Page 73 of Grift

What do I even do from here? Part of me wants to stay. But how do we make a future from the ashes of something like this? He says that he’s a monster. He murdered two people because of me – or for me. No matter how I look at it in the shadowy light of morning, I’ve added to his grief. I owe him so much. But the weight between us is heavy, and I don’t know how we move forward together. Or apart. At all, if I’m honest.

“Do you want me to go?” my voice sounds small, and I despise the weakness I hear there. The pleading. The opening to change his mind. Those familiar hands slide up from my wrist, to my elbows, and then come to rest below my shoulders. He pulls me close, tucking the top of my head under that hard, square jaw.

When he speaks again, his voice is heavy with regret. “I can’t offer you the life that you deserve. What I want for you is to find a life that’s full of light and full of joy, far away from all this. Far away from politics, gambling, and crime. Far away from everything that comes with being a Carney, that comes with being with me. You deserve to be free of broken families and broken men.”

I can’t help it, I pull him closer to me and can feel how hard his heart is pounding.

“I want you to be free, Jessica. That’s the one thing that I can give you.”

I already feel empty with the finality of it, my stomach threatening to heave. Finally he pulls away, standing in the door for a long minute. “I’m going to destroy it. All of it. That’s the last copy. I just want you to know that.”

He walks away, giving me space.

It’s like I’m moving through molasses, everything slow and painful, like walking barefoot across an endless field of broken glass with no way to escape. I just push forward, gathering up my essential papers, my ereader, and finally tucking the last of my gear into my work bag.

My cell phone is already exploding with three calls from my brother Camden, several from my father’s office, and one from my mother.

I’m numb. I need to deal with the heartbreak here before I can face what this day has to bring.

Deal with what’s here. My eyes move to the door. I can’t just walk away not knowing, and let him describe it. Part of me wants to be protected, to be kept safe. But if I don’t know what’s on those tapes, don’t see it for myself, I don’t know if I can really get closure.

Patrick’s voice is serious and quiet from the other end of the apartment. He’s expressing shock, and telling someone I’m still asleep. When I step into his study and push the door closed, the fire still crackles in the hearth.

It’s like I’m outside myself, one part of me screaming “No, don’t do it” and the other picking up the disk, sliding it into the laptop, and hitting play. The video is grainy, short, and violent. I watch it once, twice, and a third time. It seems like there’s nothing left for me to feel.

How could anyone have looked at this and seen it for anything other than what it was?

How could my father have blamed me?

How could this have gone on, for so long?

On the final loop, I hear Patrick calling my name and then his voice low, angry, and his feet picking up speed as he runs toward the door. Turning around, I see the emotions slide across his face, clouds darkening toward a violent storm.

Anger. Horror. Regret.

A new feeling takes hold. Maybe I’m in shock? It’s the thought that I can hold onto as I get to my feet. I understand it now.

My parents had seen that tape and saw my ruin. Their ruin.

James Carney had seen it and seen a disgraced woman who could be used to control her family.

And Patrick? What had I expected him to see?

Without a word and without stopping for my things, I push past him, walk straight down the hall and out the front door. He’s already called me an Uber. It’s waiting out front. Getting inside, I mumble my address to the driver who looks at me warily and I stare straight ahead, nearly unseeing, for the drive back to my Cambridge apartment.

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