Past Imperfect (27 page)

“So McGuire is taking his time getting us a copy of the suicide note,” my father says. “You need to tell me absolutely everything about your relationship with this girl. I want as few surprises as possible when we meet with them.”

I’m sitting in my father’s office trying to prepare for our meeting with Becca’s parents, but the only thing on my mind is Mabry. I’ve barely seen her today. She’s been in her office since I arrived at work. I’ve checked on her a couple of times. Each time, she gives me the same weak smile that she gave me earlier today and then directs her attention back to either a law book or her computer monitor. She’s shutting me out and I don’t know why. Last night she said she wouldn’t leave. I can’t figure out what could have changed overnight.

“Bradley.” I hear a sharp angry voice say.

“What?”

“Would you get your head out of your ass for five minutes and focus on this mess you’ve gotten us into?” my father bites out.

“Sorry, what was the question?”

He huffs out a breath of impatience as he glares at me. “Details. I need details on the type of relationship you had with this girl.”

“We met at a party and she went home with me.”

“Willingly?” he asks.

I sneer at him and answer, “Yes, willingly. I’ve never forced a girl to do anything she didn’t want to do.”

“I have to ask these questions, Bradley. You’re my client now, not my son.”

I try to stifle the laugh before it bursts from me, but I’m not successful. He removes his glasses and places them in front of him. Leaning back in his chair, he takes a moment to compose himself. I can see his anger teetering on the verge of boiling over.

“Is there something you want to get off of your chest, Bradley?” he asks, his tone cold and all business. I hate the way he says my name. There’s so much spite and contempt in his voice. He waits a few seconds for me to respond. When I don’t, he continues. “I’m trying to help you and protect your future. Despite what you think, I do care.”

I know I shouldn’t do it, but I’m like Pavlov’s fucking dog. When my father starts his sincere “I care about you son” bullshit, my inner smartass takes over.

Twisting my body in the chair, I look over each shoulder before landing my eyes back on him. “Who are you talking to?”

“Why do you always have to be such a prick?”

“Like father like son, I guess,” I say, my voice and expression flat.

He holds my stare briefly, then lowers his chin toward his chest and shakes his head, grumbling something inaudible. Looking up at me, he asks, “Do you want me to handle this situation or not?”

“Yes I do, but let’s cut the bullshit. You’re handling this case because of you and the firm, not because you give a shit about me or my future. You want details? I met her at a party. We fucked occasionally over the course of a month. She cleaned my condo, did my laundry, and cooked. We never hung out. We never went on a date. I didn’t know a damn thing about her other than her name. The night she killed herself she told me she loved me while I was fucking her. I broke it off, left, and went to meet Mom for dinner. Next day I found out she killed herself. The end.”

“And you never did anything to lead her on, to make her think you had feelings for her, or that the two of you had a future together?” He fired off the question like I was under cross examination.

“No.”

“You’re positive?”

“Yes,” I say, keeping my answers clipped.

“Never got so caught up in the fuck that you blurted out something that she could have misinterpreted as strong feelings?”

“I’ve never gotten that caught up in the moment.”

Only with Mabry.

“Did you buy her gifts?” he asks.

“No. I told you the extent of the relationship. I feel like we’re just going around in circles.” My patience has run out.

“Well, I’m sorry if I’m taking up too much of your precious time. I’m trying to save us one point two million dollars is all. From what you’ve told me and her psychiatric history, I think I can make a good case that the girl was completely psychotic and delusional. Not only is there a chance we won’t have to pay a dime, we might just make a few dollars if I bring a counter lawsuit against them for defamation of character.”

I look at him in shock. I know his goal is always to win at whatever cost, but to put Becca’s parents through any more heartache is ruthless.

“Why would you do that? Don’t you think her parents have been through enough?”

Looking at me as if I’ve grown another head, he says, “Sometimes people need to be taught a lesson. They can’t go around and lay blame on others just because they don’t want to admit they failed. These two people obviously failed as parents, otherwise their only child would still be alive.” He turns back to his computer.

“And you think you and Mom succeeded as parents?”

He doesn’t look at me when he answers. “You and your brother are alive and well. Both of you are educated, employed, and have comfortable futures ahead of you. So to answer your question…” His cold stern glare is aimed directly at me now. “Yes, I believe your mother and I have been successful parents.”

“Do you care if I’m happy?” I ask.

Outwardly, I don’t reveal any emotion in my voice or my expression. Inwardly, my chest tightens and my breathing almost comes to a complete stop as I wait for his answer. The hair on my arms rises and a prickling sensation covers my skin while the seconds tick by, my question just lying out there with no response. Logically, I can guarantee what his answer will be. After being around my father all these years, the evidence points to the fact that he couldn’t care less about whether or not I’m happy. My fingers grip the end of the wooden armrest as I brace myself for his cold words.

“What kind of a question is that?” he snaps.

“The kind I’d like an answer to.”

“I don’t have the time or interest in engaging in this nonsense with you today. I have all the information I need. We’re done here.” He turns his attention back to the computer.

The fact that he evades my question is all the answer I need. The natural reaction I feel to my father’s words never ceases to amaze and confuse me. I despise this man and have never had any respect for him, so why do I care even a little bit how he feels about me? I don’t want to care, but I can’t deny the innate need in me to have his approval and even his love.

“Becca may not have been happy, but her parents wanted her to be. I saw how much they cared about her at the memorial service. That makes them successful parents in my book.”

His eyes shoot to mine. “What the hell is wrong with you, Bradley? Aren’t you just a little bit pissed that these people are trying to hold you partially responsible for the death of this girl?”

“No, I’m not pissed at them. I think they’re still trying to make sense of the senseless and need something tangible to latch on to. She wasn’t psychotic or delusional. She was just a young girl who struggled with depression. Don’t drag Becca’s name and her parents through the mud. None of them deserve that.”

We stare at each other for a few seconds, neither of us saying another word. I leave my father’s office and walk straight to Mabry’s. I hesitate before knocking. I know something is going on with her and I’m trying to give her space, but I need to be near her right now.

“Come in.” Just the sound of her voice gives me comfort.

I open the door, walk in, and close it behind me. I can tell by her expression that she already knows what I need from her, but since things have been off between us today I feel I should ask. “Can I hold you for a few minutes, please?”

Without saying anything, she gets up and walks to me. Taking my hand, she leads me to the front of her desk. I sit and she positions herself between my legs, wrapping her arms securely around my neck. I nuzzle my face in the crook of her neck as my arms snake around her waist. I let the scent and feel of her soak into me. The tension in my body fades away, replaced by a calmness and peace. All I want to do is pick her up and carry her away from here. I want to go someplace where we can start over with a clean slate. I just want to be done with my past and move forward with the love of my life.

I’m not sure how long we’ve been in each other’s arms when I feel Mabry pull away. I keep a firm hold on her, not letting her step away from me. Looking into her eyes, I see the sadness that I thought I had gotten rid of.

“Talk to me, Mabry,” I say, a plea in my tone.

“About what?”

“Something’s different. When we went to bed last night you seemed okay and then this morning… I feel you pulling away from me now and I don’t understand what changed overnight.” I swallow hard trying to hold my emotions in check.

“I don’t mean to. It’s weird knowing that you and Becca were together and how she felt about you. I just need some time alone to sort it out in my head.”

“Will I see you tonight?” I ask, but I already know the answer.

Shaking her head, she says, “I’m going to work late and then I think it’s best if I spend the night at my place alone.”

I bring our foreheads together and whisper, “I’m sorry, Mabry. If I had known you were going to be in my future, I would have been a better man in my past.”

Her eyes close and she steps away. “I need to get back to work, Brad.”

I’m scared to leave, so I hesitate for as long as possible before it starts to look pathetic. With each step toward the door, I can feel the hollow gnawing of loneliness take over my body. It’s a familiar feeling. It used to be the norm for me. I had been able to numb myself, building up a manageable tolerance to the pain in order to get through my day. When I met Mabry, I finally got relief from the persistent emptiness. I didn’t realize how intense and debilitating my pain was until I got a break from it. As it seeps back in, I pray that whatever change occurred last night to cause Mabry to shut down reverses itself, because I won’t be able to tolerate being without her.

The second I hear the door click shut tears roll down my face. It took every ounce of strength for me to step away from Brad, but I had to do it. I need some distance right now. When he’s in front of me, looking so vulnerable and hurt, my resistance is nonexistent. I knew he had come from his father’s office. They’re meeting with the Hyams in a few weeks. Mr. Johnson is an extremely detailed lawyer and an over preparer. He doesn’t like surprises. I’m sure he had Brad tell him every detail of his relationship with Becca twenty times over. When he first told me about Becca I was shocked, but then my focus narrowed in on the fear in his eyes. He was so afraid I’d leave him. All I wanted to do was make him feel better. Later, though, when he was asleep and things were quiet, my mind went on a wild rampage. The images and questions are still swirling around in my head.

Brad and Becca, naked and tangled together.

Brad walking out on her.

Becca lying dead in her room.

What was she feeling right before the blade slid across her wrists?

Did my mom kill herself right after my dad left for work that day?

Did Dad leave that day knowing how deep Mom’s pain was?

What’s in Becca’s note?

Each time a thought flits across my mind, the craving to self-harm increases. Last night I was able to control myself and not succumb to the urge, but I came close to banging my head against the edge of the counter in the bathroom. If Brad hadn’t been there I knew I would have gone through with it. Even now, my hand is slowly creeping up into my hair ready to yank at the first strand it reaches. Before last night, whenever I looked at Brad I felt free from the pain of my past, but now the view is different. I see him and feel all the pain rushing back.

I need to know what’s in that note. I grab my cellphone, scroll through the numbers, and press send before I have time to talk myself out of it. He picks up on the second ring.

“Well, hello there, Bright Eyes.”

“Hey Ten. How are you?” I ask, trying not to sound like I’m up to something.

“I’m fantastic, especially now hearing your voice,” he answers smugly.

I haven’t spoken to Ten since our date. He’s called a few times and left voicemails. I always meant to call him back and explain that a personal relationship was not going to happen between us, but I never got around to it for some reason. I can tell by his tone that he suspects I need something and plans on playing the guilt card to get what he wants before I get what I need.

“So, listen, I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls. I’ve been crazy swamped here.” It’s not a complete lie. Work has taken up a lot of my time. Work and Brad.

“Oh, is that what’s kept you from me? I thought it might have something to do with Johnson,” he says.

“No, just busy. Listen, Ten, would you be able to meet with me tonight? I need to talk with you.”

“I always have time for you, Mabry.”

“Great. Um… could we meet at Boone’s around 8:30?” I ask.

“Boone’s at 8:30 sounds perfect. You want to give me a little heads-up as to our topic of conversation?”

“Well, what would be the fun in that?” I cringe because it sounds flirty and I don’t want to give Ten the wrong impression, but asking him to tell me what’s in that note is highly unethical. If I don’t play the game just a little I won’t get the information I need.