The Perfect Wrong, page 33
I wince.
He’s gone pale.
I watch him slick back his dark hair again with a rattling sigh like some middle-aged stockbroker who’s just had his life savings swallowed by a bear market.
“Cordelia, you can’t be serious. I’m worried about you. Evie and I both think you need some help, and there’s no shame in that.”
“Help? Like what, a shrink? All because I’m telling you we’re in love?” I try not to shout the last part.
The very idea that his psycho wife convinced him I’m the crazy, dangerous one reaches through me and strangles my heart.
I can’t.
I can’t sit here another second and listen to this puppet talk, a man I love who’s been so manipulated he’s not even trying to understand.
“I’m not crazy, Dad. I wish you’d believe that,” I say softly. “I think you know there’s only one person in this house who needs help. I wish you could see it.”
The lines on his face deepen.
“If you mean Evie, you’re wrong. Her last test for recovery was clean. She’s kept every appointment with her doctors religiously. Frankly, she’s done everything she should and she’s come out of it fighting. I only wish she’d brought up this thing with you two sooner. I would’ve stopped it in its tracks before it became a bigger problem.”
“Stopped it? So you think you get to choose who I love?” My voice cracks.
He stands and steps toward me, his face twisted into a mask of concern, but I only see the anger, the disgust, the lies she’s put there.
“You don’t love him, Cordelia. That’s utter bullshit. I won’t have you wrecking your life with some boy who’s too busy chasing skirt when he isn’t getting shot at. You only have a few weeks left before you’re heading back to campus. I suggest you use them to flush him out of your system, one way or another. I don’t care how much in therapy fees I pay.”
Therapy fees?
He actually wants to force me to go to a flipping shrink over something that isn’t wrong?
Something inside me snaps.
I’m channeling Chris when my hand shoots up and my middle finger pops out.
Dad stares blankly, his eyebrows arched up, mouth hanging open, too stunned to speak.
“You know what? Fuck off. My life. My choices. Not yours.” I sigh roughly. “I only came to talk as a courtesy. I thought we were both adults and you’d at least hear me out, rather than doing her bidding.” I pause, readying the final blow. “When Chris gets home, we’re leaving, Dad. I’ll move in with him if I have to. And if you can settle down and do some soul searching, then maybe you’ll get an invitation to the wedding someday.”
“Cordelia—” He chokes on my name, wringing his hands.
I stop right there.
I realize what a hurt, petulant brat I sound like and I don’t care. Dad is not crapping on my feelings for Chris while he’s off risking life and limb.
And Dad isn’t the only one who’s paralyzed.
I’m seething, too angry to do anything else except march past him, heading for my room.
I’m upstairs when I hear him running after me. “Delia, wait! I didn’t excuse you. We’re not done talking yet!”
Oh, yes, we are.
What else is there to say?
I don’t stop moving until I’m in my room, slamming the door behind me.
I’m sure he doesn’t have the nerve to come after me.
The wicked contrast with my father’s weakness makes me think about Chris, and it hurts.
I can’t stand wondering if he’s okay.
Where he is. What he’s doing. Whether or not he’s even breathing.
Ugh.
He wouldn’t come out and say it, but I know he’s been thrown into something dangerous. And it’s a special kind of hell being stuck here, alone, when I need him more than ever.
I’m just trapped, caught between this screwed-up family business and the last man I ever expected to care so much for.
There’s no denying it, though.
Especially when Chris hangs on my mind every waking second, the entire reason I’m fighting my father tooth and nail for the first time in my life.
I’m not a religious person. But I stare outside at a cool late summer rain blowing in and send it a quiet prayer.
I ask the gods, the universe, whatever’s out there to protect Chris.
Please, bring him back to me, and mend this shattered family.
I ask for a chance to taste his lips again and renew my faith that everything will be okay.
* * *
The next couple days are a blur.
I alternate between my paper and long breaks where I bust out my paints.
At least heartbreak and anxiety make me super productive. Dad isn’t the only workaholic in the family who copes with pain by putting his head down.
I’m over halfway through a seventy-page research paper in two days.
I’ve also crafted a pretty forest scene with so much depth, all shadows and muted light spinning a rainbow of greens that spans the entire spectrum.
Green like his eyes.
Green like his soul.
Green like my envy for everyone who gets to fall in love without so much trouble.
Sighing, I rip myself away from it and take a shower before I break down again.
I haven’t heard a word from him for days.
But he said there’d be radio silence.
Still, I can’t help frantically searching Google, Twitter, and news sites almost hourly, searching for any mention of big kerfuffles in Mexico involving American security contractors.
For once, I don’t mind the professor hounding me like mad.
At least this time it’s because he likes the first leg of my paper so much he’s eager to see if the rest of it lives up to his lofty expectations.
I make myself scarce in the house, slipping Marguerite a few extra bucks to bring me sandwiches and yogurt and drinks to restock my mini fridge.
I hear Bruce and Evie talking in the hall a few times, muttering about me in low, worried voices. They just have to add their feelings to this sick, dark cloud that’s descended over our house.
Dad knocks on my door several times, calling my name.
“Go away!” I shout.
The silence and receding footsteps tell me he gives up.
He still respects my privacy, I guess.
As far as I’m concerned, this trouble is all in their own dumb heads.
If only they’d fret over Chris this much when he’s the one who actually needs it. He’s facing a thousand traumas, and I’m only up against one.
God.
Will he even be the same man if he comes home with a broken body, mind, or spirit?
I thought I’d braced myself for the agonies of a military man’s woman. I thought I could stand them, but now...
...now, I have to focus to stay calm enough to breathe, and we’re not even married yet.
Holy hell.
I wish he’d offered me a ring before he left.
I don’t care how insane that sounds.
I want to be his, irrevocably.
Even if the price is worrying myself sick, suffocating in this gaping silence where he’s completely at fate’s mercy.
For love, I’m ready to suffer, the same way I know he hurts for me too.
I only hope whatever he’s gotten himself into means he’ll still return in one piece.
It’s late evening before I go downstairs to scavenge up some dinner to reheat. I’m finally feeling up to a warm meal.
I think about going out, but it’s almost ten o’clock, and I’m not keen on driving into the city after dark with crowded bars and limited other options.
I find some leftover curry in the fridge and pop it in the microwave, grabbing a coconut water on my way out.
Maybe I’ll get out and go for a run—assuming Dad hasn’t told security to keep me under lockdown.
It’d be nice to burn off some of this tension turning my muscles into tangled knots. And it’s not just the constant worry about Chris that has me on edge.
This is the first full week I haven’t slept with him since Vegas.
My body misses his like a drug.
I’m wearing the same panties I did on our first trip now, and the memory alone makes me wet and sad. Never a fun combination.
So I sit down on the patio next to the pool and tuck into my food, willing myself to taste the layered spices rather than dead slag.
Sigh.
I’m still chewing in perfect sync with my brain, off in la la land, when Evie steps in front of me.
“What do you want?” I snap, looking at the dark-green liquid in the cocktail glass she’s brought with her. So much for being clean. “Did you just come to taunt me or hide your drinking from Dad?”
I’d give anything to wipe that smirk off her face.
“Of course not, dear. It’s a mocktail. The chef comes up with such delightful things, even if they lack the usual kick I’m used to.” She holds the drink up, staring at it glumly. “Your father will be joining us in a few minutes. My request. Pleasant night, isn’t it? I’d like to put this all behind us, Cordelia.”
“Cool. So you’re suddenly okay with me dating your son?” I ask.
I’m not surprised when she rolls her eyes and huffs.
“You’re too cute. All that time alone must’ve gone to your head. I’m just glad you finally decided to come out of your cave...” Evie flashes me that man-eating smile and cranes her neck down, too close for comfort. “You know there are a hundred other boys out there to fuck, right? I’ve done plenty of that between husbands, dear. Sometimes during them too.”
“You’re so gross,” I fling back.
Her eyes narrow. “Oh, grow up, little Delia. You’re too old and too smart to be acting out like a child.”
If she’s trying to flatter me, it doesn’t work.
“Will you just back off?” I snarl.
It’s all I can manage.
I swear, if she doesn’t get out of my face, I will slap her.
I hate how she makes me wonder if I’m secretly a violent person.
And what the hell does she mean by acting out?
“Ah, there’s your dad now.” She takes a long sip of her drink and looks up at the windows past the gardens, where there’s a figure striding around the kitchen. “I’m afraid you’re in deep shit, missy. Don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning before this got messy.”
Next thing I know, her hand slips into her pocket. There’s a crinkling sound, and she raises a clear plastic bag of something that looks like flour and—
Oh, no.
What the actual hell? Is that cocaine?
“Evie, what the—” I bolt up so hard I knock her drink out of her hand just as she drops the bag in my lap. The glass goes tumbling to the ground and shatters like a broken ornament, and then she jumps.
The bag falls out of my lap and hits the ground as I stand and stare.
Evie staggers back, her eyes big with shock and hurt.
Just what she wants.
Just what she planned, I realize too late.
By the time Dad appears at her side, she’s doubled over and wailing, staggering around like she’s blind.
Too bad the glass shards are everywhere, crunching under my flip-flops.
My eyes are locked on that white bag of lies, slightly torn now and leaking powder everywhere.
“What’s going on?” Dad yells, pulling her into his arms and shooting me a dirty look before he notices the glass under his shoes and looks down. “My God. Is that...”
“Bruce, Bruce! Thank God. I just came out here to talk to her and I...I found her like this. She was just sleeping out here with that crap in her lap. When I tried to get a better look and took it, she pushed me. I dropped my mocktail and...and...”
The conniving mega-bitch actually gives me the evil eye for a split second before she’s gasping, covering her face with one hand to hide the fake sobs.
Dad whispers reassuring words I can’t hear—or maybe I just don’t want to—crushing her protectively against his chest.
What is even happening?
I have a pretty good idea, but my brain doesn’t want to believe it.
I listen to her exaggerated blubbering for the next thirty seconds, too shocked to roll my eyes.
“Come on, darling. Let’s go inside and get you cleaned up.” He takes her hand so gently and kisses it like she’s a scared kitten, wiping the drink splatter off her arm with his sleeve. Then he looks at me again with a betrayal I’ve never seen in his eyes. “You, Cordelia, take your plate to the kitchen right now and wait for me in my office. Don’t try to leave. And if you wreck anything else around here, if you damage our home, I won’t be bailing you out next time.”
His words are sheets of ice.
I’m so sick at how cold, how disappointed, how delusional he is that I can’t speak.
They turn sharply and head for the house.
No flipping way.
I take off, jogging after them, feeling several stray glass shards sticking in my shoes. Ugh.
“Dad, no—wait! She’s lying. Do you really think I’d ever...” I swallow, still too bewildered to say it out loud. “That crap is hers. She pulled it out and startled me, and I—I didn’t mean to hit her. She threw her drink at me. I’m not crazy! Dad, she’s nuts. Please, wait! Don’t listen to her.”
Evie makes an exaggerated, broken sound before he can look at me. Her face lifts off his shoulder, and she’s wailing so loud it hurts my ears.
I’m going to vomit.
Dad stops, turns around, and gives me a look like he’s ready to strangle me.
“Cordelia, shut it. Haven’t you done enough to my wife? Or were you just keeping that trash safe for your stepbrother when he comes home?” He shakes his head limply as my mouth falls open. “Jesus Christ. I...I can’t believe you. You’re in no position to judge anyone after today.”
I’m not sure what’s crueler—his words or that arctic gaze that spears through me.
I’m totally paralyzed.
So I stop in my tracks and watch them retreat inside, Evie still clinging to him like a wounded animal, and Dad hypnotized by every wicked word.
The skies have cleared up overhead.
The stars struggle to shine out through the lingering thin clouds and the city’s light pollution.
For once, I know how they feel, struggling through the infinite, empty blackness.
I’m completely alone in my own home.
* * *
Dad doesn’t look at me as he marches past into his office.
He just stops behind his desk and scowls like an inquisitor.
I’ve only seen that look on his face once or twice before, during airline financial stress, and never so furious. Never so personal.
He’s less angry CEO and all scorned father.
My voice feels so small when I find it. “Dad, before you start, I want you to know—”
“No. No more excuses, Cordelia. What you did affects this entire family—and if you were hiding drugs for him, if he put you up to this, I need you to come clean. Right now.”
What?
For a second, I just blink at him because I can’t believe my ears.
“Drugs? Are you out of your effing mind?” I’m yelling. “Seriously? You think Chris is on drugs?”
His face falls.
“I don’t know what the hell to believe. I’m working that out. Regardless, you won’t be seeing any more of Evie’s son. He’s not welcome here while he’s bringing addiction to our doorstep—and with his mother’s demons, too. My God.”
“Her 'demons' are why he’d never touch that crap in his life!” I shout back. “Dad, are you that blind? You really don’t see it...”
“Evie’s tests were clean,” he says sharply, pulling at his collar. “Cameras confirm she hasn’t left the house since rehab without me. She simply couldn’t have smuggled anything in, let alone started using again without someone knowing.”
Jesus.
For the first time, I’m more afraid than I am furious.
I don’t know how she did it, but she did.
She’s working black magic to set me up.
Dad’s mouth is moving, but I’m not listening anymore, too up in my own head to process more grueling accusations and lies he’s fallen for.
I don’t refocus on what he’s saying until he’s in the middle of another lecture.
“...and if he steps foot on my property again, I won’t hesitate to call the police. I’ll have him thrown behind bars in a heartbeat if that’s what it takes to keep him away from you.”
Bile rushes up my throat.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
Cannot.
So now he thinks the love of my life—a decorated war hero and a man who’s been through hell with his own mother—is just a flipping street criminal?
“Awesome. Way to give her exactly what she wants,” I say bitterly. “She’s playing you, Dad. Just like she’s been doing since the day you guys met. Why can’t you see it? You’re a smart man. Don’t you remember when Evie got in my face and you stood up for me? Chris makes her crazy because he’s a grown man who won’t put up with her tricks. Not the little boy she used to push around, and that’s what makes her so...yeah.”
For a second, Dad glares at me, his eyes flicking with confusion before he breaks.
“Goddammit, Cordelia, no. Why don’t you see he’s messing with your head!” Dad bellows.
His fist bangs his desk.
I jump.
“You’re the only person here being 'played,' dearest heart, and it kills me to see it,” he whispers, his shoulders slouching as he falls back against the wall. “He tried to kidnap you. He knocked down my gate. Frankly, this is my fault for not pressing charges immediately...”
Dad purses his lips. His eyes are swirling and dark, and he folds his hands, cracking his knuckles like that blow to the desk hurt him.
“Dad...do you hear yourself?” I whisper miserably, a sob ripping up my throat.
“Evie was right. I was wrong. My only regret is not listening, for giving her sneaky, piss-poor excuse for a son a chance. I trusted him, you know. I thought his experience overseas meant he’d be a positive influence in your life. I’m the fool who sent him on that damn trip with you and...” He stops, inhaling sharply. “Forget it. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I let him into our home, our lives, and he stabbed us in the back. I let my guard down, and yours, Cordelia, and I wonder how I’ll ever forgive myself.”
