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“I knew you’d need things for Finn, and I wanted you to be able to get them. So I invented an insurance company and transferred the money to you.”
I’m absolutely blown away. “Who knows all this?”
“Hardly anyone. I only told Damon a few days ago.”
“And Mae?”
He nods. Of course, that’s how she knew he’d met me a year ago.
“So when I came to Kia Kaha the first time, when I met the guys, they didn’t know?”
He shakes his head.
“You took me to the park,” I say faintly. “You were so kind.”
His lips curve up a little. “I’d waited a long time to talk to you. I wanted to get you to myself.”
No wonder he’d been so unreadable. He must have been watching himself closely to make sure he didn’t let it slip that he’d seen me before. And now I know him a little better, I think maybe he was nervous, too. He created THOR for Finn, for me. I know that some of the other guys weren’t sure about taking on a single mother, and he must have had to restrain himself from making it obvious that he wanted me there. He waited three whole months to talk to me. And he waited a whole year to date me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper.
He looks embarrassed. “I thought you might think I was stalking you. Not every girl likes secrets, even if it’s all done with the best intentions.” His expression softens. “Plus, you thought Lee had taken out the policy for you. I didn’t know anything about your relationship at the time, but later you said it was the only redeemable thing he’d done, and I couldn’t take that away from you.”
I look away, out at the sea. Lee didn’t take out the policy. He didn’t do it for me, and he didn’t do it for his son.
Did he love me? I’m not sure. Certainly not at the end. I presume he loved Finn, although I don’t think he ever told him. He was a selfish, vain man who needed to be admired in order to love back, and once I lost the stars he put in my eyes as a girl, it was never going to work between us.
Just like how I convinced myself he wasn’t having an affair all year, I’ve clung to the idea that at least he wanted to provide for Finn, clutching hold of it like a life raft to convince myself that I didn’t make an immense mistake by getting pregnant and marrying him. But the truth is that the guy was an arsehole, and now I’m free.
There, at last, I’ve finally brought my deepest, darkest feelings into being. I’ve done it time and again this year, taking my guilt, my resentment, my anger, my pain, and making them real like a golem.
I talked about golems in my class once. One of the students had been playing a computer game where he had to fight one, and he asked me what it was. I told him that a golem is a creature from Jewish folklore formed from a lifeless substance that has been brought to life. It has Hebrew letters on its head that read ‘emét,’ which means ‘truth.’ To destroy it, you remove the first letter, making the word ‘mét,’ which means ‘dead.’
I created the misery I’ve felt this year myself, taking something that didn’t exist and breathing life into it. My eyes sting, and for a moment I can’t catch my breath.
“Don’t cry,” Alex says. “I’m sorry. This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
He thinks I’m crying because I’m devastated that Lee didn’t create the policy for me. I face him, wiping away my tears.
“I’m not crying because I’m disappointed, Alex, I’m crying because I’m relieved. I’m glad Lee didn’t take out the policy. All this year, I’ve been crushed by guilt, and it’s all been so pointless. He was having an affair. He didn’t take out the policy. He didn’t care for me or Finn. And I’m fucking glad he’s dead.”
Then I burst into tears, because of course I don’t mean that, and I cover my face with my hands and sob. Alex puts his arms around me and says, “Ah baby,” and when I lean against him, he holds me tightly, kissing my hair and stroking my back while the tears stream down my face.
He holds me for ages, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, while I cry until there are no tears left. At one point he grabs a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table, and then he holds me again, until my sobs die down, and all that’s left is raw, clean grief, like a stone that’s been turned over and over again by the sea until all the edges are worn away, and it’s smooth and shiny.
“Jesus,” I say, pushing myself upright. I’m all stuffed up, and I know I must look a sight. I blow my nose several times, wipe under my eyes, and get rid of all the tissues.
Then I curl up beside Alex, leaning on the pillows, facing him.
“Better?” he says.
I nod.
His brows draw together. “Do you hate me?”
I blink a few times. “Hate you?” I study his now-familiar face—the stubble on his jaw, his beautiful brown eyes. “Which bit should I hate you for? Giving three hundred thousand dollars to a girl you hadn’t even spoken to? Building a piece of expensive, technical equipment to help my son walk again? Being kind and patient to him? Finding a way to give him a puppy without giving him a puppy? Making him feel special with all his friends at school?”
He purses his lips.
