To her credit, she doesn’t miss a beat. She kisses Dad’s cheek and gives him a quick, gentle hug. She could have come home from one of her old spa days. “Hello, Daniel. I’m right here.”
“And looking absolutely radiant. Where have you been?”
“Oh, out and about.” She manages a breezy smile, but I can sense the strain. I see the pain underneath. The same way Hemingway saw the pain beneath my playboy façade. The Hughes aren’t that great at hiding it. “A little bit of shopping. I visited a friend. Am I in time for dinner?”
I clear my throat. I never expected to see both of my parents in the same room again. It’s bittersweet, this moment. Because it can’t last. “It should be ready now, actually.”
“Let’s not keep it waiting.” Dad escorts Mom out of the den. “I’m starving.”
She smiles at him, though I can see the sorrow in her eyes. “How was your day?”
“Busy. Very busy. It’s going to be one of our best quarters ever.” He grins at her, a ghost of the competent mogul he once was. “There’s this new trend that’s going to change the world. Something called social media. Some people think it’s a fad, but I already know it’s going to be huge.”
Hemingway and I trail behind them as they go to the kitchen. From this vantage point, I can see my mom turn her head. This is ostensibly to look into the other rooms we’re passing. I catch the corners of her mouth turning down and the quiver in her chin. It’s hidden when she faces my father again.
“It sounds wonderful.”
He keeps up his chatter while we take our seats at the table.
We have a small staff for the size of the house.
Only one chef, one housekeeper, and one groundskeeper.
The less people here, the less people who need to know our secrets. One of my father’s evening nurses is here. Jennifer hovers at a respectful distance, allowing us privacy while also being nearby in case my father needs assistance. Half of the time, he refuses to eat. I’m not hungry, he says. This time, he beams down at braised chicken and green beans with a side of glazed carrots and proclaims it wonderful.
I can feel the seconds ticking away, closer and closer to evening. To sunset.
Dad makes it through dinner. Through dessert. I manage to hold his attention with a story about one of my racehorses, texted to me from one of the trainers at our property upstate.
He laughs about Pegasus Gold’s thirst for victory on the racetrack. That’s when I see the first shadow of confusion in his eyes.
Hemingway sees it, too. He stiffens in his seat.
“Where…” Dad’s forehead wrinkles. “Where is the coffee? We always have coffee with dessert.”
“I gave it up,” my mother answers. “I get heartburn if I have it after three in the afternoon.”
“We’re okay without coffee, Dad. It’ll keep me up all night. And I think we’re all done eating, so—”
“We always have coffee. I had the cook brew a pot. What’s taking so long? Geneva doesn’t like to wait around at the table.”
“I’m fine, Daniel. Really.” My mom pats his hand.
He frowns at her touch, following her fingertips up her arm to her face.
He’s glaring by the time he meets her eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
“Daniel.” She keeps her voice very, very calm. “It’s me. Your wife.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Spots of color appear high on his cheeks. “I’m not married, and I’d know, wouldn’t I? I’ve never seen you before. What are you doing in my house?”
“Dad.” His eyes dart toward mine. “Mom came over to have dinner with us.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Where is she?”
“Daniel—”
He shoots out of his chair, knocking it over in the process. “You are not my wife. She is not my wife. Who let you in here?”
“Dad, it’s okay.” Hemingway stands up and moves around the other side of the table. He’s in Dad’s range before I can warn him back. “Dad.”
My father rounds on Hemingway, his body rotating into the slap. It turns clawed before it reaches the side of Hemingway’s head and makes audible contact.
Hemingway jerks back, clapping his hand to his head.. “I’m okay.” His cheek is bright red. “Finn. I’m fine.”
My pulse pounds like Dad hit me instead, over and over again. Adrenaline clarifies my horror and doubles it. I know what I’m watching. I’m watching myself, twenty years from now. I’m watching my son grab at the side of his head, blinking, bewildered. I’m watching Eva try to intervene.
I’m almost there, I’m almost there, but my mother is in the way. “Daniel. Don’t touch him.”
He lunges for her. Their limbs get tangled. I see his fist in her hair and terrified fury in his brown eyes.
I shove myself between my parents. Dad’s efforts make it harder to unhook his hands from my mother’s hair. She steps back, then back again.
He’s yelling, eyes wide with distress. “Who let a stranger into this house?”
“Dad. Dad. It’s okay. I know her.” He’s doing his best to reach around me. I don’t know what the hell he’s planning. My heart races. Jennifer appears at the dining room door. If he won’t listen to me, she’s next up. She pulls her phone from her pocket and sends a text. The second nurse on shift will have to help if neither of us is enough. “She’s not a stranger.”
“I don’t know her, Phineas. She’s an imposter. Take her away. Make her leave.”
“Okay, Dad. Okay. Calm down. Please.”
He struggles, but the fight leaves him. Jennifer approaches and puts a gentle hand on his arm. “Mr. Hughes, I made some herbal tea. Would you like some? I could put on Jeopardy in the living room.”
“Fine.” He pushes away from me, getting distance. I stay where I am in case he makes a final attempt. “That’s fine. I don’t want to miss the categories.”
“Good timing, then. You haven’t.” Jennifer takes his arm. “It starts in two minutes.”
It starts whenever she plays the recorded episodes.
I keep my eyes on them while they leave.
Then I go to my brother and put an arm around his shoulders. Turn his head to see if Dad left any marks. There are thin, red scratches at his temple, but nothing deep.
“I’m sorry, Hem. I should have intervened earlier.”
“It’s really fine. He didn’t hurt me.”
Mom approaches, taking her turn at inspecting Hemingway’s wounds. He holds still for her until she releases him. Does she feel as guilty as I do?
The tremble in her voice says yes. “I’ll take my usual suite, if that’s all right, Finn.”
“Of course, Mom.”
The heavy quiet in the dining room steals my breath.
This kind of evening is why I decided never to have children. It’s a stark reminder of what Eva faces if I allow her to stay with me. I don’t know how I can let her do it.
And I don’t think I can stop her.
13
EVA