The Lurking Man (5 page)

She tittered. “Don't start getting all soft on me. There is no us and never was.”

He looked at her with disbelief. “How can you say that?”

“Say what?”Her eyes were wide with the question. “Don't you want to hear the truth?”

“If there was never an us, then what is all of this?”

He held his arms open and she stared at him and shook her head.

“What?” he said. “Why are you shaking your head at me?”

“Just look at you, Emerson, and then look at me. I think you'll be able to figure this one out without my
having
to spell it out. Go ahead, take a moment, I'm sure it will come to you.”
 

His shoulders went limp and he closed his eyes. “You have got to be kidding me, Cailean.”

“What am I saying that's not true?”

“Not this again.”

“Yes, this again. Maybe it didn't register the last time I said it because you still think there is an us somewhere in the middle of all this drama.”

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, clearly trying to hide the hurt behind them.

“You offer me sympathy and money and that is what keeps me around,” she said.

“Just listen to yourself.”

“You're the one that needs to listen. Explain to me how my touching your pecker translates into my really giving a crap?” She loaded the dishes into the dishwasher and wiped down the counters. “Do you really think I would let you touch me if your wallet wasn't so full and I wasn't numb and dumb with all the beer and wine you give me?”

“Stop it, Cailean.”

“It's blatantly obvious to me, and for some strange reason you choose to ignore it.”

“I never thought you would go this far to try and hurt me.”

“Surprise. I know how it must hurt to hear the fact that alcohol and money are my motivators, but I am telling you the truth. I'm just trying to survive.”

“Are you done?” he said, his hands balled into two tight fists.

“It was your decision to stick around so now you're going to hear what I have to say. I don't care how much it hurts you either.”

Silence crowded the room as she waited for him to say something else. But he just stood there red in his face and sweating like a pig.

“What are you going to do, leave me for good?” she said and raised a brow. “Stop paying the rent because you're pissed at me?” She snickered. “I doubt it.”

“You're right,” Emerson said, his hands relaxing at his sides. “That's because I care too much about you to do that.”

“Why? Do you like being spoken to this way?”

“What I don't like is the way Wilson twists things around, and I like it even less because of the way it translates into you crapping all over me.”

“What does anything I just said to you have to do with Wilson?”

He stared at her with his mouth hanging open.

“This is about you and me,” she said. “It's like you're obsessed with him or something. It's really weird.”

“No,” he said. “That's not it at all.”

“Then what is it? Because I'm trying to understand.”

“This has everything to do with Wilson and the way he treats you. You're the one who has told me everything he's ever done to you. How could I not despise him? And you might not see it, but every time you hang up the phone with him, it's like you turn into this raging bull and pick a fight with me.”

She waved a hand at him. “Oh, get over it, you big baby.”

“Stop with the name calling. I'm trying to have an intelligent conversation with you and you're making it nearly impossible.”

“Why do you think this—” she swirled her hand in the air, “—is OK?”

He stared at her again but didn't offer an explanation.

“The part that confuses me the most is that you knew what I was like getting into it,” she said.

“I know,” he said softly. “And I still accept it.”

“I'm sure you have your reasons, Emerson. Whatever they are, I don't care.”

She turned her back to him.

“I really need to get this house cleaned up before I go get Beau. You should leave,” she said.

Emerson went into the living room and Cailean followed. She watched as he gathered some clothes that had been taken off throughout the house.

“It's OK, you don't need to do that,” she said. “You can go, really, I'm more than capable of doing this. It'll give me some time to unwind before I get him.”

“No,” he said. “I helped create the mess and I will help clean it.”

He loaded an armful of clothes he had collected into the washing machine.

“Maybe we should hang some pictures on the walls to make it a little more inviting for him.”

“No,” she said. “Regardless of what I said before, I don't want any pictures. I didn't even want that picture frame here. Look at what it did. The bare walls do me just fine. There are no painful memories for me to look at.”

“I'm fine with that, if that is the way you want it.”

“Of course you are,” she said.

“I want to make you happy.”

“Then let me do this.”

“OK,” he said.

“It will only be for a few days,” she said. “I think the time away might do us some good.”

“Before I go, I want you to know that what happened to Beau was nothing more than a freak accident. It wasn't your fault.”

Cailean stared at him. “I don't think you believe that is true. Sometimes I see the way you look at me. You pity me and try to figure ways to cure me of my burdens. Stop wasting your time—I'm a lost cause.”

“I don't think I'm wasting my time and I don't believe you're a lost cause either. You're a good person that's been dealt a lousy hand.”

She scoffed. “I couldn't imagine what you think you are accomplishing by locking yourself in this apartment with me all day everyday and drinking constantly.”

He motioned to speak but she didn't want to hear it.

“I'm a drunk, Emerson, and so are you,” she said.

“We're not drunks.”

“Well, if anyone knows that a drunk typically denies the fact that they are a drunk, it's me.”

“I don't see anything wrong with us having a few drinks. We've been through a lot lately.”

“We?” She sneered. “There you go with that again. What do you know of the pain I've experienced? What have you lost? Custody of your daughter to a woman you tried to buy?”

“I don't know why you think that.”

“How else would you get her?” she said.

“Why are you so angry all the time?”

“And why are you so simpleminded? We fight when we're sober, drink at first light, and don't stop until we pass out.” She leaned against the counter. “You really believe that is somehow OK?”

“I don't think we fight that often, and I don't think our drinking is that big of a deal.”

“And how often did you do this before I came along?”

He pressed his lips together.

“Show me your friends, Emerson . . .”

“Do you remember us having this exact conversation only last week?”

“And we had one just like it the week before that,” she said.

“Yeah, I remember that, too. You had us clean all of the alcohol out of the house and you swore you were done with it. I agreed with you, and yet that same night you got into it with Wilson. You stormed out of the house after yelling at me for allowing you to throw away all of the alcohol and you returned home with enough beer and wine to last us two weeks or better. Do you remember that? Because we opened the last of that wine this morning.”

Those words stirred the feeling of panic she had when she realized she didn't have any alcohol in the house that day. She learned a valuable lesson to never do that again. It was irrational thinking and dangerous.

“And when you brought the alcohol home and I refused to drink it with you,” he said, “you told me how fat and ugly I was then, too. I even remember that you told me to get out of your house and that you didn't need my money and that I made you sick.”

Her gaze made its way back to Emerson. “And I told you right after we met that you couldn't fix me.”

“But that's what you don't get. I don't want to fix you.”

“How could you not want to?”

“All I want is to be with you. That's all I can think about.”

“I broke you,” she said. “I pulled you right into the quicksand with me and it has you up to your chin.”

“No. I've already told you that you couldn't make me do anything I wouldn't have done myself.”

She turned her back to Emerson and pressed her palms on the countertop. She looked at the walls and the shit-brown color they were. “I don't like a lot of things, Emerson. I don't like the color of these damn walls and I don't like what I've done to my son. I don't treat you well and I did the same thing to Wilson for years. My childhood was a disaster and I guess the only thing that can make me comfortable in my own skin is a drink.”

She paused to gather her thoughts.

“No,” she said. “I meant to say drinks—a lot of them. And knowing that?” She shook her head. “It makes me feel weak.” She hid her eyes. “I dragged you into a big fat mess and you know it. Here is your out.”

She stared at Emerson and gave him a moment to consider those words. The pockmarks on his cheeks were deep and distracting and they reminded her of Swiss cheese. Sweat glistened on his forehead and he breathed heavily. He was taking too long, but she swallowed the next insult.

Emerson stepped forward and Cailean's eyes widened, ready to fend him off.

“You've brought me nothing but joy,” he said. “I don't like to see you hurting like this.” He reached for her. “I want you to know that I love you.”

She pulled away, her expression overcome by disbelief and outrage. “What did you just say to me?”

Emerson firmed up. “I told you that I love you.”

She slammed her fist into the countertop. “I told you to never say those words to me!”

“Why shouldn't I say it when it's true?”

“Shut up!” she shouted, and pushed her way past him. “You've crossed the line this time and there is no going back from it.” She moved to the window and pulled the shade aside. The endless snow and ice and strong gusts of wind replicated her feelings.

“I know you don't want to hear this,” he said. “But I don't regret telling you that.”

She turned to him and pointed a finger at him. “You see? This is what I'm talking about! You need to learn when to shut your mouth.” Spit flew from her mouth and she could feel her face filling with a brilliant red. “You stupid, fat—”

“No!” he shouted back. “I'm not going to allow you to do this!”

“Get out of here!”

“I'm not going!”

“I said to gather your stuff and get out!”

Emerson pounded his chest with his fist. “I am sick and tired of this.”

“You did this! We agreed to never say those words. That's not what this is.”

He studied her. “Maybe you're right. Maybe you are damaged beyond repair.”

She waved her hands. “Well then, what is keeping you here? Not a damn thing!”

Emerson grabbed his coat out of the closet. He checked his pocket for his wallet and keys. “You chase me away because I tell you that I love you.”

“I chase you away because I don't deserve it. You will never understand. . .”

“You do, but you're unwilling to see it,” he said. “I guess I don't understand the way you think and I guess I never will.”

He opened the front door and the biting cold swooped through the house and Cailean backed away. She just stared at him and felt dirty and confined in her own skin.

“I guess if you want to talk to me ever again you will call me,” he said, and exited the house with a shake of his head and a slam of the door.

She wiped her eyes and the stillness was instant and intense. She was lost and completely alone. Four thick walls made of self-pity and reinforced with the sins of her past held her prisoner. There were no doors to allow her passage and the walls were too tall to climb.

“Why can't you understand that I don't deserve to be loved?” she said to the closed door. She scanned the room
and found the wine glass Emerson had placed on the countertop. It beckoned her.
 

“I don't deserve to be loved by you or anyone else,” she said and hurried to the wine and carried it to the couch. She sat, turned on the digital picture frame, and watched the slideshow. She sipped the mauve liquid and struggled to think of ways to make things better.

“I need to stop drinking,” she said, and meant it. She raised the glass and nodded. “I'll have this last one to help take away some of the tension, and then I'll stop.”

The picture of her and Beau at the park appeared and she emptied the remainder of the wine out of the glass.

You said this was the last drink and that you would stop.

“That's not enough,” she said and paid the voice inside no attention.

You had enough.

“That has to be the dumbest thing I've ever heard, so shut up,” she said to the frail voice of reason still within her.

She went upstairs for the bottle of wine that was left on her nightstand. She was certain she would find a better plan hidden somewhere near the bottom of that bottle. 

Chapter 5

 

 

SEEING DEATH

 

 

Present day.

 

Cailean stood in the center of the light, oblivious to her whereabouts. Disoriented by the impossible task of trying to organize her thoughts, she had awoken from her memory with a heavy buzz from the alcohol she consumed after Emerson left her. Feeling dizzy and having a terrible stomachache, she bent over and moaned.