Page 89 of Deja New
FORTY-TWO
Angela, being Angela, broke the afterglow with, “Don’t think this was about today. I’ve been wanting this for a while.”
“I didn’t think it was a reflex,” he said mildly. “Or the sexual equivalent of a sneeze.”
They were back in the kitchen. She’d cleaned up a bit in the bathroom and gotten dressed; he’d cleaned up as well, and slipped into a pair of boxer-briefs. He’d poured her another glass of water and helped himself to a glass of milk.
“I was happy to spend the day with you. I was happy to bring you to my home. I was happy with the kissing and very, very, very happy with all that followed. I would have been happy if you’d spent the night. But we could have stopped at the napping and it would have been a day worth getting out of bed for.”
She smiled, knowing that was no small thing to someone who wrestled with dysthymia. Then remembered what she wasabout to do and the smile dropped right off, poof, like it had never been there. “Happy. Right. The thing is, Idon’tbring happiness.”
“My penis begs to differ.” And, of course, that made her snort.
“Funny. Not in any large measure,” she clarified. “That’s what I meant. Or to put it another way: I’m no good for you, Chambers. I don’t think we should see each other after this.” She paused, adding so there would be no misunderstanding, “I won’t see you again after tonight.”
He had been setting the glass down on the counter and she heard the glass rattle when he started in surprise. He turned at once and replied, “Your uncle is a fool.”
“It’s not about him.”
“No?”
“No.” Probably. It was likely a Drake thing, but not necessarily a Dennis Drake thing. “No, it’s about me. And the thing about me, Jason, is that I always screw it up and the innocents always pay for it. You can’t get caught up in that, I won’t let you drown in that whirlpool.”
“Angela...”
“You know the worst of it? Even when I doeverythingright, call the cops, tell the truth, and do it over and over, make people hear me, fight for the ones in trouble, the innocent still get stuck with that bill. I haven’t been able to fix it in four lifetimes.”
He held up a hand before she could continue. “But that’s what life is, Angela. It’ll never be perfect. You’ll never do everything right—that’s not a condemnation, it justis.You act as though people don’t have regrets, that they don’t remember the heinous things they’ve done, that it doesn’t tear them up. Ofcourse it does. In that, you and I are no different from anyone else. But you can’t hide from it, Angela. And you know it.”
A lovely speech. And utter bullshit. Still, he was worth the effort. He was worth every effort. She couldn’t be with him, but perhaps she could make him see.Shouldn’t have had sex with him. But I was weak. I wanted one small part of him, one lovely memory to carry into my next life. Whatever the fuck it’ll be.
“I was never an Insighter before,” she began. “The difference—you wouldn’t believe it. Suddenly I could see it all so clearly, like I was looking through sparkling clean glass: every wrong move, every lie, every selfish act of preservation. It was like watching an expert put a big, complicated puzzle together right in front of me: Everything fell into place while I watched. So. So I thought—”
“You thought this was the one you got right. That this time, you’d somehow be flawless while simultaneously exonerating all your past selves.”
“Yes, but in my head it didn’t sound quite so silly.”
He smiled a little and a sad, horrid thought struck her:This is the last time I’ll see his dimple.“Itissilly, but not for the reason you think.”
“Do tell.” She could hear the chill in her voice and told herself to ease up.You’re banging him and dumping him; you can at least listen before you leave his delightfully appointed kitchen. The gal who dated via the real-estate section might have been onto something.
“It was silly because it’s the way a child thinks,” he said, and somehow it didn’t come out at all patronizing. “The way a child whose father was violently murdered thinks. ‘I’ll figure it all out and I’ll fix everything and everyone will be happy.’ You are intelligent and gorgeous and determined and funny and sweet, but a small part of you is still the fatherless fourth-grader whogot the worst news in the world and wasn’t allowed to mourn because she had to take over everything.”
Well.
Your father’s dead. Your uncle murdered your—
He wasn’t wrong.
“You’re wrong,” she insisted, because fuck him. “I chose. I’m still choosing. It’s why we won’t be seeing each other again. If we get a case update, please don’t follow up with me.” That part was hardest. She almost choked on the words. The first thing she liked about Jason (after his socks) was that he immediately included her, kept her updated, always returned her calls, and she never had to chase him. She never had to follow him to a Walgreens and yell at him while he bought his second lunch (chocolate ice cream and Coke). All that was a dim nightmare by comparison.
And here she was a month later, spitting on all of it.
Klown, if you hadn’t been so awful, I might not have fallen for Jason Chambers. This is mostly your fault.
No, not really.
“Do you know how my brother died?”
