Page 81 of Love is Angry

“I tried,” she whispers. “I was hysterical. I thought it was my fault, that I should have argued with Julian—I thought surely,she must still have been alive—surely, I could have saved her—talked her out of jumping.”

“You do think she jumped, then.”

She swallows and shrugs. “He knew how to push her buttons, Rhue.” The timer dings and she waves dismissively at it. “Forget about that. I know it’s hard to think about—it’s hard to work out the truth. Yes, I think your dad killed your mom—and yes, I think she killed herself. Maybe he didn’t literally push her, but his actions and words had been pushing her closer to the edge for years.”

She gives me a small, sad smile. “Your mother put on a good front for you kids and her clients. She never let Julian see how deeply he hurt her. But I saw, Rhue. I saw. And I didn’t do enough to help her. I guess, in that way—maybe I killed her, too.”

Why do women keep saying that? My dad’s the bastard, not them. But Madison, now Sibel, try to put themselves there, make themselves responsible.

“You didn’t,” I tell her. What else can I say? I pull a card out of my wallet and glance around, assessing the million-dollar home. “Nice place. If you’re ever in the market for something less oppressive on your wallet, let me know.”

I place my card on the countertop and tap a finger on it.

“I really appreciate you talking to me, Sibel. And—it might not mean a whole lot coming from me—but I’m sorry. For everything you went through.”

She swallows hard and squeezes her eyes shut, pushing twin waterfalls of tears down her cheeks. “You should go,” she whispers. “And don’t come back. Ever.”

I don’t press the issue. I’m getting a clearer picture of what happened that night—but I know it’s going to take a miracle to find someone willing to blame my dad outright. I don’t believe my mother took a swan dive under her own power, no matter how many buttons he pushed. She wasn’t like that, damn it!

A familiar and unpleasant sensation returns as soon as I’m settled behind the wheel.

Someone’s watching.

I’m starting to get ridiculously paranoid. Even after repeatedly checking the mirrors and looking around, I fail to see anything out of the ordinary. But maybe I’ll take a lot of extra turns on my way to Madison’s—just in case.

Chapter 35

Madison

It’s not you who’ll lose everything, Maddie. It’s your dad.

Julian had the audacity to write that. I guess he’s not even afraid that any of these texts will ever end up as evidence in court. He probably doesn’t see this going to court or even going public. He’s got the power, and I’m the runaway deer trying to avoid the headlights.

Rhue promised he’d try to help me, but I’m not sure how much he can even do.

By the time I reach the city, my anxiety levels spike and I cannot shake this feeling, this obnoxious feeling that I’m being followed.

I pull over outside city hall, unwilling to lead an unseen stalker uptown to my house. Minutes pass in tense, cold silence as I watch other cars drive by. None linger. I don’t see any eyes on me. It must be paranoia.

Loud music whizzes past me, blaring out of an SUV and accompanied by laughter.

It’s a Saturday night, and I’m looking over my shoulder, afraid that I’m being followed. Shaking my head, I fight off a wave of self-pity. I’m in college. My only concerns should behigher education and hormones. Nothing more. Yet here I sit, behind the wheel of my Prius, knees weak, sweat seeping into my sweater as I try to figure out how I’m going to warn dad without destroying him. I never wanted him to know the full truth about Julian.

I take a deep breath and pull back into traffic, heading home. I still haven’t figured out exactly what I’m going to say by the time I pull up in front of the house. I’m kind of hoping the words will just come to me, somehow. I grab my weekend bag from the backseat and lock the Prius before I head inside.

“Maddie!” Dad greets me as I close the door behind me. “I didn’t know you were coming down this weekend.”

“I’m sorry, I should have called—are you busy?”

He opens his mouth to say something, then pauses as he studies my face. “No,” he says. “Just let me make a quick call.” He steps into his den. I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but I’m still on high-alert and everything seems just a little louder, a little brighter, a little more important.

“Hey, Noelle. Yeah, about that—look, Maddie just showed up. Yeah, usually I would—but there’s something going on with her. I need to—yeah. You’re a sweetheart. Thanks, babe. Yeah, I will. Love you, too.”

Damn and double damn. Not only have I ruined his date night—I’ve also completely failed to hide my issues from him. But he never once pushed the issue—never tried to force me to talk to him. I’m overwhelmed by a rush of love for my Dad and it makes tears spring to my eyes because I know, no matter how I go about this tonight, he’s going to end up hurt.

He comes back, smiling as he slides his phone in his pocket.

“Tell Noelle ‘sorry’ from me,” I say with a chagrined smile. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

---