“Sure. Yes. They came here the other day. When you were missing.” His voice dripped with sarcasm and disdain.
“Yes. But they should look familiar for other reasons, too. You know them personally,” Isabel said, looking at him with exaggerated patience.
“Jesus Christ.” His eyes flitted across each of our faces once more. My body felt cold as he looked at me. Finally, he understood, and his eyes surged with anger. “What are you doing, Isabel?”
“I’m doing what I should have done a long time ago.”
“God, this is embarrassing.”
“It should be. You’re disgusting.”
“I mean for you. Could you be any more dramatic? Staging some kind of a showcase? First the stunt you pulled with the disappearing act, and now this? You really are unhinged, aren’t you?” I could see the anger brewing in his pulsing neck, though his eyes and voice remained calm.
“This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”
“Okay. Fine. So? So yes, I’m with other women. A fact you’ve known for quite some time. So what’s the goal here? What is it you hope to accomplish by parading them in front of me?” He looked at Isabel with such scorn, and suddenly it was easy to see how he’d succeeded in belittling her so these past ten years.
“It’s not just about me and what I hope to accomplish. It’s about all of us.”
“Including Allison,” Vanessa added icily.
Connor turned toward Vanessa and rubbed his temples, like all this amounted to no more than an irritating headache. “Allison?”
“Yes, Allison.” Vanessa stood up from the couch, her face steely. “I wouldn’t expect you to remember her. You met her in DC, about a year ago. She was just another girl in a bar, to you. But she was also my sister, and she gave birth to your child. Your actions have consequences, you know. Allison killed herself. Because of you. Because you don’t care about the wreckage you leave behind. All you care about is yourself.”
“Oh God.” He wiped one palm hard down his forehead as though he were utterly exhausted. “Look,” he said, his tone painfully condescending, “I can’t place any Allison. And even if I could, I certainly can’t be held responsible for decisions anyone makes about her own life. Do you have any proof at all that it was my kid? No, don’t answer that. It doesn’t even matter. It’s not relevant. It’s not my kid, not in any way. Maybe I had sex with her—let’s say I did. Why not. But I sure as hell didn’t force her to have a baby, and I certainly didn’t make her kill herself. I’m sorry she died, but it has nothing whatsoever to do with me.” He walked over to the bar table and picked up a glass to pour himself a drink, just like he was supposed to.
But the glass he was holding had no CH on it. It was a random unmonogrammed coupe glass that had been hanging on the stem rack. One that was certainly not treated with a drug. A drug that would protect us from Connor’s wrath.
Who uses a coupe glass for whiskey? No. No. This was already falling apart. I was too scared to look at anyone’s face, but I had no doubt that they were all wearing the same stricken expression that I was.
He peered at the glass in his hand. Then he held it up to the light and scowled. “This is filthy,” he said to Isabel, glaring at her. And in one quick motion, he slammed the offending glass down on the table, picked up his ludicrously ostentatious CH tumbler, and filled it with whiskey.
All a show. A chance to criticize Isabel’s housekeeping.
While insignificant on his long list of offenses, this little display set me aflame with rage and renewed my commitment to what we’d signed on to do.
He took a sip of whiskey—we’re back on track, asshole—and continued. “I can’t and won’t be blamed for someone else’s weakness,” he said smugly. I could tell that he really, really believed what he was saying.
He took another drink, more a slug this time, and then put his glass down on the bar table. He turned back toward Isabel and said, “So, is that it? That’s the whole show?”
“No,” Isabel said, and offered nothing more. He rolled his eyes at her cruelly.
He picked up his drink again and turned back toward Vanessa with another shrug. “I’m sorry your sister is dead. I really am. But you can’t possibly want to pin that on me.” He turned away from Vanessa as if that settled it. He was absolved, as far as he was concerned. Case closed.
He walked to Isabel then, stood no more than six inches from her, towering over her. His movement around the room seemed strategic, like he was trying to take up as much space as possible. “So, what now—you’re gonna ask me for a divorce again? That’s the grand plan? And you needed an audience so that you wouldn’t lose your nerve, as you always do? Well, let me remind you: You’ve never worked. You don’t have any money of your own. You have no skills. Acting doesn’t count, and you aren’t a good actor, anyway. God, I remember having to sit through your plays when we were in college—what a joke.” Isabel was trying hard to keep her poker face, but she winced ever so slightly at that. “And I’ll insist on joint custody, which I’ll get, so you’ll only be with Naomi a few days a week. You’ll be the one who has to shuttle her to and from whatever hellhole you live in. You know, I might even get sole custody, now that I think of it—after you all but publicly declared yourself unfit by disappearing for an entire week and leaving your newborn baby behind. It wouldn’t be difficult at all to convince a judge that you’re totally unstable. I could afford a great nanny, or a couple of them, and my life would pretty much continue just as it is. Except that I wouldn’t have to see your annoying mom anymore. That would be that. You’d get supervised visitation, probably. If you’re lucky.”