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“You must have known,” he said.
“That I didn’t make you happy? That I was a disappointment? Yes,” I said. “I knew that.”
“But you kept trying to please me. Worked so hard. In some ways it was admirable. But also pathetic,” he muttered.
Despite myself, those words stung, but I shook it off.
“Then who is my father?” I asked.
“How the fuck would I know?”
“You want to explain that?” I said.
“Your whore of a mother got knocked up. Your snobby ass grandfather couldn’t have that. He saw me, thought I would help create the picture-perfect family with his daughter and her bastard. Offered me a pretty penny too,” he said.
“My grandfather paid you?”
“Yeah. But not nearly enough,” he said.
“And she went along with it?”
“Fuck no. That bitch was as dumb as you are. Maybe dumber. I swept her right off her feet. In four months, I made her fall in love, forget whoever the fuck your father was, and marry me. Not bad work, if I say so myself,” he said.
“And then?”
“And then your grandfather thought I was going to go along with it. Thought that I really would play the happy family man. And I was game,” he said.
“But?”
“But your mother started nagging, complaining. Said I wasn’t spending enough time with you, wasn’t spending enough time with her. Said I was cheating,” he said.
“Were you?”
“Of course. But that was none of her business,” he said.
“So what happened?”
“So she went to Daddy to complain,” he said. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant. “The old man had a talk with me. Told me that I needed to straighten up or I was going to get cut off. And I couldn’t let that happen, could I?”
He leaned back, and I felt fear—real fear—start to creep up my spine.
“What did you do?” I asked, certain that I didn’t want to hear the answer but knowing that I needed to.
“I was in a corner. I did the only thing I could,” he said.
In spite of everything he had told me, I couldn’t let my mind accept this, but I couldn’t ignore it either.
“You killed her,” I said, my heart racing.
He laughed.
Laughed so long and so hard that his voice went hoarse.
And just as quickly he sobered, all traces of humor, all traces of emotion, gone.
“You really haven’t figured it out yet, have you?” he said.
“Haven’t figured out what?” I asked.
He met my eyes, the look in his so terrifying, I wanted to lean back, recoil from it. “That there are some things worse than death.”
