Jack did this. “Your father.” Oh fuck, to put that in means Jack has known the truth. Known it and never told me. Everything inside me starts careening out of control again.
The officer holds a pen to Kaley. “Sign here, that I’ve explained this to you and that you understand and agree to comply.”
Oh God, I know that expression. She’s going to argue. Don’t up the ante, Kaley. Not this time. Sign the fucking thing. Your grandfather managed a miracle for you.
The agony in my body, the tension as I wait, is excruciating. Then she takes the pen. She signs. Everything starts to move in hyperdrive, bodies moving in front of me, and then the sound of my door closing.
Silence.
We’re alone.
I step into the room.
I don’t know what to do next.
Kaley’s voice shoots through my head: You don’t know what it is like to be me.
Oh fuck, but I do know.
I did to my daughter what my bastard of a father did to me. Deny. Lie. Hurt. The only part I haven’t done is die yet. And it doesn’t matter that I never intended to. It doesn’t matter that I’ve always been in her life and loved her.
I stare at the destruction that used to be my house. Kaley feels about me the way I feel about my own father and that makes this fucking unbearable.
Chapter 17
We drive back to Pacific Palisades and I am not even sure why the fuck we’re going there. We haven’t talked. Not one word. We just sat in the living room, silent, staring at each other, both of us I think too overwhelmed for another round today.
The silence in the car is deafening. My thoughts are an unrelenting, uncheckable constant series of questions, anger, and accusations.
I shouldn’t go home.
Back to Chrissie.
Not today.
Not with how I’m feeling.
Kaley makes that inescapably something I have to do.
I glance at her covertly out of the corner of my eye. She’s transitioned from anger into worry. She’s wondering what this all means. What the fallout is going to be. The impact to her mother. To her. To her family. I doubt she cares what it means to me.
I park in the driveway and turn off the ignition. I turn toward Kaley. “Go inside. Go to your room. Stay there.”
Her eyes, anxious, shift to me. “What are you going to do?”
“It’s going to be OK,” I assure her. “The rest of this needs to be sorted out privately between your mother and me. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you. I love you. But you need to stay out of this. OK, sweetheart?”
She jumps from the passenger seat and runs for the front door. I sit in the car, staring at the house, willing myself to be calm, but nope, it’s not happening. I’m fucking on the edge, ready to explode, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop that.
I climb from the car. The house is quiet when I enter. Maybe I’ve caught a break. Maybe the kids are still gone. Maybe they don’t know what’s happened today. Fuck, how could they not know?
I make my way toward the back of the house. I don’t want them here. This could spin out of control in any direction. I can’t breathe. I step into the family room.
They’re all here, except Chrissie, with Linda. Khloe on her lap. The boys tucked into each side of her. And Krystal hovering close from the ground beneath her. They all look anxious and confused and afraid. Any doubt that they all know dies with the look in their eyes.
I need to get the kids out of the house.
Kid—my kids.
Oh fuck, these are my kids.
I’m hyperventilating, too numb from emotion to move, and too afraid to say anything.
“Manny—”
I cut Linda off. “Take them to your house. Now.”
I almost turn to leave and realize I can’t just walk away from them. They’re frightened. Staring at me. Wanting something. I don’t know what I even have left in me to give. But they are my kids. I’ve got to do something to make this not something worse than it is for them.
I go and take Khloe from Linda’s arms. I kiss her and hold her close, and then crouch down in front of the rest of them.
I gesture with my arm. “Come here. All of you. Please.”
I pull each one into me and kiss them on the head.
“I love you,” I say, struggling to breathe and fighting like hell not to cry. “Everything will be OK. Kaley’s home. She’s fine. I’m OK. Your mom is OK. We’re all going to be OK.”
Krystal looks like she’s about to say something. I pull back, stand up quickly and hand Khloe to Linda. “Take them. Go. Please, Linda, don’t argue. Just do it. Don’t bring them back until I call you.”
For once Linda is shocked into silence.
She stares at me, her expression nearly making my tears give way, and then she turns quickly.
“Come on everyone. Go to the car,” she says, ushering the kids out in front of her.
I stay in the room until I hear the front door close. I go to the bar, pour myself a scotch, and try to organize in my head the things I want to say to Chrissie before I try to talk to her.
Fuck, I can’t formulate a single coherent thing.
I go out onto the patio, sink onto a sofa and stare blankly into the darkened yard. The world still looks the same here. The gaily decorated lawn, happy and perfect, but behind the façade a crock of shit.
Every moment between us has been a lie. Every smile. Every touch. Every kiss. Every fuck has been a crock of shit because every moment she shared with me was wrapped in a lie. What do you say to a woman who has done something like this? I don’t even know if I’m capable of looking at her and that rends my heart.
I throw my fucking glass against the concrete. I run my fingers through my hair and hold my head. It feels like it’s about to explode. I feel like I’m about to explode.
I hear the French doors open and close. I shake my head, my jaw tight. I don’t look, but I know it’s her. I can feel it in the way everything kicks up, no longer numb, inside me.
“Please, Alan, tell me you’re all right. I need to know you are all right.”
Her voice is calm, monotone, and it shoots through my body like a depth charge.
I rise from the sofa and whirl toward her. Chrissie is standing awkwardly against the glass, her eyes wide and her face tight, pinched and afraid.
“Goddamn you, Chrissie. Is that really your first concern here? What the fuck happened to your kids coming first always? Or does that not count today?”
She flinches, but she doesn’t look away, determination clear in her eyes. “I’ve talked to the kids. I’ve explained. Or at least tried to. I’m not sure how much they understand. Kaley won’t talk to me. What did you say to her? How is she?”
“Fuck, is that all you care about? That I might have said something that made you look bad to your daughter?”
Her eyes flash. “That’s not what I meant. She won’t talk to me. I’m worried. She’s our daughter. You must be worried, too.”
My anger intensifies. “Oh, sorry, our daughter, pardon me for the momentary mental breakdown I’m having in the middle of this fucking insane day you’ve created.”
I turn away from her, willing myself to stop this. At least until I can sort through everything, figure out what I’m feeling and what I want to do.
“I never intended any of this to happen,” she says, her voice small and weak.
When I move to face her again, she’s hovering by the door, looking lost, fragile, and almost breakable. My anger starts to war with my heart at the sight of her. Those giant blue eyes, always vulnerable and laced with a hint of sadness behind the shimmers that is uniquely hers.