Don't Say a Word - Barbara Freethy [103]
They should have stayed and talked it out, Julia thought as she drove Alex back to San Francisco.
There were questions that should have been asked- about the photograph, about Sarah, about herself. Those questions would have to wait. When Alex had time to think, to recover, maybe he'd be more receptive to another discussion. If not, she'd do it on her own. But she wouldn't leave him now. For the first time since she'd met him, he seemed completely overwhelmed and out of control. Every muscle in his body was clenched. There was a nervous, reckless, angry energy about him as he tapped his fingers on his leg, then the armrest, shifting every few minutes as if he couldn't possibly get comfortable. She doubted he would feel comfortable for a very long time.
His father was alive. She couldn't imagine what Alex must have felt when his father stepped onto that porch. She knew how much Alex had idolized his father and how much he loved him. In fact, up until this moment she might have said that Charles Manning was the only person Alex had ever loved with any kind of depth. He certainly didn't seem to possess the same emotion for his mother or for any other woman in his life.
She shot him a sideways glance, wondering what he would tell his mother. But she wouldn't ask. She couldn't push him right now. He was a spark ready to explode.
"Can't you drive any faster?" Alex asked as they crossed the Bay Bridge to San Francisco. "Why don't you change lanes?"
"Alex, chill. Do you want me to turn on some music?"
"No." Alex tugged on the seat belt restraining him and shifted in his seat once more. He breathed out a heavy sigh, then said, "He's not dead, Julia."
She cast him a quick glance, but he was staring straight ahead. "I know," she said.
"I watched them put an empty casket into the ground. I didn't know it was empty at the time. No one explained that to me when I was nine, but I figured it out later. I don't even have to close my eyes to remember the cemetery staff throwing big chunks of dirt onto the casket after they'd put it in the ground. My mother didn't want me to watch, but I couldn't look away." He turned to her. "Where do you think he was? Hiding behind some tree or statue in the cemetery? Was he watching us cry for him? How could he let us think he was dead? What kind of man does that to his child and his wife?"
"I'm sorry, Alex."
He didn't seem to hear her. He was too lost in his thoughts, his memories. "I went into my parents' bedroom during the reception after the funeral. I didn't understand why people were laughing and talking as if nothing had happened. I wanted to feel closer to my father, so I went into the room my parents shared when they'd been living together. He hadn't been there in months, but I thought I could still smell his aftershave. I went into the closet where he had left some clothes hanging in the back. I stayed in that closet for over an hour."
Her heart broke at the image of the lonely, terrified little boy he described. "Did your mother find you?" she asked softly, hoping that Kate Manning had had enough tenderness at that point to pull a nine-year-old Alex into her arms and hold him.
"No, she didn't come looking for me. Eventually, I came out on my own and put myself to bed. He was gone and I had to accept it. So I did." Alex rubbed his forehead with his fingers as if he had a pounding headache.
"I have some aspirin in my purse," she offered.
"I don't need it. I'm fine."
"Yeah, you already told me that."
A few minutes later she exited the bridge and drove straight to Alex's apartment building, hoping she wouldn't find any more surprises. They'd have to pick up their cars later and return the car they were driving to Alex's friend. But at the moment all she wanted to do was get Alex home.
When they entered the apartment, it was just as they'd left it-complete and total devastation. Maybe it was a good time to clean up. It would give them something else to focus on besides the horrible truth they'd just