Page 26 of Icy Heart, Empty Chest
Damien nodded and stole another piece of bacon from my plate. Heartless and insatiable.
“So the bulk of that trial was utter bullshit. When it came down to it, both my father and the second expert agreed that the painting was authentic. The first did not. He said it was a convincing fake but the aging was inappropriate among other things. My father’s testimony and the seconds were nearly identical. But it didn’t matter. The museum owner wanted to make an example of him for fraud and forgery. I don’t know how he came to hate him that much or what he was told, but he really believed that my father was guilty. Which was utterly ludicrous.
“The prosecutor really instilled that reasonable doubt into the jury. My father argued why he would ever bring a fake into the museum; that was his lifeblood, his pride, his reputation. The museum owner argued that if it was his money, he was getting defrauded.”
I took a sip of my coffee.
“He was convicted when I was eighteen, ten days after my birthday in May. Those last few weeks in high school were horrendous. I couldn’t sleep because of the anxiety and I didn’t want to eat either. The taunts and comments, the looks I got from teacher and student alike. Burned the heart right out of me. I cried daily, sometimes in school. It got to the point of hoping the custodial staff was more vigilant about changing paper towel rolls and bringing in makeup to hide the redness. No one really reached out. I didn’t have a ton of friends and people get scared of a scandal. Parents told their kids to avoid me. Afraid I’d be a bad influence or something. Some flat out told me that.”
“My dad wouldn’t let me go to the trial,” he said quietly. “I tried but he took my keys, had Mom drive me back and forth from school. Told me if I ran or took the bus, I would regret it. I was still so scared of him then. Defiant but scared. I didn’t know how I could break away from him. I didn’t want you to be alone for that.”
My head jerked up in surprise.
“I didn’t know that.” I didn’t know he had tried. Something squeezed inside, hard. Those coal-black eyes were surprisingly warm.
“You weren’t exactly talking to me at the time. I thought we had grown apart and you didn’t want to be friends. Now I’m confident there’s more to that story.”
He leveled me with those dark eyes. I shivered.
“It is one part of a very painful story that I only ever told one person, who is now deceased. I will tell you but not today. Godsknow I need time to process between the telling. I tried to leave as much as I could behind me and grow in spite of it.” I avoided eye contact, afraid of crying in front of him again. I didn’t want to feel weak right now.
“Cor, I don’t care how much time you need as long as you tell me. This situation drove me nuts for years.” He paused. “I need you to tell me two things: do you still hate me, and do you consider me a friend?” It almost hurt to look at the pain behind his eyes.
“I never really hated you. I hated the circumstances, I think.” I said carefully.
He froze, almost preternaturally still. “You told me at your father’s funeral that you hated me.”
“Dae, I hated everything and everyone. I had so few people on my side…”
“You still had me!”he exclaimed angrily. “I never stopped wanting to be there for you. I should have tried harder.”
“I was grieving! Upset and scared out of my mind! I started from the bottom and had to fish myself out. Your father was there too. Him, I hated. And he hated me too. Told you not to play with the filthy nymph all those years. A few times, if I recall correctly.”
He went white. “You heard that?”
“Of course I did.” I held up my hands before he could answer. “I realized after a while that it wasn’t fair. I had been sad and upset that we weren’t friends and that your family didn’t like me but I never hated you. I think I resented but not full-on hate,” I finished. “I think it was just easier to dislike you after all that.”
He swallowed hard.
“I am capable of some introspection,” I finished, lamely.
“And the other part of the question?” He looked like he could barely breathe.
“Yes, I’m still your friend,” I said softly. I couldn’t lie. Something in my chest cracked. “I never really stopped.”
He nodded. The air was tense and uncertain.
“This is getting really heavy and I’m almost considering day drinking, so can we talk about getting your heart back?” I pleaded.
“Agreed.” He was starting to look a bit overwhelmed and I didn’t have nearly enough brain power for this. I was glad to switch gears and started to pull at the bin of blueprints and data next to me.
“So, from what my sources tell me, he lives at 37 Willow Ave, downtown. And I looked at the maps. He has a rather large house that he just moved into recently, and this might actually take two days depending on how much stuff he has and how much is in the house. One day will have to be focused on the lower levels and the other on the upper. I have the floorplans here. It looks like there is at least one safe area that was in the plans in the upper portion. But there are plenty of places that people don’t include on floorplans, not to mention there are all sorts of smaller safes that sit on the floor, but it could literally be almost anywhere on the premises. That being said, it’s going to get a lot harder tonight.”
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“Because we will be in a residential neighborhood that tends to notice strangers, strange cars. I don’t know if he has a dog, or a security system, or if anybody else lives on the premises with him. We also need to figure out where the best place is to get it in. These plans are relatively recent, within the last six months. So I am hedging that he doesn’t have a security system in.”
“That is a pretty big risk,” he warned.
