of it, elbows on his knees and head resting in his hands.

He looks broken, and it’s the barest bit of self-preservation that keeps me from going to him and wrapping my arms around his big, tired form.

At the sound, his head snaps up with his neutral mask fully in place. He gestures to the chair next to him. “Sit.”

The heat of the fake flames pushes at the sudden chill that’s settled in. There’s a distance here, something between us, that I don’t think I can cross.

“What’s wrong, Patrick?”

He points to a pile of papers, and to a laptop that’s neatly stacked on the small table by the fire. But when I reach for it, his hands shoot out. “Wait. Listen to what I have to say first.”

So I wait and after long moments he turns to face me. “Jessica, do you trust me?”

It’s not what I expected him to ask, and part of me is at a loss for words. But some other, deeper and more instinctual part answers readily. “Yes, I trust you.”

His eyes move to mine. They’re so dark in the room, vivid blue when they catch the flames. “I came into certain information yesterday. Information pertaining to you and to the tapes.”

The tapes. I’d known, deep down on some level, that this would all circle back to that. It had led to the loss of everything I’d valued, everything I believed to be true. This wouldn’t be any different in the end.

“I asked myself the right thing to do. Discuss it with you. Give you a choice in how you wanted to proceed,” his voice is harsh. “But in the end, there was really only one decision that could be made, in the world we live in. I could save you that. Still, I want to say I’m sorry for taking away the choice.”

“Patrick, I don’t understand,” my voice is unsure.

His brow knits and I see then that his hands are clenched into fists, vibrating with some emotion. “If you trust me, would you just let me tell you that everything is solved? The people behind this have been eradicated, and will never bother you again. Every copy of the tape and everything related to it will be destroyed.”

Slowly, something starts to unfurl inside me, a coil of fear and hatred that had wrapped tight around a wound a decade before. My bare feet are flat on the cold wooden floor and I silently beg the universe to feel grounded. Connected. Safe.

But safe is here, where I’m Jessica Carney. Safe is the knowledge that Patrick could keep it all at bay. Prevent his father from sharing what was on those tapes. Prevent my father for suffering for whatever I had done. And deep down, in the darkest recesses of my soul, prevent me from having to confront whatever I’d done.

Or had been done to me.

---