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I hook my arm around his. “First of all, I can take care of myself. Secondly, you’re not going to your grave any time soon, so let’s drop the subject of finding me a husband.”
“I’m just saying.” He pats my hand. “I know you’re capable of doing perfectly fine without my—or your mother’s—meddling.”
“Thank you,” I say, kissing his cheek. “Shall we go see if Mom needs help? I don’t want her to think we’re excluding her from our conversations.”
“You go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Mom is banging spices on the counter when I enter the kitchen. The fragrant smell of bobotie rises from the stove. Although the sweet Malaysian curry is one of my favorite dishes, my stomach turns at the odor of the garlic, turmeric, cinnamon, and ginger that hangs in the air. It’s going to take a while before I find my appetite. The painkillers are working out. I’m raw and sore, not only where my skin is burned but also inside.
“Can I help?” I ask.
I give a start when my mom turns abruptly and puts her arms around me. She holds me close, hugging me like she’s never done. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and give her an awkward pat on the back.
Tears shimmer in her eyes when she pulls away.
“Are you all right?” I ask, tensing in alarm.
She wipes a finger under one eye, catching a tear. “Oh, it’s just the idea of you also leaving the house so soon. I’m not looking forward to being an empty nester.”
“I won’t be far. Cape Town is only a four-hour drive away.”
She sniffs. “I know, but you’re moving in with Ryan and Celeste, and I’m not welcome there.”
“Oh, Mom. You know you’re always welcome at their place. Celeste just feels bruised about how you criticize her.”
She waves a hand. “I’m not going to turn my own heart into a cesspool of sin by lying about my feelings.”
I laugh. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“You and your father would think so. When the two of you side together, it doesn’t matter what I say.”
“That’s not true.” I lean against the counter, dipping my head to catch her gaze. “Your opinion does matter. We may not always agree, but that’s a different issue.”
She scoops raisins from a jar and adds them to the spiced minced meat browning in the pan.
Biting my lip, I study her. I always turn to my dad with questions because he gives me straight-forward and honest answers. His truth isn’t as tainted with manipulation as my mom’s.
However, there’s something he’s not telling me. I didn’t buy the story about discussing work when I caught them fighting. This time, my mom may be the one to ask.
“You know something?” I start carefully. “We never talked about the night I let Angelo into the house. I know I disappointed and hurt you.”
Startled, she looks at me. “You said you were sorry. There was nothing more to say.”
“I still regret that I did it. Sometimes, I think the guilt will never go away.”
“Nonsense.” Grabbing a cloth, she wipes down the counter with jerky movements. “We moved past that. Angelo Russo manipulated you in a scandalous way.”
“And because of that, Dad lost a part of his business.”
She stills, clenching her fingers around the cloth.
“I’ll never forgive myself for that,” I say honestly.
“Is that how you feel after all this time? Guilty?”
“Yes,” I admit in a whisper. For so much more than I’m telling her.
“Well, you shouldn’t. It’s over. We can’t change what happened. We just have to move forward.” She adds after a beat, “Without guilt.”
“Earlier, outside…” I hesitate. “What were you and Dad really arguing about? What doesn’t Dad want to tell me? Does it have something to do with the money he lost?”
She dumps the cloth in the sink and brushes her hands over her apron before facing me. “It sounds as if you’ve suffered more than enough guilt. Why don’t we let this go, hmm? You’ll see. Things will be better once you’re in Cape Town.”
I want to believe that. At some stage, I did. Didn’t I say the same to myself? After last night, I no longer do. Nothing will be different. Angelo will always be a part of me, ingrained in my soul. He did a too good job during that first year. He’s part of my dreams and my nightmares. He’s imbedded in my guilt and burned into my skin. He’ll continue to show up on every day I turn a year older. I know it with a deep-seated certainty.
The situation won’t change in Cape Town.
It won’t change anywhere.
The question is why.
Is it some sick game? Does he get off on tormenting me? Does he ruin other people’s lives for fun?
The only way to stop a game is to no longer play it. It sounds easy, but it’s not as simple as that. How can I end or win the game if I don’t even know the rules?
