The Red Diary (31 page)

Slowly, the sobs grew louder and more grating, and she almost couldn't believe they were sitting there acting like it wasn't happening, until Nick finally ran both his hands back through his hair. "Jesus," he bit off quietly, through gritted teeth. "You'd think he was the only one of us who lost her."

"Nick," Elaine said in an admonishing tone, but instead of continuing, she shifted her gaze uncomfortably to Lauren. "Dad never really got over our mother's death. Sometimes he still cries when someone mentions her."

Lauren only nodded, as Davy meekly said. "Sorry." "Don't be sorry, Davy," Nick said sharply. "You're allowed to talk about her." Then he turned to Lauren, their eyes meeting, and as before, she wished she could help him somehow. "I'm sorry things turned out like this."

She took his hand. "Nick, you don't have anything to be sorry for, either. It's okay. I promise."

His gaze never left hers as he lifted her hand to his mouth for a kiss.

Sadly, meeting Nick's dad almost made Lauren more sympathetic to her father's decision all those years ago, especially since she knew she'd seen only the tip of a very large iceberg where John Armstrong was concerned. But she didn't tell Nick that, of course, as they drove home from Elaine's. In fact, she decided she wouldn't pass judgment. It was long in the past, and it didn't matter what she thought. She was just sorry for the way John

hurt his children, then and now. .

Nick had apologized again when they'd first gotten in the car, but now they traveled the Gulf side streets in silence, the only sound Bruce Springsteen's "Brilliant Disguise" low on Nick's stereo.

"I'm glad you took me there," she said above the music.

Their eyes met briefly in the darkness before he turned back to the road. "You've gotta be kidding."

"I'm not. I got to meet Davy and Elaine. And the food was great. And I learned how to feed fish."

His gaze softened, even if the rest of his expression stayed grim. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Even about the fish?"

She smiled at his amused tone. "Yeah. Why?" "Princess, you've never sprinkled. fish food in a fishbowl before?" She shook her head. "No."

He laughed lightly, and she wasn't sure what was so funny, but she didn't mind; she was just glad to share a happy, easy moment with him. The last few days had been so emotional. Getting over the situation with Phil, dealing with the legal issues involved; and she'd gotten a message on her answering machine from Jeanne saying she'd filed for divorce and was moving to Sarasota with her sister. And then there'd been Nick, telling her the horrible truth about Davy's accident, and the uncomfortable scene with his father tonight.

As silence returned, though, she sensed Nick still being on edge, despite her assurances that what had happened over dinner was no big deal. Even as they pulled into her driveway, she saw the sorrow etched in his eyes. The sight clenched her stomach and made her want to hurt John Armstrong for being so selfish, for putting everything ahead of his children these past twenty years. She'd have given anything to wipe away Nick's pain.

"Coming in?" she asked. Sometimes it wouldn't even be a question; she'd just know he was. Other times, like tonight, it hung tenuously in the air.

He didn't answer right away. "Not sure I'd be great company."

"I don't mind," she said softly. "I do."

Only when she rested her hand on his thigh did he turn to look at her. She let heat and love and desperation mingle in her gaze. She wanted to remind him he was so much more than his father, than his family; she wanted to save him. "Nick, I want to make love to you so much right now-I want to take away everything that hurts you."

Usually, that was all it took-that heat-but tonight, Nick hesitated. "It's not that I don't want to, honey, but ... I've had a lot of sex like that. Sex to get my mind off shit." He was trying to warn her, spare her. Ah, what a difference a week or two made. ''This will be different than that," she promised. "Better than that."

"Why?"

"It'll be with me."

His smile remained tinged with sadness, but reaching across the gearshift, he hauled her against him for a kiss that trickled all the way to her toes. "You're right," he said, no longer smiling. ''This'll be different than that."

An hour later, they rested beneath the ceiling fan.

They still wore their clothes because things had moved fast and neither had bothered taking much off. Her dress had been pushed up, her panties pulled down, his black jeans unzipped. Something about it had reminded her of the first times they'd had sex-the frantic impatience, the skewed clothing-but it was different. Because Nick's eyes had filled with as much affection as fire. Because they'd been through so much together since then. Because she could say [ love you when they were done and mean it. He still didn't say it back, and it still didn't matter to her. She just wanted him to know.

Now she rested her head on his chest, tracing her fingernails in gentle figure eights over his stomach. Even as they cuddled together, though, she still felt the tension in his muscles; sex. might have gotten his mind off his dad for a few minutes, but it hadn't relaxed him.

"Nick, I know you probably don't want to discuss this, but ... have you ever talked to your dad, I mean really talked to him, about the pain he's caused you and Elaine and Davy all these years?"

"He's always drunk." He sounded irritated, defensive. "Always?"

He hesitated. "No, not always. But I'm not into stirring up the past. What's the point? What happened. Nothing's gonna fix it."

''The point is that maybe you'd feel better afterward, just to have gotten it off your chest."

''That's you," he said, "not me. You wanted to confront Phil when he was cheating on his wife, you tell Carolyn when you're mad at her. And that's great for you, but I see things differently. I figure why rock the boat."

''The boat already seems pretty shaky, Nick. What do you have to lose?"

"Nothing he could say would make me forgive him." "Of course not, but do it for yourself. That's why I've started confronting people when I'm angry with them, to make me feel better, to get things out in the open. It's not easy, but I realized that when I keep things inside, they eat me up. Your father is eating you up inside, Nick."

He didn't answer, but their eyes met in the darkness, and Lauren feared she'd gone a step too far.

"Don't be sorry you confided in me, okay? I'm only trying to help. Forget I said anything."

She sensed his somber nod more than saw it, then snuggled a little closer, wanting to make him feel loved. But twenty years was a lot to make up for, and she felt him shutting down a little, closing himself off from her in a way he hadn't for a while. When he got up to use the bathroom, she wasn't even surprised when he came out saying, "I'm gonna head home." So now it felt like their first sexual encounters in more ways than one. He was leaving her. And she supposed she should be so tough by now that it didn't catch her off guard, but it did. "Okay," she said, trying to sound strong, biting her lip in the darkness to hold back emotion as she peered up at his broad silhouette halfway across the room. She watched him move toward the bedroom door, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.

He'd already gone through it when she heard his footsteps return and opened her eyes to find him gazing down on her. He bent over, cupping her cheek in his hand. "It's not you, okay? I've just ... got some stuff to work out in my head." He lowered a short but firm kiss to her lips before turning to leave, and although Lauren shed a few tears after he'd gone, she realized they weren't for herself, but for him.

Nick had worked on painting Lauren's privacy wall 'til lunchtime before he realized she wasn't home. He found a note on the French doors saying she had to work at the office today, taking over some of Phil's duties until they trained someone else. The door's open if you need to get inside. I hope you're feeling better today. Love, L

Nick just shook his head, making a mental note to scold her for being so trusting as to tape a note on her door announcing it was unlocked. Of course, he meant to reprimand her for trusting other people, but as he stepped inside, the cool of the house's interior surrounding him, he reminded himself that she couldn't trust him, either.

He would finish painting her house this afternoon.

Which was good, he thought as he used the bathroom, because it'd been a hell of a job to complete by himself. Yet it would seem strange not to be here every day, not to have her so near. Now he regretted leaving last night, although at the time, it'd seemed the only sensible thing to do. He was no fun to be around when he was in a bad mood.

Lauren's advice about confronting his dad kept swirling in his brain. That was the problem with his profession, he decided as he made his way to the kitchen, too much time to think. Too much time to regret things. Too much time to let anger build inside.

But Lauren's words-your father is eating you up inside-had echoed in his head until he'd realized it was true. It had always been true, since the day his mother had died. And he guessed he'd spent a lot of years trying to place the blame elsewhere, or at least spread it around, but the other truth was, the way their lives had turned out wasn't really Henry's fault. Nick had spent his whole life believing that if they'd just retained their ownership in Double A Construction things would've returned to normal, his dad would've gotten on his feet again, they'd have been prosperous and happy-but damn it, it just wasn't true. He'd sat in his spare bedroom last night in the dark, staring out over the black ocean until that had finally become clear to him.

When something brushed against his ankle, he bent down to scratch Izzy behind the ear, then helped himself to a cold glass of water. When he'd told Lauren about Davy, it had felt good to get it out in the open, even if he'd thought better of it later. And once those vulnerable feelings had passed, once he'd seen that it didn't change how Lauren felt about him. he couldn't deny that having it out there between them wasn't bad. How was it that this woman he'd spent most of his life resenting had the ability to make things so apparent to him?

He added some ice to his cooler, then headed back toward the door she'd left open for him. As his fingers curled around the doorknob, though, he paused. This is the last day of the job, probably the last time you'll be here when she isn't. If you want to read her journal, if you want to help her live out one more fantasy, this is your last chance. Nick wanted that. He wanted it as badly as he ever had, maybe even more now that his feelings for Lauren had gone so far past resentment into ... caring. He wanted to see her eyes heat when he brought a piece of fantasy into their sex; he wanted to know she thought they shared something mystical and marvelous because of it. He wanted her to keep on loving him. He somehow feared he was risking that love by giving up the red diary, but he took a deep breath and turned the knob, his strength-in that area, anyway-intact.

A harsh ocean breeze lifted Nick's hair as he knocked on door eight of the Sea Shanties apartments; looked like a storm was blowing in with the sunset. It was Friday night, so who knew if his dad would be home. In fact, now that be thought about it, his father was probably drinking up at the bait shop with the other old guys there. Nick remembered meeting them all once and thinking it was the perfect job for his dad, a bunch of senior alcoholics sitting around lamenting their lives while they sold worms and minnows to the locals.

As he turned to go, he decided it was for the best-he shouldn't have come here anyway. Maybe he'd drive by Lauren's; he still hadn't seen her today. He wanted to know what she thought of the paint job now that it was complete, and he also wanted to tell her he was sorry for being such a shit last night.

He'd nearly made it out of the breezeway that led to the pockmarked parking lot when he heard the door click open behind him. "Somebody there?" a grizzled old voice asked.

He considered not stopping; his dad would never know the difference. But hell-why not just do this? Maybe Lauren was right, maybe it would take a load off him. That was why he'd decided to come, wasn't it?

"It's me, Dad," he said, approaching the door again. His father wore the same blue work pants as always, and a dingy white T-shirt clung to his belly. "Nicky," he said, glazed eyes brightening. "Come in, come in."

Nick stepped into the low-ceilinged apartment, the acrid smell of mildew biting into him. An old TV he recognized from his teenage years sat in one comer, blaring out a game show, and an open can of beer and bag of pretzels rested on the laminate circa 1960 coffee table. Swinging his gaze to the adjoining kitchen area, he noted the row of pills on the table, which had grown since his last visit. Elaine had mentioned the heart specialist prescribing a couple more. "Been taking your pills?"

John looked at them, too. "Mostly. Your sister keeps a pretty tight watch on me these days."

"She loves you," Nick said, without quite meaning to. His father nodded, but seemed unwilling to meet

Nick's eyes. It was, he thought, almost as if he'd just said, I don't love you.

"Listen, Dad, I'm here because I have something to say, something to ask you." He had no idea how to start this, hadn't even thought through it, damn it, and he should've. "So I may as well get right to it."

His father looked appropriately worried, almost as if he suspected what was coming. Maybe, Nick thought, he knew he couldn't live the rest of his life without one of his children calling him on what'd happened in the garage that afternoon. Maybe he knew his day of reckoning had finally come.

"I need you to tell me why," Nick said. "Why?"

His breath went shallow. "Why did you hit Davy with the baseball bat?"

A shadow of shame passed over his father's eyes, and he suddenly looked smaller than he had just a moment ago.

And hearing himself say the words, ask the question, utter the truth that hadn't been spoken between them in twenty years, made him bolder, and angrier, and just as disbelieving as he'd ever been. He clenched his fists. ''What the hell made you do such a thing? Your own son, Dad! A little boy. You hit him with a fucking baseball bat, for God's sake. Why did you do it?" His father didn't draw his eyes away, but he wore the expression of a doomed man, his breath ragged. his face lining with new creases.