The last secret_ a novel - Mary McGarry Morris [50]
“A chance to do what?” she asks carefully. He might take less.
He sets the pictures down, facing him. “It's like, you know, when you cut your fingernails and you flush the pieces down the toilet, I think about that. I like that feeling. Parts of me, like, floating into streams and rivers, the ocean. Feeding something. Fish maybe, then people. Like, something organic. Life. The ongoing process. You know what I mean? Some kind of cycle.”
His intensity makes her shiver.
“Regeneration!” he says suddenly. “That's what I mean!”
“If it's money you want—,” she begins, then jumps as he pounds the desk.
“You don't get it, do you, goddamnit! It's way past that now. Way, way past. I want a life, that's what I want.” His voice softens. “What you have.”
“But how can I do that? I don't understand.”
“Be my friend,” he whispers, straining over the desk. “Just be my friend.”
“And then what?” She can't breathe.
“Well. I don't know, do I?” He twiddles his thumbs and looks around. “A job! That's a pretty good start. Place like this, must be something I can do here.”
“No. I can't do that. But money, that would help, right?”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“I can give you money.”
“What do you mean, give me money?” he sneers.
“A loan. That's what I meant.”
“You're kidding, right?”
“To help you get on your feet.”
“Get on my feet!” he roars, his arm sweeping clear her desk, galleys, papers, books, her marble pen set, the children's pictures, the antique glass paperweight that was her mother's, radiating wobbly light as it rolls across the floor. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he rages. Standing now, he reaches across the desk as her phone rings.
Nora grabs it before he can.
“What's going on in there?” Hilda asks. “That man, are you all right?”
“Yes.” She fixes him with her stare, daring him to take another step. “Something fell. By mistake. Mr. Hawkins … he'll be out in a minute.”
With that, Eddie sits back down. He covers his eyes.
“You don't sound right,” Hilda says.
“I'm fine. We're almost done.”
“I can call Ken. He just went by.” Hilda's shadow darkens the strip of light beneath the door.
“No need. Really, Hilda. Everything's fine.” She hangs up but holds on to the phone. The last person on earth she wants in here is Ken, and have the shameful, sordid story revealed, especially now, flushed into the mess her life has become. And the thought of Chloe and Drew hearing any of this sickens her. Imagine, their mother involved in an assault, or maybe worse, no matter how long ago or how young she was. They have enough to deal with, as it is.
“Why are you doing this to me?” he whispers, eyes still shaded. “It's wrong. It's so wrong.” His shoulders narrow as his chest rises, falls, and she remembers exactly this, the sudden fury, his utter desperation, and its powerful effect on a seventeen-year-old.
“I think you better go now,” she says, steeling herself for his next outburst.
“I hate getting upset. You have no idea. The way it makes me feel,” he gasps, peering at her in such a contortion of rage and despair it might seem comical if she weren't so scared. “My head's pounding. I can hardly see. I can't think straight.”
“I'll call someone. They'll bring you downstairs.” Hand trembling, she picks up the phone.
And with that, he opens the door and is gone.
Hilda rushes in, shocked by the mess on the floor. “What happened?”
“Short fuse. No big deal.” The papers she's picking up tremble in her hands. Hilda asks who he was. Just some guy, Nora says. He wanted a job. She can tell that Hilda is biting her tongue.
They work together in silence, getting everything back on the desk.
“There was something really wrong with him,” Hilda finally says.
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“No, I mean it. Just talking to me, he was way too intense. On the edge.”
“Like a few people around here. Maybe I should hire him. See what happens.”
“No. I mean disturbed. Like, psychotic. I could tell.”
“Thanks for letting him in then.” Trying to make