Page 38 of Purity

When I open the door, her expression is grim. She looks over my shoulder into my living room. “Do you have a lady friend over?”

“No.” I frown. “Why, what’s up?”

“I just wanted you to know I’m heading out for an overnight trip with Maddy and Mason. We’re going to the Tahoe cabin. It’ll just be you and your dad here.”

“Okay. That’s fine—”

“I didn’t plan it. I decided this morning. Your dad shattered the living room window last night. The big one over the couch.”

I stare at her dumbly. “What happened?”

My apprehension grows when she slips past me and walks inside the guesthouse instead of answering. After sitting down on the couch, she stares at me steadily. “He was drinking last night and threw something at it.”

A shiver rolls down my back. “What the fuck? Why would he do that?”

She exhales heavily. “He told me he’s scheduled an appointment with a marriage counselor. He practically ordered me to go with him, but I told him I won’t. It’s too late for that—for me, at least. I was actually sort of proud of myself, because I usually have a hard time standing my ground with him. But then—” her voice grows hushed, “—he started crying. Sobbing is probably a better description. I couldn’t believe it. I haven’t seen your dad cry since your grandpa passed away, and it was nothing like this…” She looks away from me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you this. I was just so surprised.”

“Me too,” I say absently, my head swimming.

Why would he be so upset? He had to know this day was coming.

“Anyway.” She stands up from the couch. “I have to get Maddy and Mason out of here. They were so confused last night when the alarm went off. I haven’t told them about the divorce yet, but I think they sense that something is wrong, and I have a feeling that if your dad is upset enough to throw a candle at the window, he’s not going—”

“He threw a candle at the window?”

She nods slowly. “I found it when I was cleaning up the glass.”

“That glass is like two inches thick. He was able to shatter the whole thing with a candle?”

“It was one of the jar candles from my knitting room.”

What the fuck was he doing in her knitting room? It’s her sanctuary. I even feel like I have to talk quietly when I’m in there, and I only ever disturb her there when I absolutely need something. I haven’t seen my dad in there in years.

“Don’t look so skeptical.” My mom smiles faintly. “His fastball was even better than yours at one time.”

His fastball. Oh God. I don’t want to think about baseball and my dad. It used to be such a big part of my life. Our father-son trips to Arizona for the Dodger’s spring training were some of the happiest memories of my childhood. Glendale, with its bluish sunlight and unnaturally warm air, was like a strange desert planet compared to Santa Barbara. My dad and I would go to that outdoor German brat house in Scottsdale after the games. He would sneak me sips of his spicy beer when the servers weren’t looking, and I would pretend like it wasn’t disgusting. We would talk for hours. Not about anything earth-shattering—mostly just baseball. But that time with him was everything to me.

Somehow, those memories are still bright and warm. Somehow, catching him with that woman didn’t cast a pall over those moments, only everything else.

Inexplicably, mist rises to my eyes, and my chest starts to ache. I’m gripped with a powerful longing for the life I had before, when I thought my dad was a different person. When I thought my parents had a different marriage.

I lived in a dream world of my own making. The signs were there. I was just too self-absorbed to see them. My dad and mom hardly talked to each other, and there was a sadness to my mom during quiet moments.

Her smile fades. “Sorry. I know there’s nothing funny about this.”

“No, Mom, it’s okay. I’m just…processing it all.” I frown. “What was he doing with a candle from your knitting room?”

“I don’t know.” She sounds as perplexed as I am. “He went in there after our argument about the marriage counselor. He was acting very strange, but I guess it’s understandable. Divorce is really hard, even for people in unhealthy marriages. He’s still not awake, and you know your dad never sleeps in. He must have been very drunk last night. I’m not sure if he even knows he broke the window. He wasn’t there by the time I made it downstairs. He passed out in one of the guest rooms, and I didn’t feel like confronting him.” She shakes her head. “The glass was everywhere. All over the couch and the floor and the back patio.”

God, he’s a piece of shit. Breaking a window in the middle of the night and leaving my mom to clean up the mess. What a perfect metaphor for their marriage.

“Honey, I know all of this must be hard for you, even at your age.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

She gives me a wary look. “Cole, you can talk to me. I know it’s uncomfortable, but you can. It’s not going to hurt me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You already…know everything. At least the important part—that he’s a cheater.”