Chapter Thirteen #3
Vanessa nodded and started clearing the table. While she cleaned up, he went next door for the materials he’d offered. He propped the plywood against the porch railing, and helped Emily paint the sign white.
“I want a lemon on it,” Emily exclaimed.
“I don’t have yellow paint,” Paul said.
“We’ll let it dry,” Vanessa said, hugging Emily’s shoulders. “And add a lemon tomorrow.”
Emily surrendered her paintbrush with reluctance.
Vanessa kissed her daughter’s sweet head. “Let’s go inside and finish the movie you started earlier.”
“Can Mr. Paul watch with us?”
Vanessa expected him to decline. To her surprise, he didn’t. Vanessa scrubbed the paint from Emily’s hands while Paul rinsed the brushes in a bucket of water. Then they settled on the couch to watch Emily’s movie.
By the time the credits rolled, the little girl was fast asleep. Vanessa carried her into the bedroom, tucked her in, and turned off the lights. Then she returned to the living room, where Paul waited like a lion tracking a gazelle.
“Do you want a beer?” she asked.
He wiped his palms on the legs of his shorts. “Sure.”
She grabbed two bottles, popped off the caps and settled in next to him on the couch. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
He took a swig of beer. “You were crying earlier.”
“Yes.”
“What about?”
“Why do you care?”
His gaze traveled the length of her bare legs. A shivery sensation coursed through her. “I’m wondering if your ex is going to show up and cause trouble.”
“He’s not.”
“How do you know?”
“He wouldn’t bother.”
“Are you still in love with him?”
“No,” she said, surprised by the question. It didn’t seem like something he would ask. When she glanced at him, she saw genuine curiosity. Her prickliness dissipated as she sipped from her bottle. “My feelings changed after Emily was born.”
“What do you mean?”
“For most couples, having a child brings you closer together. I mean, that’s what I imagine happens.
For us, it was the opposite. It was like a chasm opened up.
I was so enthralled with her, and Bennett …
wasn’t. He was too busy swindling people to pay attention to her.
I couldn’t understand his lack of interest.”
“He was self-absorbed?”
“Self-absorbed, constantly scheming, and drowning in debt.”
He gave her an assessing look. “Did he file for divorce?”
“No. I did.”
“Is he still in love with you?”
“Hardly.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because he slept with my best friend.”
Paul didn’t appear convinced by this evidence.
She frowned and drank more beer. “My father said he was still in love with my mother while he was cheating on her. Can you believe that?”
“Yes.”
“How?” she asked, glaring at him. “How can you betray someone you claim to love?”
“My brother did it pretty convincingly.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“Have you ever cheated on a woman you were in love with?”
“No.”
She searched his face for evidence of deception. He stared back at her, unfazed. If he was lying, she couldn’t tell, but she didn’t trust her own instincts. She’d been wrong too many times. “I’m the one who caught him, by the way.”
Paul’s eyes sharpened. “Your husband or your father?”
“Both.”
He winced at the admission.
“I was thirteen when I walked in on my father. I was supposed to go to a friend’s house after school, but I got my first period, so I went home instead. I was already feeling emotional and embarrassed.”
Paul leaned forward with interest.
“When I unlocked the front door, my dad was on the living room couch with the town librarian. I recognized her right away, and I’ll never forget the look on his face. She was straddling his lap, half-naked. He pushed her off and jumped to his feet so fast she went sprawling on the floor.”
The corner of Paul’s mouth tipped up.
Vanessa smiled ruefully. “My dad grabbed a pillow and held it over his lap even though he was fully dressed. His girlfriend was on the floor, topless and dazed, with her skirt hiked up and her legs in the air. And he covered himself with the pillow.”
Paul threw back his head and laughed.
She gave his shoulder a playful punch. “There’s more.”
“What?”
“The pillow was decorative, with a religious quote. It said: He Is Risen.”
Paul kept laughing, and Vanessa laughed with him.
She didn’t forgive her father for his philandering ways, and she didn’t blame her mother for causing the rift between them.
She just laughed, because it was funny, and she was desperate to release some of the tension inside her.
When she fell quiet again, she found him staring at her.
“He told me it was the worst moment of his life,” she said.
“Because he hurt you, or because it ended his marriage?”
“Because he hurt me. The marriage was already over.”
“Why was it over?”
“According to him, my mom didn’t love him anymore. She stopped sleeping with him. He went to other women for comfort.”
Paul sipped his beer in silence.
“Are your parents still together?”
“In a way,” he said.
“In what way?”
His gaze met hers. He didn’t like talking about himself. She wondered if he’d been this cagey before he’d gotten shot, or if the experience had changed him. Getting personal information out of him was like pulling teeth.
“They’re buried together,” he said. “Side by side.”