Page 33 of Mangled Memory
I exit the bedroom and hear the raised voices of the two men that are the most dominant forces in my life. My father, the loudand boisterous man, who never settles until he gets what he wants. And my husband, the restrained, strategic one who reminds me of a riptide—lethal and unknowable, until it sucks me under, carrying me to my watery death.
I’m scared by the accuracy.
“Don’t you dare keep her from me.”
“I won’t even dignify that with a response.” Christian’s voice is chilling in its vitriol.
“I’m not leaving until I see her.” That’s my dad’s irate voice echoing off the floors and walls and vibrating down the hall, getting louder and louder.
“Then you’ll wait until she’s ready to see you.”
I’ve missed something this morning. Or rather, I’ve missed more than a few somethings over the last months and years.
I round the sitting room to Christian’s home office and stop dead. He sits, relaxing behind his desk, a cup of coffee between his clasped hands. Dad leans over his desk, red in the face, a single finger pointing his way, spittle flying as he rails about who knows what.
My father’s behavior lets me know he thinks he’s controlling this situation. Large, loud, looming.
But he missed it. No one is ever in control when they can’t control themselves.
Christian is unruffled. Cool, calm and collected, letting my dad work his way toward a heart attack while he owns the space. He turns his face to me, dismissing the threat that my dad wants to pose with his stance, effectively minimizing him in the worst way he could for a man like my father. Christian’s ambivalence in the face of Dad’s anger is enough to have my father slap his hand on the desk, rattling the papers and picture frames it holds.
“Seamus.” Christian’s glacial stare rests on my dad. “Check your anger, or I won’t allow you alone with my wife.”
“Allow?”
“I didn’t stutter.”
This is a train wreck I can’t look away from. My husband and my dad blatantly disrespecting each other and me being thepoor pawn on the chessboard about to be sacrificed in their war for the Queen.
I lean against the jamb, cross my arms, and stare between the two of them in complete silence. When I have their complete attention and my dad no longer sounds like he ran here from Lakewood, I speak.
“No oneallowsme to do anything. That goes for you.” I look to Christian, waiting for recognition to hit his face. When his lips tip up and he leans back in his chair, I look to my dad who seethes, red-faced and opens his mouth. “And that goes for you, too. I don’t need your permission. I also don’t need the stress of this.” I wave my hand between the two of them.
Christian takes a sip of his coffee, and Dad bows his head. “Ayla, I need to talk with you.”
“Then talk.”
“Alone.” He looks across the desk before looking back at me. I sincerely hope he doesn’t play poker because he’s shit at concealing almost everything.
“Why don’t you go to the studio?” Christian offers. “I’ll get your coffee ready and meet you down here when you’re ready to go.”
I’m ready to go now. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but instead I nod and turn my back on both of them and make my way to the stairs.
“I can’t believe you let him tell you where to go. I thought I raised a smarter daughter than this.” The disdain dripping from my dad’s words is unmistakable.
I can’t with him right now. Thank goodness I know he’s team Ayla, because the way he’s acting at the moment is so vile, I want to do the exact opposite of anything he says or suggests.
I open the door to the studio. The windows are all covered. It’s black as night outside, and the white shades blend in almost seamlessly with the window casings. I’ll have to ask about that later.
I’m taken from my musings by a man clearing his throat.
I turn and place my hands on my hips, not in obstinance but in resignation, staring at the floor to brace myself for whatevercomes next. When I lift my eyes to the man pacing the room. “You came a long way at an odd hour to see me. What’s going on, Dad?”
“I need you to understand, Ayla. You cannot trust that man.”
“You’ve already said that, and I haven’t forgotten.”
“No, but you’re not heeding my warning or you’re not putting enough stock in what I’m telling you. I’m not blind. You came out of his bedroom this morning, didn’t you?”
