The Fable of Us (31 page)

Boone threw a few blankets and pillows on the floor, making his bed. “What do you want from me, Clara?”

“Well what I wanted earlier sure isn’t the case any more.” I grabbed a pillow from my bed and threw it into the pile he was making on the floor.

“Good, because that’s never happening between you and me again. I mean it.”

“Really? Because it sure didn’t seem like you were so conflicted when you had me pinned against my dad’s Chrysler.”

He kicked and punched the blankets and pillows around, making a bigger mess than when he’d first heaped them into a pile. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“And why would you? Since your preferred method of ‘working things out’ includes you turning your back and walking away.” I motioned at him to prove my point, not that he saw it.

He was crouched on the ground, his back to me. “It’s a better method than letting myself say the things I want to sometimes.”

My feet were back to bouncing. I was so wound up, it was a miracle I was able to stay seated. “That sounds like a convenient excuse.”

“Call it whatever you want, but it’s the truth.” He managed to keep his back to me as he moved around the room, turning off one light after the next. He was shutting down and closing up in every way possible.

When he reached for the lamp on my nightstand, my hand snapped out and caught his wrist. “It might have been easier on you, leaving me without an explanation, but I swear to you it was the opposite on me.”

My back stiffened, the rest of my body following, when the memories came spilling back. How could I still feel the things I did for the man beside me after everything? How could my skin touching his make me feel like I’d come home?

I wanted to cry. So I glared at him instead.

“You have no idea what I wanted to say to you. What I
still
want to say to you sometimes.” His jaw set as he stared at the spot on the wall just past my shoulder. “Believe me when I say it was better for us both that I went the way I did, instead of the way I wanted to.”

“And is that why you’re acting like this now? Closing up and refusing to talk?” I shoved his hand away from the lamp and away from me. The moment I did, I wanted it back. “Is this your way of punishing me for what happened back then or for what happened tonight?”

“I’m not trying to punish you.”

“Then what in the hell are you doing?” I couldn’t stay sitting on the edge of the bed anymore. I leapt up and moved to the end of it, pacing up and down by the footboard. “I was starting to think that we were patching things up between us, that we might be able to become friends again, then tonight happened and it became pretty clear that we both might have been interested in exploring the more-than-friends thing. Whatever it was, impulse or recklessness or nothing more romantic than wanting to get laid, I know you felt what I did. I know you felt it before we even put our hands on each other.”

Boone stayed crouched beside my bed, his jaw set and his chest tense. “You’ve sure got yourself convinced you know everything I’m thinking, don’t you?”

“You felt that connection. The one we had and the one that’s still there. I know you did.” I was probably talking too loudly. I was probably going to wake up anyone who had been asleep. I would probably regret saying all of this in the morning. That didn’t stop me.

“Yeah?” His forehead formed into three deep creases. “What makes you so sure?”

I stopped pacing. I stared at him still drilling holes into the wall across from him. “Because of the way you looked at me right before you kissed me, and because of the way you’re refusing to look at me right now.”

“It doesn’t matter what I felt or what you
think
I felt tonight,” he said, the muscle running down the side of his neck quivering. “I won’t do that to myself again.”

“You won’t let yourself do what again? Fall in love with someone who loved you back?” A sharp huff rushed from my mouth. “Because yeah, that must have been real rough on you.”

Boone’s head shook stiffly as his hand clenched into a fist around my comforter. “I won’t let you rip me open, gut me, then leave me to pick up the pieces and try to figure out where they went in the first place.”

My pacing came to an abrupt stop again. “
I
left
you
ripped open and gutted?” I scanned the floor. Where was a shoe when I needed to throw one? “Please say you’re fucking with me. Please don’t tell me you’re serious about me doing that to you.”

Finally, he turned to face me. His face held such a foreign expression, he didn’t look like Boone anymore. “Do I look serious?”

That question didn’t require an answer. The longer I stared into his face, the more I felt my anger crumble. The anger that drained from me was replaced with confusion. I’d had so much confusion in my life, I found myself wishing back the anger. At least it came with an explanation as to the place from which it had been derived.

I knew, or at least I thought I knew, where some of his anger came from, but years later, it still didn’t add up to why Boone had left me when he knew how we’d felt about each other. I was only seeing one part of the picture, or else I’d underestimated his affections for me.

“I know I should have told you sooner. I know I shouldn’t have kept that kind of secret from you, but I was eighteen years old and terrified. I didn’t understand what was happening, let alone how to explain it to you.” I started for my dresser, where those numbered angels rested. In comparison to the rest, the number eighteen angel had always seemed to have such a sad face. I guessed now that that probably had more to do with my experience than the sculptor’s. “I was scared, but I should have you told you before you found out from someone else.”

I ran my thumb across the angel’s face and felt a ball clog up my throat. I could relive a lot of memories and remember the past in all its shapes and forms, but this was the period I kept locked down as a general policy. These memories had the ability to turn a person’s blood to poison and encase their organs in cement.

“You’re sorry for what exactly?” Boone’s voice had a sharpness to it, one I hadn’t been expecting. “That you got pregnant, or that you weren’t sure who the baby’s father was?”

My thumb froze as it was stroking the angel’s face. “What?”

“I think you heard me.”

My fingers curled around the angel. There was so much tension in them, I felt as if I could break her into pieces. “I heard you, but my
what
was more of an
excuse me?
and not one of a
repeat what you just said
variety
.
”

“Come on, Clara. You were a kid back then. If nothing else, age gives you something of an excuse for lying, but you’re old enough to know better now.” The mattress springs groaned as I guessed he shoved off it to stand, but I wasn’t going to look at him. Not with what he was accusing me of. “Plus, we’re not together anymore, so you don’t have to worry about me breaking up with you if you tell me you were fucking Ford at the same time you were giving it to me.”

One of the wings snapped off of the angel from my grip tightening around her. She couldn’t hold herself together when that much pressure was applied. Everything had their breaking point, and this angel had just found hers. I’d found mine years ago.

“What?” Anger made my voice tremble as I lifted the angel from her spot in the back row. Her broken wing stayed behind.

“You. Heard. Me.”

I told myself to take a breath. I
ordered
myself to take a breath. I should have known better. I hadn’t managed to take a single breath since arriving. When the breathing exercise failed, I spun around, angel in hand, and hurled it across the room. Right at him.

“Fuck, Clara!” Boone hollered, ducking just in time. The angel whizzed over his head and smashed into the wall behind him. “What the hell?”

He stayed crouched, making sure I wasn’t armed with another, before inspecting the carnage behind him. Contrary to what I’d expected, she hadn’t shattered into a million pieces and powder. She was scattered across the floor in a good dozen different pieces.

She’d wound up being stronger than I expected. Those porcelain angels had always seemed so fragile, but it was only the way they appeared, not what they were really made of.

“That’s what you get for accusing me of sleeping with Ford when we were together.” My voice shook, filling the room and seeming to echo off the walls. “How dare you. How fucking dare you.” I paced again, so much adrenaline mixed with anger pouring into me that I felt as though it would erupt right out of my skull.

“He told me. The bastard came to me, looked me in the eye, and told me, Clara. He told me how long, how much he cared about you . . . he even fucking apologized.” Boone’s voice was quieter, more controlled, but his expression was not. Behind that even voice, the same storm was brewing inside him as was in me. “He told me, so you can stop lying. It’s ancient history as far as I’m concerned.”

“Is that why you’re bringing it up then?” I spat, glaring at him before pacing to the opposite corner of the room. Too much emotion. Too little air to breathe. Too much temptation to pick up another one of those angels and fling it at him.

“I’m only bringing it up because I’d like to hear you admit it. I’d like you to look me in the face and tell me yourself about you and Ford.” Boone slowly stood, rising to his full height. He seemed impossibly imposing with the way he was facing me, with the way he was staring at me. “You know, this whole time, everyone’s felt so bad for you because your boyfriend was banging someone else behind your back—and sure, their case might be a bit more juicy given the other woman was little sis—but all I have to say is that what goes around, comes around.”

I crossed my arms and backed into the corner. That was about as far as I could get from him. “You really have no goddamned idea what you’re talking about, do you?”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“You might think you know, but the story I know is just a teeny bit different.” I glanced at the door. My longing to walk through it and never have to see him or this room or this place again became as irresistible as a siren’s call. The past was gone. I didn’t want to relive it. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t really even want to set the record straight. I just wanted to go.

“How different?” Boone’s voice was a note quieter.

“Are you asking for the sake of continuing our argument, or are you asking because you actually want to know?” My voice had gone quieter as well. Barely three minutes into a fight, and we were both already worn out. As kids, we could have gone on for hours. Either we’d learned our lessons as adults or just didn’t possess the same amount of energy.

“I’m asking because I’m willing to hear your side of the story.” Boone opened his stance some, keeping his arms crossed.

“How generous of you. Too bad you didn’t think to stop and ask me the same question years ago.” I shook my head, blinded by the light that was finally being shed on why Boone had left me.

“I was a little busy seeing red after finding out the girl I fucking loved was screwing some asshole behind my back. I was a little busy trying not to commit murder when I found out you were pregnant and the guy I hated most in the whole entire world could just as easily have been its father as I could.”

“And while you were busy doing that, I was busy being alone and scared and . . .” When my vision got hazy, I shook my head. I’d cried enough tears over that time in my life. I’d reached my official limit 1.5 million ago. No more. “And did I mention, I was scared and alone?” My voice broke, so I stopped. I had so much more to say, but I didn’t want to say it if my voice was going to break into a bunch of pieces.

“What did you think was going to happen?” Boone cracked his neck.

“Not what actually did happen,” I whispered.

Five seconds of silence passed between us. I knew because I counted them. It felt like the only way to keep the tears at bay.

“I’ve forgiven you, Clara. I forgave you a long time ago. That’s not why I’m bringing this up now.” Boone shuffled forward a small step. “I’m bringing it up because it explains part of the reason why I can’t do this again.” He waved between the two of us. “Why I can’t do
us
again. Forgive is one thing. Forget is another. I’m not the forgetting kind.”

My eyes closed. I wondered just how much of the world had been built and crumbled by miscommunications. How much of our history had been built upon a foundation of assumptions and lies and crossed wires. I was getting a good idea of just how much of my history had been marred by it.

“Well, thank you for the forgiveness, but you should have saved it for someone else because in terms of what you’re under the impression I needed it for, you’re sadly mistaken.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling tension so thick throughout my body, it felt like molasses. I wanted to set the record straight. I wanted to tell him my side of the story, but it felt like it would take so much energy to do so, and right then, I was down to my last ounce.

“I didn’t sleep with Ford.”

There. I’d said it. My side of the story. Now he knew. What he’d choose to do with it and if he’d choose to believe it, I didn’t know. But at least he knew, for whatever it was worth.

“I think I’m going to need a little more clarification than that.” Boone’s arms relaxed to his sides, but his shoulders stayed tight.

“I. Didn’t. Sleep. With. Ford.” I blinked. “How much more clarification is needed?”

He held up his hand, counting off on his fingers. “You didn’t sleep with him before we were together? After we got together? You didn’t sleep with him the month you got pregnant? You didn’t sleep with him after you got pregnant? Or you didn’t sleep with him as in that’s a bold-faced lie but your way of telling me what you think I want to hear?”

The door. Why wasn’t I throwing myself through it right now?

“How about this? Since you’re having a tough time understanding simple sentences right now.” I made myself look him in the eye, and I lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t sleep with Ford before, during, or after you and I were together, Boone Cavanaugh. So why don’t you put that in your Book of Facts and see how it cross-checks with the story you’ve been told.”