If You Only Knew
Page 107
“And Amanda’s mom? Mrs. Walker? How is... Is she aware?”
“No. Losing Amanda and the baby...it pretty much felled her. She’s lucky, though. She’s forgotten all this. She doesn’t even remember Amanda anymore.” His voice breaks a little, but he clears his throat. “She thinks I’m her son, and I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m not. Amanda was her only child.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
He gives a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, since I killed her daughter and grandson, it’s the least I can do.”
“Leo, you can’t—”
“Am I forgetting anything?” He cuts me off. “Oh, the fourth floor. Some of her stuff. Some of our stuff. All our pictures. Is there anything else you want to know?”
I bite my lip. “Is there anything at all I can do for you?”
“No. But thank you. You’ve been...very...distracting.” He tries again for a smile and again fails.
“Did you have a name picked out for the baby?” The question comes out of left field.
He blinks, and currents of sorrow traverse his face. “Sean. I liked Sean. She was leaning toward Daniel. But I just think of him as...baby.” He swallows hard. “I got to hold him for a minute, but he was already... He’s buried with her.”
This time I can’t suppress the sob.
Leo rubs his eyes with one hand. “Okay. Well. I’m sorry I had to tell you all this. It was three years ago.”
“No, no. I wish I’d known before.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t. I never wanted to get to this point, the point where you’d know. I mean, I guess I would have, eventually. I just... I liked the way you saw me, Jenny. I shouldn’t have rented to you, because the second I saw you, I knew you’d be trouble.”
He does smile now, the most heartbreaking smile I’ve ever seen. “But when I said I was for recreation only, I meant it. I don’t ever want to be in that position again. It’s not that I can’t love you. You’re very lovable.” He looks at me with terrible kindness. “It’s just that I don’t want to. Not because of you. Because of me.” He’s quiet for a long time, the rain pattering on the flagstones outside. “When she died, she took everything. I can’t get over it. I can’t play anymore, I can’t— I can’t be involved with someone else more than I was with you. The truth is, I’m just killing time.”
The pain in my chest swells hard and sharp. “Leo, don’t say that. I know I can’t imagine how—”
He reaches across the coffee table and takes my hand. “Whatever you’re about to say, please don’t. I’ve heard it all before. Please just stay the Jenny who thinks I’m a lazy womanizer with bad handyman skills.”
I swallow loudly, and two more fat tears spill out of my eyes. “Okay,” I whisper.
Because I’ve got nothing. There are no platitudes I can dole out, no wisdom I can share, and my love isn’t going to save him, because some things—and some people—are beyond repair.
But I stand up and go over to him and wrap my arms around him, and he hugs me back, his head against my chest, my tears leaking into his hair. “I do love you, you know,” I whisper.
“Thank you.” He looks up at me for a long moment. “I’m sorry if I broke your heart.”
“It’s fine.” We both give a little laugh at my stupid answer, though mine is choked with tears.
And then I go upstairs, still in his bathrobe, because there’s nothing more I can do.
* * *
The next morning, my eyes are nearly swollen shut from crying. Good thing the shop is closed. A sobbing wedding-dress designer isn’t that great for business.
Leo has sent me an email.
Thank you for the sympathy. I do appreciate it. You have seven months left on the lease, but it might be best if you moved. If you don’t want to, I’ll be happy to find another place. Even if I do own this building. —Leo
It seems telling that he can make me smile even as I’m crying yet again.
I call the Realtor and tell her I’ll be looking for a new rental.
But I can’t quite bring myself to pack just yet. And I don’t want Leo to have to hear me packing. I answer his email and tell him I’ll be looking for a place of my own, so no need for him to leave. I also tell him I’m going to stay with my sister for a while and help with the girls.
And then I go upstairs to the fourth floor and sit on the stairs in front of the locked door and cry for Leo’s lost wife, pray that she didn’t know what was happening. I cry for the baby, who went from one otherworld to the next, sliding right past ours, past his father.
But mostly, I cry for Leo, for the horror and terror he must’ve endured in the time between almost and right away, and after, as the paramedics tried to save his child, and the heart-crushing loss he’s endured all these months since.
My sister welcomes me with all the love and gentleness that defines her. She tells Adam to give me some space, and I have to hand it to him; he’s very nice over the next few days. The girls are a balm; it’s hard to stay in bed, weeping, when a thirty-pound child launches herself onto your stomach, never mind three of them at once. When I walk into work on Tuesday, Andreas takes one look at me and says, “Jesus. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I do not,” I answer.
“I’m getting you a coffee and three doughnuts,” he says. “Back in a flash.” His kindness makes me feel almost worse, and he senses it, so after an awkward pat on the shoulder, he goes back to his laptop, reading me lurid scenes from his novel, which is no longer a gay erotica but now a gritty crime story set during the time of Richard the Lionheart.
“No. Losing Amanda and the baby...it pretty much felled her. She’s lucky, though. She’s forgotten all this. She doesn’t even remember Amanda anymore.” His voice breaks a little, but he clears his throat. “She thinks I’m her son, and I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m not. Amanda was her only child.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
He gives a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, since I killed her daughter and grandson, it’s the least I can do.”
“Leo, you can’t—”
“Am I forgetting anything?” He cuts me off. “Oh, the fourth floor. Some of her stuff. Some of our stuff. All our pictures. Is there anything else you want to know?”
I bite my lip. “Is there anything at all I can do for you?”
“No. But thank you. You’ve been...very...distracting.” He tries again for a smile and again fails.
“Did you have a name picked out for the baby?” The question comes out of left field.
He blinks, and currents of sorrow traverse his face. “Sean. I liked Sean. She was leaning toward Daniel. But I just think of him as...baby.” He swallows hard. “I got to hold him for a minute, but he was already... He’s buried with her.”
This time I can’t suppress the sob.
Leo rubs his eyes with one hand. “Okay. Well. I’m sorry I had to tell you all this. It was three years ago.”
“No, no. I wish I’d known before.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t. I never wanted to get to this point, the point where you’d know. I mean, I guess I would have, eventually. I just... I liked the way you saw me, Jenny. I shouldn’t have rented to you, because the second I saw you, I knew you’d be trouble.”
He does smile now, the most heartbreaking smile I’ve ever seen. “But when I said I was for recreation only, I meant it. I don’t ever want to be in that position again. It’s not that I can’t love you. You’re very lovable.” He looks at me with terrible kindness. “It’s just that I don’t want to. Not because of you. Because of me.” He’s quiet for a long time, the rain pattering on the flagstones outside. “When she died, she took everything. I can’t get over it. I can’t play anymore, I can’t— I can’t be involved with someone else more than I was with you. The truth is, I’m just killing time.”
The pain in my chest swells hard and sharp. “Leo, don’t say that. I know I can’t imagine how—”
He reaches across the coffee table and takes my hand. “Whatever you’re about to say, please don’t. I’ve heard it all before. Please just stay the Jenny who thinks I’m a lazy womanizer with bad handyman skills.”
I swallow loudly, and two more fat tears spill out of my eyes. “Okay,” I whisper.
Because I’ve got nothing. There are no platitudes I can dole out, no wisdom I can share, and my love isn’t going to save him, because some things—and some people—are beyond repair.
But I stand up and go over to him and wrap my arms around him, and he hugs me back, his head against my chest, my tears leaking into his hair. “I do love you, you know,” I whisper.
“Thank you.” He looks up at me for a long moment. “I’m sorry if I broke your heart.”
“It’s fine.” We both give a little laugh at my stupid answer, though mine is choked with tears.
And then I go upstairs, still in his bathrobe, because there’s nothing more I can do.
* * *
The next morning, my eyes are nearly swollen shut from crying. Good thing the shop is closed. A sobbing wedding-dress designer isn’t that great for business.
Leo has sent me an email.
Thank you for the sympathy. I do appreciate it. You have seven months left on the lease, but it might be best if you moved. If you don’t want to, I’ll be happy to find another place. Even if I do own this building. —Leo
It seems telling that he can make me smile even as I’m crying yet again.
I call the Realtor and tell her I’ll be looking for a new rental.
But I can’t quite bring myself to pack just yet. And I don’t want Leo to have to hear me packing. I answer his email and tell him I’ll be looking for a place of my own, so no need for him to leave. I also tell him I’m going to stay with my sister for a while and help with the girls.
And then I go upstairs to the fourth floor and sit on the stairs in front of the locked door and cry for Leo’s lost wife, pray that she didn’t know what was happening. I cry for the baby, who went from one otherworld to the next, sliding right past ours, past his father.
But mostly, I cry for Leo, for the horror and terror he must’ve endured in the time between almost and right away, and after, as the paramedics tried to save his child, and the heart-crushing loss he’s endured all these months since.
My sister welcomes me with all the love and gentleness that defines her. She tells Adam to give me some space, and I have to hand it to him; he’s very nice over the next few days. The girls are a balm; it’s hard to stay in bed, weeping, when a thirty-pound child launches herself onto your stomach, never mind three of them at once. When I walk into work on Tuesday, Andreas takes one look at me and says, “Jesus. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I do not,” I answer.
“I’m getting you a coffee and three doughnuts,” he says. “Back in a flash.” His kindness makes me feel almost worse, and he senses it, so after an awkward pat on the shoulder, he goes back to his laptop, reading me lurid scenes from his novel, which is no longer a gay erotica but now a gritty crime story set during the time of Richard the Lionheart.
