Don't Say a Word - Barbara Freethy [151]
"Because you were spying on the Russians," she said, "not because you wanted obscurity. And you know, I wasn't stupid. I knew something was going on. And that woman-Sarah-were you sleeping with her?"
"Sarah was always just a friend. She was also working for the government," he added. "We both wanted to do something for the people over there."
"So altruistic," she sneered. "Worry about people you don't even know, but to hell with your family. What kind of heroism is that?"
She had a good point, Alex thought. And his father took the hit hard, his face aging before their eyes. 380 There were deep, grooved lines around his eyes, across his forehead, and at the corners of his mouth. He'd spent twenty-five years living a lie and feeling guilty. They'd all paid a price, Alex realized.
"I can't defend what I did to you and Alex," Charles said. "I can only tell you that my intentions were to keep you safe, and at least in that effort I succeeded. I'll go now. And I am sorry, Kate, for whatever that's worth. Do what you want with my pictures. I gave up photography the day I died."
Alex was surprised to hear that. "What have you been doing?"
"Working as an auto mechanic. My father was one. He taught me how to work on cars. I never thought I'd want to have that job, but in the end it became my life. I've been able to make enough to survive."
"Did you marry again?" Kate asked sharply. "Not that I care."
"I never remarried," he said quietly. "I never tried to re-create my family. I knew that would be impossible." He drew in a long breath and slowly let it out. "I want you both to be happy. That's all. I'm sorry for everything I've done that hurt you. Not just for faking my death, but for choosing to involve myself in something I knew could bring danger to both of you. That's what I truly regret. I was selfish. I couldn't see past what I thought was so important. I was a shortsighted photographer. I should have turned that camera on myself; then I would have seen the truth." He gave a regretful shake of his head. "Good-bye."
Alex wanted to say something, but he didn't know what.
His mother didn't seem to have the same problem. "You owe me, Charles," she said.
"Whatever you want, Kate."
She hesitated. "I want you to stay dead."
Alex's breath stuck in his chest as he waited for his father's answer.
"I can do that," Charles said. And with that, he walked out of the living room, out of the house, and out of their lives… again.
"I hate him," Kate said a moment later, but there was more pain in her voice now than anger. "You hate him, too, don't you, Alex?" Her eyes pleaded with him to agree.
He wished he could give her what she wanted, but the truth was he didn't know how he felt about his father anymore.
Julia stared at the house Michael had bought to surprise her. She still couldn't believe he'd made the purchase without asking her first. But she wasn't here about the house or about their relationship; she was here to find Liz. She needed to tell her sister the entire story. Maybe Michael needed to hear it, too. She owed him that much.
She walked up the front steps and saw that the door was ajar. She knocked, then pushed it open, hearing laughter in the kitchen. She walked through the doorway and saw Liz on a short ladder, using a roller on the ceiling, while Michael was on his knees doing the baseboard, complaining that Liz was once again spattering him with paint. He was right. They both wore as much paint as the walls, and they looked surprisingly at ease with each other.
Julia had always known they were good friends, but now she couldn't help wondering if Liz and Michael should have been the couple all along. She cleared her throat, drawing Liz's attention. Her sister almost dropped the roller when she saw her.
"Julia!" Liz squealed.
"Hi," she said. "Michael."
Michael slowly rose. "What