Betrayals
Page 105
Face what? The possibility I could kill to win her? Not even to win her, because if I did that, I could never have her. Even if she came to me, I could not be with her, knowing what I’d done.
“That’s not you,” she blurted.
He looked at her.
“You saw Gwynn and then you saw the two boys, Carl and Peter, right?”
He tried not to flinch at the names. “Yes.”
“Peter isn’t you. It was different, wasn’t it? With Gwynn, you were him, right? Seeing through his eyes.”
He nodded.
“And Peter?”
“I was watching from the forest.”
“Exactly. An actor in one and an audience in the other.” She sat on the patio edge and twisted to face him. “It’s like … spokes on a wheel. Gwynn is at the center. One spoke is you. Another is—or was—Peter. You and he aren’t connected except through Gwynn. They’re … variations on a theme. From the same initial source, like distant cousins of a common ancestor.” She peered at him, face drawn, anxious. “Am I making any sense?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“But it might help. If we can work this out—”
“No.” He said it sharper than he intended. But she didn’t draw back. She sunk, as if defeated.
“I need to leave,” he said.
“I know.” And there was, in her voice, that same hollow note, not distance but resignation.
Goddamn it, say something. Don’t run away. You don’t need to have this conversation. Just don’t run from her.
She’d called him a coward, running away whenever she pulled him toward something he didn’t like. It was not so much cowardice as ego, and not even so much protecting his ego as safeguarding the supports that kept it intact.
Success bolstered his ego. Doing what he was good at and avoiding failure in every possible way. He’d first realized that in high school, when he’d dropped out of geometry, not because he disliked it but because he wasn’t good at it. Algebra came easily. Calculus was also fine. But there was something about geometry that he could not wrap his mind around. So he dropped the course.
The moment he discovered he did not have the knack for something, he stopped trying to do it. Empathy, friendship, dating, relationships in general. He embraced a challenge only if he knew he could succeed.
The hard truth of the matter was that Gabriel was spoiled. He got what he wanted, and did not want what he could not get.
“May I ask you a favor?” Olivia said. She continued without waiting for an answer. “Go to Rose’s, please. I don’t want you driving home, and I know you don’t want me around, so just do that. Please.”
She didn’t look at him when she said it. It was not as if she was intentionally avoiding his gaze, but as though she simply couldn’t be bothered facing him. Resignation dragged down her voice to a monotone, as if she were reading instructions from a card.
Just go, Gabriel. I’m done with you.
She was tired of him. Tired of tiptoeing around his moods. Tired of putting up with him.
Then why do you?
He’d asked her that because he wanted an answer. No, he wanted a declaration. Not of love but of something. Of friendship, of commitment, of caring.
He’d wanted her to say what he could not. He’d put the burden on her.
I’m not good at this, so I won’t do it. You will.
Only she hadn’t. Her face had crumpled and her eyes had filled with tears, and he’d pulled back sharply, trying to figure out what he’d done, what he’d said. It was only when she walked away that he realized she hadn’t heard Please tell me why you stay but a sneering and sarcastic Why do you stay, then? Even if he hadn’t said it that way, that’s what she’d expected.
She rose. “Your jacket is inside. I know you keep your keys in the pocket. I’m taking them. If you insist on having them back, come and get them. But I’d really like you to stay at Rose’s tonight.”
Let Rose deal with you. I can’t. Won’t.
Could he blame her? No, not at all.
She got as far as the door, and then turned and said, her voice gentler, “If you want to talk, you know where I am.” A pause, and a sadder, “I won’t hold my breath,” before she went inside.
Go talk to her. Just go talk to her. Or tell her you don’t want to talk about it, and talk about something else. Or tell her you don’t want to talk at all, and work beside her instead. Just stay with her. Show her you won’t run. That you’re making progress. That she can count on you.
He stared at that closed door for at least ten minutes. Then he walked away.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I called Rose right after I checked that Gabriel’s keys were indeed in his jacket pocket. I told her I’d accidentally pulled him into a vision of another Gwynn, and it had been a bad one, and if he came over, he just needed a place to sleep. I didn’t ask her not to question him or pressure him to talk. She knew better. I was the one who couldn’t learn that particular lesson.
For the next hour, I did record searches on other cases. Busy-work to keep my mind off what had happened. Resist the urge to call Rose and ask if he’d gotten there okay. Resist the urge to walk to her house on some pretense, in hopes of some sign that things between us were all right, that he just needed a little time.
When Rose called at midnight, I grabbed the phone before the second ring.
“He didn’t come,” she said.
“That’s not you,” she blurted.
He looked at her.
“You saw Gwynn and then you saw the two boys, Carl and Peter, right?”
He tried not to flinch at the names. “Yes.”
“Peter isn’t you. It was different, wasn’t it? With Gwynn, you were him, right? Seeing through his eyes.”
He nodded.
“And Peter?”
“I was watching from the forest.”
“Exactly. An actor in one and an audience in the other.” She sat on the patio edge and twisted to face him. “It’s like … spokes on a wheel. Gwynn is at the center. One spoke is you. Another is—or was—Peter. You and he aren’t connected except through Gwynn. They’re … variations on a theme. From the same initial source, like distant cousins of a common ancestor.” She peered at him, face drawn, anxious. “Am I making any sense?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“But it might help. If we can work this out—”
“No.” He said it sharper than he intended. But she didn’t draw back. She sunk, as if defeated.
“I need to leave,” he said.
“I know.” And there was, in her voice, that same hollow note, not distance but resignation.
Goddamn it, say something. Don’t run away. You don’t need to have this conversation. Just don’t run from her.
She’d called him a coward, running away whenever she pulled him toward something he didn’t like. It was not so much cowardice as ego, and not even so much protecting his ego as safeguarding the supports that kept it intact.
Success bolstered his ego. Doing what he was good at and avoiding failure in every possible way. He’d first realized that in high school, when he’d dropped out of geometry, not because he disliked it but because he wasn’t good at it. Algebra came easily. Calculus was also fine. But there was something about geometry that he could not wrap his mind around. So he dropped the course.
The moment he discovered he did not have the knack for something, he stopped trying to do it. Empathy, friendship, dating, relationships in general. He embraced a challenge only if he knew he could succeed.
The hard truth of the matter was that Gabriel was spoiled. He got what he wanted, and did not want what he could not get.
“May I ask you a favor?” Olivia said. She continued without waiting for an answer. “Go to Rose’s, please. I don’t want you driving home, and I know you don’t want me around, so just do that. Please.”
She didn’t look at him when she said it. It was not as if she was intentionally avoiding his gaze, but as though she simply couldn’t be bothered facing him. Resignation dragged down her voice to a monotone, as if she were reading instructions from a card.
Just go, Gabriel. I’m done with you.
She was tired of him. Tired of tiptoeing around his moods. Tired of putting up with him.
Then why do you?
He’d asked her that because he wanted an answer. No, he wanted a declaration. Not of love but of something. Of friendship, of commitment, of caring.
He’d wanted her to say what he could not. He’d put the burden on her.
I’m not good at this, so I won’t do it. You will.
Only she hadn’t. Her face had crumpled and her eyes had filled with tears, and he’d pulled back sharply, trying to figure out what he’d done, what he’d said. It was only when she walked away that he realized she hadn’t heard Please tell me why you stay but a sneering and sarcastic Why do you stay, then? Even if he hadn’t said it that way, that’s what she’d expected.
She rose. “Your jacket is inside. I know you keep your keys in the pocket. I’m taking them. If you insist on having them back, come and get them. But I’d really like you to stay at Rose’s tonight.”
Let Rose deal with you. I can’t. Won’t.
Could he blame her? No, not at all.
She got as far as the door, and then turned and said, her voice gentler, “If you want to talk, you know where I am.” A pause, and a sadder, “I won’t hold my breath,” before she went inside.
Go talk to her. Just go talk to her. Or tell her you don’t want to talk about it, and talk about something else. Or tell her you don’t want to talk at all, and work beside her instead. Just stay with her. Show her you won’t run. That you’re making progress. That she can count on you.
He stared at that closed door for at least ten minutes. Then he walked away.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I called Rose right after I checked that Gabriel’s keys were indeed in his jacket pocket. I told her I’d accidentally pulled him into a vision of another Gwynn, and it had been a bad one, and if he came over, he just needed a place to sleep. I didn’t ask her not to question him or pressure him to talk. She knew better. I was the one who couldn’t learn that particular lesson.
For the next hour, I did record searches on other cases. Busy-work to keep my mind off what had happened. Resist the urge to call Rose and ask if he’d gotten there okay. Resist the urge to walk to her house on some pretense, in hopes of some sign that things between us were all right, that he just needed a little time.
When Rose called at midnight, I grabbed the phone before the second ring.
“He didn’t come,” she said.
