Chapter 52 Henry
Chapter 52
Henry
Lucy and Henry return to their room, processing what she just shared. She hops through the door on her crutches and makes her way over to the window seat. He sits in a nearby chair.
“That wasn’t easy.”
“Imagine being the one saying it.” She sets the crutches aside and presses her nose against the window. “I’m sure this makes it easier ... for you to walk away.”
There’s a vindictive side to him, a scared, angry side that wants her out of his life. They can move on, split up their expenses, the children, their lives, but something stops him. Letting her go would be easier than forgiving her. “I don’t want to walk away.”
“Good,” she says. “I don’t want that either.”
He leans in closer.
“I’ve hated myself for some time,” she says. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”
“I hate myself,” he replies, “knowing I contributed to this.”
She’s twisting her fingers in her hands, and he wants to make her stop, but instead, he watches the ducks playing in the pond. “I wish it wasn’t Adam of all people, but I mostly wish we didn’t get to this point.”
Her eyes are red from crying, and he thumbs aways the tear that slips down her cheek.
“I am so sorry,” she says. “I was trapped in the black hole. I couldn’t get out.”
He likes that she’s speaking his language. “I was there too.”
“And I’ll live with this forever. But I’m going to look for the light ... for the stars.”
“They’re there.”
“They’re worth fighting for,” she says. “We’re worth fighting for.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t try harder,” Henry says. “I’m sorry I shut you out.”
“Does that mean you’re going to join me here on Earth? Or will I find you hiding up in the sky?”
“Maybe we can meet in the middle.”
“You know what you have to do first.”
He nods, takes her hand in his. “I’ll handle it. I promise.”
She backs up, dabs at her eyes. “I have to get ready for an emergency Zoom with a client.”
“I’m going to go for a jog, and then we have to book those tickets home. Jean-Paul and Renée want us to leave.”
Once downstairs, Henry considers forgoing a stop in the kitchen when he spots Renée at the table poring through a file, but it’s too late. She sees him. He makes his way toward the fridge. “I’m just grabbing some water for a quick run, then I’ll be out of your way.”
She takes a generous bite out of a chocolate éclair. “Your being here isn’t good for me, Henry, but I suppose neither are these éclairs.”
He keeps a safe distance, waiting for her to continue.
Her hand rests on a folder. “This is the file on your father. On Bluebird. Why I’ve held on to it this long, I don’t know. I take it out from time to time, imagining we could have done something differently.” She holds up a sheet of paper. “Take a look.”
His legs are defiant, heavy, but they lead him to her side.
“Here are our signatures on the document agreeing to terms.” She points as though he can’t see it for himself. “And there’s Michael Wall’s name. My mother always told me that if something sounded too good to be true, it probably was. But you know how it goes.” She holds up her fingers in air quotes before closing the folder. “‘The return was nothing they had ever seen before.’ Michael brazenly took our money. Even when we told him it was everything we had. He still did it, knowing full well what would happen. Without a shred of remorse or decency.” She takes on his father’s tone when she quotes him. “‘We’re investing wisely. You’ll have more money than you ever dreamed of.’”
The pit in Henry’s stomach grew.
“He promised us a few months ... less than a year to triple our investment. It was all we needed to complete our renovation. I’m guessing you already knew this?”
“I didn’t know.”
She looks down at the folder. “Throwing this file away feels like forgiveness, and I just don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
There is nothing he can say to right this wrong. “I’m sorry, Renée. We’re going to fly out tonight.”
The sunny day has turned dreary, and by the time he returns from his jog, the skies are dark and menacing to the south, the smell of rain on the horizon. Maybe it can wash away their messes. He stops to stretch his legs at a wooden fence when he spots Renée again. She’s tending to the flowers, twin butterflies fluttering around her. He could take a second loop and avoid another confrontation, but he has something to say.
“Renée,” he begins, “do you have a minute?”
She doesn’t respond. Instead, she pulls at weeds, dropping them into a plastic bag. He takes it as a sign to continue.
“I had no idea his reach came this far. If I had known ... I swear ... I would have never shown up here.”
She reaches for her shears to cut a stubborn root.
“Please say something,” he says.
She waits before she stands, peering out from underneath her visor. “I see him in your eyes.”
“Something other than that.”
“Something other than that.” She’s thinking, shifting her weight, tackling a new section of the flower bed. “I feel sorry for you, Henry. You’re caught in the fallout. We never had an opportunity to tell those Bluebird people how they’ve destroyed us. How could we not take out our rage on you?”
He stands against the old sugar maple, his hands tucked inside his pockets.
She touches on every nerve. This is the reason he kept things to himself. The reason he shut Lucy out.
“I have his blood, but I’m not him.”
She takes off her hat and wipes sweat from her brow. The wind whips her curls. “I know it’s foolish to blame you. To blame anyone but him, but this is what people do.”
He blinks. “I understand blame.”
She sizes him up. “I know you do.”
His gaze lands on the inn, searching for the right words. “I’ve learned a lot since we arrived. Sometimes our anger gets displaced.”
The door swings open and out flies Adam, dragging his suitcase. A car travels up the drive and stops. The door opens again, and this time it’s Sienna. She chases after him, gets right in his face.
Years of anguish fall from her tongue. Obscenities, words Henry didn’t know she knew. “I gave up my career for you.” She lunges. Points. “I hate you. I hate what you’ve done to me. I hate who you’ve become, and I hate that I let myself believe we were happy. You made a career out of fucking other women. Fucking Suzy . Were you ever faithful?” she hisses, ripping off her wedding band and throwing it at him. Adam scrambles into the back seat, and as the car hightails it out of the driveway, dirt flies through the air. “To answer the question,” she screams, “I damn well can live without you!” Then she drops to the ground and weeps.
Henry feels sorry for her, but he knows not to get involved. Lucy’s at the doorway, leaning on her crutches. Sienna’s the only person she’d step off a client call for. No one moves until Sienna gathers herself and pushes through the doorway, Lucy hopping behind her. Which leaves him and Renée.
“I don’t think that was displaced anger,” Renée says, turning and taking in the tired building. “You love it here, don’t you?”
“You know we do.”
She shifts from one foot to the other. “I was foolish.”
“You’re anything but. You were duped. And I’m sorry for that. You didn’t deserve it. None of those people did.”
She mulls on this. “Henry, you were always too kind. When was the last time you spoke to him?”
She doesn’t mention him by name.
“I cut him off around the time the indictments were brought down.”
She pauses, looking like she’s thinking long and hard about her response. “That had to be tough. For you. Your mom.”
The rain begins to fall, splotches landing on Henry’s head. He sees his reflection in the windows, the dampness washing over him.
“What will you do, Henry?”
“I don’t know, Renée.”
She knots up the bag full of leaves and weeds and dumps it in the nearby trash. They walk back inside. “I used to find answers up there.” He points to the sky. “Not so much anymore. He keeps calling. I’ve yet to pick up the phone. I love him. The man he used to be. But I hate him too. I hate what he did. And I’m sorry if that upsets you, but—”
She nods. “I can accept that.”
They end up back in the kitchen, as guests so often do. She shifts into action and pours them some iced tea. Despite the turmoil that’s thrown the inn out of whack, the De La Rues continue to take great care of their guests. The table holds an array of comfort foods: peanut butter and banana sandwiches cut into triangles, mac ’n’ cheese in shot glasses, and mini cheeseburgers and french fries. Mindless snacks that suggest better days.
“How can I make it up to you, Renée? What can we do?”
She almost breaks out into laughter. “I’d say you have your hands full.”
“We want to help. I want to help.”
She thinks about her response. “Forgive me for what I said last night. About Lucy ... Displaced anger and all. And stay. If you want. Look at it as one of those meteors or comets dotting our very dark canvas, right?”
He smiles, knowing stars can’t shine without darkness.
She shuffles around the kitchen, putting dishes away and checking on tonight’s menu. Henry watches as she picks up a notebook resting on one of the chairs. “Rosalie must have left this behind.” She stuffs it in her bag. “I’ve got to get to the hospital and relieve Jean-Paul, or we won’t have dinner tonight. I’m glad we talked, Henry. I’m sorry. For you. And for us. But I hope you’ll stay.”