Look Closely - Laura Caldwell [63]
“Really? Paris?” My voice got loud and my father looked at me quizzically. “Where did she live in Paris? On the Left Bank? Maybe by the apartment that we had there?”
“No.” His voice was soft in comparison to mine. “She actually lived by the airport, I believe.”
I felt like crying now. He was painting an entirely false picture of Caroline—an East Coast school, a move abroad to Paris to be an artist—giving the impression that he knew few details, since he didn’t keep in touch with her.
“Well, I’d better go.” I pushed back my chair just as the waiter arrived with my father’s whiskey.
He looked startled. “So soon?”
“I have work to do.” I crossed my arms over my chest, as if I could hold in the battle of emotions inside me.
His face carried a helpless expression I’d never seen before. “We could talk some more. About Caroline and Dan, if you want.”
“All right. Why don’t you tell me if Dan ever hit Mom? Tell me if you ever hurt her.”
A second went by. Then another. And another. The only movement in the room seemed to be the blinking of my father’s eyes.
“Why would you say that?” he said.
He hadn’t denied it.
“Why would you say that?” he repeated.
My throat felt as if it was closing, and I had to stop the tears I felt coming. I wanted to say, It doesn’t matter because you wouldn’t tell me the truth anyway. You’d lie to me, just like you have all my life. Instead, I stood, and murmured an excuse about the McKnight case. I turned and walked away then, my heels sinking into the thick, plush carpeting, making me feel as though I might stumble. I gripped my briefcase more tightly. When I got to the doorway, I looked over my shoulder.
Will Sutter sat alone, oblivious to the cries and shouts of laughter from the men at the bar, staring at my chair, as if he hadn’t yet registered that I was gone.
16
Friday dawned with growls of thunder rolling through the city and rain pelting my windows. Usually, I was up by six, often taking a run before I jumped in the shower and hurried to the subway, but that morning I couldn’t make myself move from the bed. I rolled over and curled myself into a ball, pulling the comforter up to my ears. My limbs felt leaden, my mind dull, but when I let myself focus, one thought pierced through. He lied to me. All my life and last night to my face, my father lied to me. This realization made it seem as if my whole life was at an odd angle, one where I couldn’t get my footing, where I couldn’t trust anyone.
Except Maddy, I thought. I looked at the clock: 7:20 a.m. She would be up and getting ready for work. I dragged myself over to the side of the bed and lifted the cordless phone off the nightstand. But there was no answer and none on her cell phone, either. For a moment, I wondered if I should be alarmed. Then I remembered Maddy’s new man. She’d probably spent the night at the corporate apartment he had in the city. The thought brought a faint smile to my face. Maddy deserved to find happiness with a guy. She and I couldn’t be the terrible twosome forever. But that thought restored the frown. I turned over on my side again and let myself drift back to sleep.
When I woke again, it was after nine.
“Shit,” I said, sitting up. By the time I showered, I wouldn’t get to the office until at least ten, even if I took a cab. I hated the thought of strolling in at that hour. It looked terrible to anyone who might be paying attention in preparation for the partnership election. I reached for the phone and dialed Amy’s direct number.
“Are you all right?” Amy said. “I was just starting to get worried.” Since I was usually at the office by eight—Amy got there shortly after—I knew she had probably been watching the clock, checking the diaries over and over, wondering if I had forgotten to mention a court call.
“Sorry. I’m not feeling well.” I didn’t have any guilt saying this, since it was true. I didn’t mention that it was my emotional health that was in jeopardy, not my physical well-being.
“I’m not surprised.