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“You wouldn’t understand,” he said. He’d said those words to me before, but this time I understood quite fucking well.
“I’ll do you one better,” I challenged. “Fuck understanding. Iknowwhy you did it, because it’s the same reason I’ve been so resistant to Cole’s pleas for me to go with him. You found out I’d be leaving, and you panicked, because even though we’re not together, and even though we never will be, there’s something about us being intertwined in the sick, passive way that we are that keeps that insidious spark of hope alive. It burns away at our core until we can taste the acidic burn of it at the backs of our throats, and the thought of snuffing out that flame completely feels deadly. It feels like dying.”
Franky released a trembling breath as my words hit the bullseye.
“You think I don’t know that you sometimes watch me?” I asked. “That on occasion, you lurk outside my window, just behind the wide bark of the elm tree in the park, and you watch me.”
“You…” he started but couldn’t finish.
“Yes, I know, because no matter how much time evaporates, I can’t stop fuckingfeelingyou. And I know some part of you hoped I knew, because maybe that would mean I haven’t let go of you either, right?”
Franky didn’t answer, but the roll of the knot at the center of his throat said enough.
“I bet Friday and Saturday nights are the hardest for you to bear. Isn’t that right, Franky?” Those were the nights reserved for relapses. The nights when after a full business week of celibacy, I failed at being better. I’d binge, making up for lost time, catching up on the sleep I’d lost while thinking I could change. My front door was a revolving one, and it didn’t turn away anyone who wanted to enter it. Franky never hung around for the show, butknowinghad to have eaten him alive.
“No,” he said, shocking me. “Sunday nights are always the hardest. That’s when you close your curtains to me, but it’s thewhyof it that breaks my heart, Leland.”
It took a herculean effort not to show my surprise or vulnerability. Sundays were reserved for my shame. They were my reset days. The day of the week when Cole’s influence led me to believe I could do better, that I could try again. Sunday was also the day I attempted to paint, but my hands shook so badly I could never manage to pick up the brush. I’d shut him out because I refused to let Franky know that without him I couldn’t find it in me to be a daisy. But he knew anyway, and it fucking hurt like hell.
“What do you want from me?” he asked.
“Me? Nothing.” That wouldn’t have been the truth a few hours ago, but now it had to be. What he’d selfishly done tonight changed everything, and I needed to find a way to walk out that door and mean it when I said I was done with him. I needed it to not just be true on the surface where it was easy to believe when miles away from him. I needed it to be true beneath the lies I told myself and beneath the pain I soothed with sex and booze. “Cole is another story. You’re going to step down graciously, exactly as planned—”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I won’t.” He said it like he meant it too.
“Franky, so help me God—”
“You’re not the only one I stand to lose!” The sudden panic and rage seeping into his voice jarred me, and it took a dozen heartbeats to formulate a reply.
“Then fight for him. Why won’t you fight for him?” I threw my hands up, letting them fall and slap at my sides.
Franky peered out over the ocean, and Ihatedthat I knew he needed a moment to collect himself. I hated that I allowed him that moment, because I knew I wouldn’t get anywhere otherwise. I didn’t want to know him anymore. I didn’t want to love him anymore.
“Do you know what happens when you try to be something you’re not?” he asked. “It doesn’t stick. I can turn on the television, or search the internet, or open a book to learn what it means to be a great father, but it wouldn’t matter because no matter how good my intentions are, I can’t be anyone other thanmyfather. Any moments in the past where I’d gotten it right were driven by guilt, not desire. Or by the person in my life thinking I could be a better man, and me wanting that to be true. Left to my own devices, I can’t get it right.”
“Cole doesn’t see it that way. He doesn’t think you’re perfect, but he doesn’t think you’re a lost cause either. Why don’t you get that?”
“Because he can’t see into my heart and mind. Only I can, so only I know that any measure of good he sees in me is a lie.”
“That isn’t how he sees it,” I repeated.
“Probably because my neglect made it easier for him to get away with having an intimate relationship with his stepbrother. Have you ever thought of that?”
“I… No.”I hadn’t.
“Of course you didn’t. And did you ever stop to think that maybe the reason he doesn’t see me as all that bad is because his judgment is clouded by the guilt of killing their mother!” He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wild. He hadn’t meant to say that.
“You don’t believe that,” I whispered, again hating how vehemently I knew that.
“I’ve had to,” he said. “It’s the only way I can get up in the morning. The only way I can survive this.”
“But you’re not surviving, Franky. Have you ever thought about just asking them? About having an honest conversation and asking your kids how they truly feel about you?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
