Between the Lies by Michelle Adams

Author:Michelle Adams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

TWENTY-THREE

‘What?’ My hands are shaking. I can’t believe it. ‘You wanted him to be dead so you just told me he was?’ I look up to see my father’s set jaw, irritation that he has been caught out. He appears resigned, but not in the least bit sorry.

‘Chloe, you don’t understand.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t.’ My mouth is dry, the taste of metal on my tongue. My head throbs. ‘Tell me why you would wish he was dead.’

He takes a long breath, and my mother stands motionless. ‘Chloe, there is so much you don’t remember. His disappearances … the problems when he was there. The number of times you called me desperate for help.’ He looks to me for understanding, finds none, my face a portrait of expectation. ‘Don’t you remember any of it?’ he begs. ‘How many times I’ve been there to rescue you because he came home drunk and angry. He was a horrible drunk, Chloe. You remember that I told you I’ve been paying your mortgage?’ He looks up, defiant now. ‘I saw a chance to help you make a clean break. I took it.’

‘Help me? You told me he killed himself because of me,’ I say, horrified. And for the first time in the conversation I can see that he feels a shred of shame, a sign of doubt over what he’s done. His chin drops towards his chest and he steadies himself against the table.

‘A mistake, Chloe.’

‘A mistake? Is that all you can say? Why would you do that?’ He doesn’t answer. My voice becomes weaker as my strength begins to leave me. ‘How could you let me believe that?’

‘I just … I saw a way to end it, that was all. I thought that if you felt guilty over his death then you wouldn’t question it. I thought you would leave it in the past. I just wanted you to move on.’

I begin pacing again, leaving wet footprints on the floor. ‘Dad, Andrew is my husband. I had every right to know that he was alive. That I was married. You had no right to keep it from me.’

‘I know, Chloe, but I was just trying to save you. That’s all. I did it for you.’

‘For me? What were you trying to save me from?’

He glances at my mother, then down at the floor. When he looks up again, he has puffed his chest out, making himself large. Perhaps that’s the only way he can convince himself that what he did is right. ‘From the pain of a marriage that was no longer working,’ he says quietly.

As he continues to speak, the memories begin to come back to me, snippets from the past, hurried and urgent. I watch him confess and I know with total certainty that his disapproval of Andrew began the moment he caught us together at the old mill when we were little more than kids.

It was a Friday night, I recall. I was up in my room trying to finish off an assignment for English literature, an essay on forgiveness for our study of The Tempest.

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