35. Cassie #2
I don’t think he intended for that part to be shared.
The thought is reinforced when I look back at Carson, and the man actually smiles.
The friction between the two men makes everyone else at the table uneasy. Tessa catches my gaze and tells me, “Calhoun’s a great school. You’ll love it there.”
“And Boston is a beautiful city,” Myra enthuses, joining in. “It will be a lovely place to live.”
Carson pushes back his chair, and Myra’s pleasant expression falters, concern breaking through as she watches her husband rise. “We still have the dessert course—”
“I’ve done my part, and I’m not in the mood for dessert.”
Myra watches him stand, her expression absolutely crestfallen. “Carson, please…”
His gaze passes over his son and lands on his wife. “I’ll be in my study.”
The entire room seems to hold its breath as Carson makes his exit from the dining room.
We all breathe again once he’s gone, but the mood has shifted.
Myra’s anxiety is up, and when she looks at me across the table, her eyes glint with moisture and sadness.
“Please forgive him. It’s been a hard couple of weeks. ”
There have been many times over the past year that I was convinced I would love nothing more than to see either or both of Tim’s parents squirming like bugs beneath my shoe, but in the face of Myra’s fearful sadness, I find myself not enjoying the feeling at all. “I understand,” I assure her gently.
Tor reaches over, giving my thigh a squeeze beneath the table, playing his own part in redirecting me. “I told you we’d find a path for you.”
I look over at him, and my heart swells with gratitude. The gravity of what all this means finally hits me, and I feel reinflated in a way that I haven’t since my life was torn apart, even as happy as Tor has made me.
He fixed it.
He really fixed it.
He’s going to Calhoun in the fall, and I can go with him—not just tagging along. I get to go, too.
Tears fill my eyes as that unbearable weight falls off my shoulders. I move my chair so I can reach him, then I throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you so much.”
His fingers lightly graze my back as he hugs me, drawing a contented sigh out of me as goose bumps erupt across my skin. I rest my head on his shoulder, then I nuzzle in and softly leave a little kiss on his neck.
We separate when Paula comes in, unaware of Carson’s departure. Myra recovers promptly, telling her, “He didn’t have much of a sweet tooth tonight,” with an effortlessly pleasant smile.
Paula serves the rest of us dessert, and we eat it in relative peace without the oppressive weight of the patriarch at the table.
Once we’re finished, Tor says it’s time to head home. Things are pleasant again, but I think everyone’s eager for this dinner to be over. We did what we came to do, so there’s no need to push it.
Myra and Tessa both walk us to the door, Tessa chatting with me about the new dresses the boutique is getting in next Thursday and how I should check them out. Myra stays close to Tor, her hand on his arm before pulling him in for a hug and thanking him for bringing me to dinner.
We’re in the entryway and Tor steps toward the front door, but I glance back at the study door his father retreated behind and slow to a stop. “Hey, I want to thank your dad before we go, okay?”
“Sure, we can pop in real quick.”
I shake my head, dropping his hand. “I’d like to go alone.”
Tor’s expression closes off for just a flicker of a second, and when it clears, he still seems reluctant. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I need to do this alone,” I tell him. “I’ll just be a minute.”
My gaze flits to Myra because I can feel her surge of anxiety, and sure enough, she’s watching Tor, openly distraught that I’m… not submitting to what he wants? I don’t know how to interpret it exactly. It’s not judgment. It feels like fear, but that seems a little dramatic.
I know they live in an upside-down world, though, so I dismiss it.
Reluctantly, Tor relents. “All right. Don’t take too long, okay?”
I flash a smile to reassure him, then I leave them in the entryway and approach the closed study door, lightly knocking before opening it.
Tor’s dad is sitting alone in a wing chair positioned in front of an unlit fireplace, a glass of scotch or something likely alcoholic in his hand. I guess that was the dessert he preferred.
He looks up when I come in but doesn’t say anything.
I offer a tiny smile so he knows I come in peace. “Hi. Sorry if I’m disturbing your nightcap.”
He doesn’t respond, but since he doesn’t tell me to leave, I close the door behind me and drift closer.
“I didn’t get a chance to say it at dinner.
I was so overwhelmed, I couldn’t think straight.
But I wanted to thank you for what you did for me with the college application.
I thought this was impossible, and I’m sure you had to…
call in favors or something to make this happen.
I just wanted you to know I appreciate your effort. ”
He watches me for a moment, tipping his drink back and draining the glass in one long sip. Setting it down on the end table beside his chair, he meets my gaze. “I didn’t do it for you.”
My heart sinks.
He lets it sit there long enough to become uncomfortable, so I nod.
“Oh. Okay. Well, I still wanted to—”
“Do you know what my son said to me? ‘Your legacy depends on Cassie Pritchard.’ My son—my heir—is murdered in cold blood, and the one I have left tells me—tells my wife—that if we hope to know our grandchildren someday, we have to embrace the girl who got him killed.”
My heart sinks into my stomach.
“I’ve always taught my boys the importance of family loyalty. Tim got it,” he says with a slight nod. “Tim understood that if you have to go to bat for your family, you do. He was always the good son.”
I swallow, feeling my face heat, my stomach morphing into a pit of acid.
“I’m not sure Torrance ever absorbed those lessons. Sometimes I worry that my son is a snake, and the only thing you can trust a snake to do is strike.” He meets my gaze and my fluttering heart lurches. “Whoever murdered my son… they killed the wrong one.”
That’s such a monstrous thing to say, it sucks the air from my lungs. He notes my gasp of horror and look of revulsion, but they don’t seem to bother him.
Standing, he grabs the glass he set down and says, “I hope you enjoyed tonight’s performance as much as you enjoyed Gatsby, but it’s over now. You can go.”