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She smiled that crooked smile, took a deep breath, and said,
“Once there was a boy—maybe he was lonely, but he wasresilient too. He watched his uncle die, and he blamed himself. The boy thought he should have done more, that it was his fault, but he was a child, and the only person guilty was the one who killed his uncle.
“Once there was a boy who lost so much and was hurt so badly that he had to turn off his emotions to survive. He saw his mother kill herself—” her eyes lifted. “Did I interpret that part correctly?”
He nodded once. “You did.”
“He saw his mother commit suicide, and he blamed himself, but he was a child, and it wasn’t his job to save her. The boy didn’t do anything wrong.” She paused as if to emphasize the point. “Once there was a boy who finally made it, who escaped, but he couldn’t escape his past, and everywhere he went, he brought with him that trauma of being left behind, of not being loved, of the violence he’d seen. And maybe the boy hurt people, but he was hurting too, and he would have done better if he could. Maybe he made mistakes, but everyone does. Maybe the boy could forgive himself. Maybe he could be loved and feel like he deserved it. Maybe he could learn how to cope without music. Maybe he could live.”
41
IAN
Perched high atop the library on a scaffold, Ian sanded the shelf of yet another built-in bookcase. The double-decker bookcases and rolling library ladder that seemed charming when they first bought the Victorian had lost all allure about three bookcases into the renovation. There were still a few days of sanding left, then Ian would stain the bookcases and return the books to their refinished homes, and then he’d be done.
He hadn’t seen or heard from Alek in two weeks. The silent treatment wasn’t surprising, but it still stung. Ian was climbing the walls with worry. He suspected Alek still remained at Alder House because they’d continued to charge his account their weekly rate, but that was the extent of his knowledge. There’d been no fictional marital partnership this time and as such, Alder House wouldn’t even confirm if Alek was there, let alone share any other information.
Ian’s phone vibrated in his back pocket and like every time, his heart leaped at the hope that it would be Alek, and like every time, it wasn't, or at least he didn’t think it was. The number wasn’t one he recognized, and it wasn’t the area code from AlderHouse that he’d memorized. Probably spam, but Ian answered all the calls he caught just in case, so he’d answer this one.
It wasn’t Alek. After answering and confirming to the male baritone that he was indeed Ian Stewart, the man said, “Mercer Llewyn, here. I’m Mr. Katin’s attorney.”
So this was the asshole from the emails?
“Is this a good time? I wanted to go over some legal matters with you.”
Ian tossed the sandpaper on the shelf and sat at the edge of the scaffold, dangling his legs at the knee. He should have seen this coming. He and Alek’s lives were so entangled, they couldn’t part ways without the drafting of legal documents and hours of billed attorney fees. Wasn’t that why Ian had said no to the marriage in the first place? What difference did it make now? Ian should have said yes. Then none of this would have happened.
“I’m listening,” Ian said.
“Per Mr. Katin’s request, I’ve compiled the separation agreement to dissolve your business partnership. I will email you the E-Doc for your signature, but there are other matters to settle. Mr. Katin has already paid the remaining balance of the mortgage on your shared property, and I’ve filed the quitclaim to remove his name from the deed. I mailed a check to reimburse you for what you’ve spent on Mr. Katin’s treatment thus far. Moving forward, Mr. Katin will pay for his medical?—”
“How canMr. Katinmake decisions about his finances from within a psychiatric hospital?”
“The separation claim will be filed upon his release. You don’t have to cash the reimbursement check if you don’t want to. The mortgage and deed were completed before the date of his hospitalization and didn’t require your signature. The house is yours. Feel free to run a check on the title.”
Instead of telling Llewyn to feel free to go fuck himself, Iansaid, “TellMr. KatinI won’t sign anything without speaking to him first.”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Katin was very clear that all contact will go through me.”
“Then do your job and tell Alek I won’t sign the separation agreement, and if the Victorian’s only mine, he better come get his stuff, or will you be packing his boxes for him?”
Llewyn gave an exasperated sigh. “I’ll be in touch.”
That paperwork, Ian’s signature, what it meant… This wasn’t Alek lashing out in anger with a predictably cold and calculating insult. This was real. If Alek wanted, he could end things without even speaking to him, instead only communicating through Mercer Llewyn until the last ties between them were severed.
Ian picked up the sandpaper and returned to his work. He’d been working, with his crew or on the Victorian, nearly every waking hour of every day since Alek had left. He’d work until he was too tired to stand because he couldn’t sleep unless he was exhausted. He still couldn’t bring himself to sleep in their bed, or worse yet, move back into his old room so, in an act so melodramatic Alek would have done it, Ian slept in the library on a chaise he’d dragged in from another room.
He only returned to their room to shower and dress; the parlor was avoided entirely. He had no appetite, but he forced himself to eat the casseroles his mom kept bringing over, alone at the dining table, across from Alek’s empty chair, because while Ian was melodramatic, he wasn’t so melodramatic as to take his meals in the library, another thing Alek surely would have done.
As the library neared completion, far ahead of schedule for obvious reasons, Ian needed to plan the next room for restoration. He could do the snuggery, which was like a Victorian mancave, or one of the several unused guest rooms, but it was Alek’s turn to choose, and Ian knew what he wanted, but what would Ian do with a kitchen if Alek never came home?
How could he ever do anything again if it wasn’t Alek he was doing it for?
42
ALEK
WEEK SIX OF PURGATORY
