Page 51 of House of Deceit

My name is so faint, I almost think I’m hearing things, but then a feather light touch runs down my forearm. Leaning over the bed, I look in Parker’s eyes, lit by the dim light from the TV.

He yanks his head to the side, indicating the door, and I nod. The lights in the house are dimmed, all the main spaces empty, as we make our way outside.

The night air is cooler but still humid from the day. Soft lights illuminate the daybeds around the pool and I follow Parker to the closest one. We both lean against the low headboard watching the pool.

“Last week, before the elimination challenge, you were having a bad day. I wanted to check on you now that I finally have you alone. Did you want to talk about it?” I ask, breaking the silence.

I feel him looking at me, but I keep my gaze forward. Sometimes it’s easier to give your truth when there’s not another’s gaze probing you.

“I don’t want to ruin the evening,” he says, turning back to the pool.

“You won’t, but I also am not going to make you.”

We sit in silence awhile. Sinking into the pillow propped behind my back, the concert given by the insects of the evening starts to lull me into a doze, as the refreshing wind caresses my face.

“It was the anniversary of my divorce. It’s been five years. Not my favorite day.” Parker’s voice jolts me from my sleeping twilight into wakefulness once more. “One day she was there and then she wasn’t,” he says, sadness in his voice.

“You make it sound like she died.”

“She might as well have. We went to bed one night and then in the morning, she was gone. I haven’t seen her since.”

I sit there, digesting that information. I couldn’t imagine running from someone I loved enough to marry, but I also know I don’t have the entire story so I try not to judge.

“Can I ask you something that might seem like it’s deflecting?”

“Always,” he says.

“Why are you here?” I ask, repeating the question Molly asked me on the first night.

This time I’m the one looking at him while his gaze holds onto the pool.

His strong chest rises and pauses at the top. When I think he’s going to hold his breath until he passes out, avoiding this conversation, he releases it.

“There was a day I was driving home from work and I realized the entire drive I was hoping someone would run a red light or something and crash into my car. I knew I had to change something.

“She loved this show. Loved it. We watched every episode live and even after she left, I watched. We turned down plans to be able to watch it. I didn’t care. It made her happy. I would have locked the world away to watch an episode with her. When I got home that day, I signed up. Maybe a small part of me hoped she’d see me. Miss me.”

I wait. I would wait as many minutes as needed for him to tell this story and not consider a single one a waste.

“She was my best friend and the cheerleader in the story I told you about my virginity. I loved her more than anything. I think I loved her before I knew she existed.”

My heart is crushed into pieces so small you’d have to look at them under a microscope to see them.

“I’m not going to pretend like I have any idea what you’ve been through over the past five years. What you’ve survived. Just by you sitting here, you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“Thanks,” he says, bumping my shoulder. “I’m just tired of missing her. I still live in our house and it’s like everything has just stopped. Including me,” he admits.

“Have you considered talking to a therapist? It’s not a miracle cure, but it could help you to let go. Let you move on because you deserve to have someone choose you, every day.”

We sink into silence again, but this time it is crushing like we are beneath miles of dirt and soil.

“Parker,” I say, interrupting his thoughts.

“Charlie?”

I feel like I’m seeing this Viking of a man before me for the first time. The fine lines and heaviness around his eyes.

The sadness.

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