The Rescue - Nicholas Sparks [112]
“It’s not that. I’m talking about you and me.”
“Didn’t we just talk about this the other night?”
Denise sighed in exasperation. “Yeah, we talked. Or rather, I talked. But you didn’t say much at all.”
“Sure I did.”
“No, you didn’t. But then, you never have. You just talk about surface things, never the things that are really bothering you.”
“That’s not true—”
“Then why are you treating me—us—differently than you used to?”
“I’m not . . .”
Denise stopped him by raising her hands.
“You don’t come over much anymore, you didn’t call while you were away, you snuck out of here yesterday morning, then didn’t show up later . . .”
“I’ve already explained that.”
“Yes, you did—you explained each and every situation. But don’t you see the pattern?”
He turned toward the clock on the wall, staring at it, stubbornly avoiding her question.
Denise ran her hand through her hair. “But more than that, you don’t talk to me anymore. And I’m beginning to wonder whether you ever really did.”
Taylor glanced back at her, and Denise caught his gaze. She’d been down this road before with him—the denial of any problem—and didn’t want to go there again. Hearing Melissa’s voice, she decided to go to the heart of the matter. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“What happened to your father?”
Immediately she saw him tense.
“Why does that matter?” he asked, suddenly wary.
“Because I think that it might have something to do with the way you’ve been acting lately.”
Instead of responding, Taylor shook his head, his mood changing to something just short of anger.
“What gives you that idea?”
She tried again. “It doesn’t really matter. I just want to know what happened.”
“We’ve already talked about this,” he said curtly.
“No, we haven’t. I’ve asked you about him, and you’ve told me some things. But you haven’t told me the whole story.”
Taylor gritted his teeth. He was opening and closing one of his hands, without seeming to realize it. “He died, okay? I’ve already told you that.”
“And?”
“And what?” he burst out. “What do you want me to say?”
She reached toward his hand and took it in hers. “Melissa said that you blame yourself.”
Taylor pulled his hand away. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
Denise kept her voice calm. “There was a fire, right?”
Taylor closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, she saw a kind of fury there that she had never seen before.
“He died, that’s all. That’s all there is.”
“Why won’t you answer me?” she asked. “Why can’t you talk to me?”
“Christ!” he spat out, his voice booming off the walls. “Can’t you just drop it?”
His outburst surprised her, and her eyes widened a little.
“No, I can’t,” she persisted, her heart suddenly racing. “Not if it’s something that concerns us.”
He stood from the couch.
“It doesn’t concern us! What the hell is all this about, anyway? I’m getting sick and tired of you grilling me all the time!”
She leaned forward, hands extended. “I’m not grilling you, Taylor, I—I’m just trying to talk,” she stammered.
“What do you want from me?” he said, not listening, his face flushed.
“I just want to know what’s going on so we can work on it.”
“Work on what? We’re not married, Denise,” he said. “Where the hell do you get off trying to pry?”
The words stung. “I’m not prying,” she said defensively.
“Sure you are. You’re trying to get into my head so you can try to fix what’s wrong. But nothing’s wrong, Denise, at least not with me. I am who I am, and if you can’t handle it, maybe you shouldn’t try.”
He glared at her from where he was standing, and Denise took a deep breath. Before she could say anything else, Taylor shook his head and took a step backward.
“Look, you don’t need a ride and I don’t want to be here right now. So think about what I said, okay? I’m getting out of here.”
With that, Taylor spun and made his way to the door, leaving the house as Denise sat on the couch, stunned.
Think about what I said?
“I would,” she whispered, “if you’d made any sense at all.”
The next few days passed uneventfully, except,