The last secret_ a novel - Mary McGarry Morris [95]
“Stop rooning the paper, that's … what!” Oliver shouts after him.
“What?” Ken wheels around in the doorway. “What're you talking about?”
“That … that … Gendron! Your private … you can't … roon … the pa-per. You can't! No!” Oliver bellows.
Ken's face reddens, but his lips are thin and white. Through his mangled speech, Oliver accuses his brother of not listening, always taking the easy way out, never caring about anyone or anything, not the paper or his family, just himself “You … roon … everything. Always!”
“Stop it, Oliver!” she says, pointing at him. “Just stop it right now. Your brother is trying so hard to help you and help the paper and do the right thing for everyone. And I know how hard this is for you, what you're going through, but don't do this. Don't take it out on Ken.”
“We don't do that! We don't hide … things!” Oliver shouts in a burst of clarity as she heads toward the door.
“Oh, yes we do, Oliver. All of us. All the time,” she says, then leaves.
“For you! For you! For you!” His bellowing follows her down the hallway. She is still shaking when Ken comes out to the car.
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that.” She feels terrible. Poor Oliver, an easy target for her own frustrations, she tries to explain. “But Stephen, I mean, why is he doing that? Especially now, running to Oliver whenever anything happens. Why doesn't he come to you if he's got a complaint?”
“He did. I told him to go fuck himself!”
Shocked, she stares at the sweep of the wipers and doesn't say anything for a moment.
“Why?”
“Because … because everywhere I turn, I'm …” He hits the wheel.
“What? Trapped?”
He glances over, then looks back at the puddled road ahead.
“That's it, isn't it? Isn't it?”
“Things, they just keep piling up, that's all.”
“What things? Me? The children? The paper?”
“I'm an ass, okay, I always knew that, but I never figured I'd be this much of a screwup.” His voice breaks.
“What're you talking about? Of course this isn't going to be easy. It's going to take time, Ken. And probably a lot longer than either one of us thinks. Especially now with Oliver sick and you having to take on all this new responsibility. But in the end we'll both be so much stronger. I know we will.” She squeezes the back of his neck. The muscles are rigid, unyielding. “Okay?” she says, but he drives in silence. “We have to be able to talk, Ken. Especially when everything's so … so connected. The children, our work, the—”
“You tell me then. Who's Eddie Hawkins? Who is he?”
“What do you mean?” Her ears ring as if from a blow.
“That guy I met. The night of Oliver's stroke. I told you about him. He said he knows you.”
“Not really. I mean, I did. Years ago. Summer of my junior year. The job I had. Lake George? The hotel there, remember? I know I've told you.” Eyes wide, she sighs. “God, what was that? Twenty-five, twenty-six, years ago.”
“He's seen you. He's talked to you. Just recently. He told me. You caught up on old times, he said. Some trip you took. The two of you. Together.”
“He said that? Oh, for godsakes!”
“Nora. What's going on?”
“I don't know. Nothing! He was just some guy, that's all. I was seventeen. If that.”
“No. I mean now.” The way he says it scares her. “Why the secrecy?”
“There's no secrecy.” The road blurs.
“Then why didn't you say anything? That night. I told you his name. You—”
“What're you getting at, Ken? What're you trying to say? I mean, with everything that's been going on … all the turmoil … half the time I'm lucky if I can remember my own goddamn name!”
She stares out the side window. So it's true. Money won't stop