One Perfect Morning Read online

  I paused beneath a hanging picture of Mackenzie, Lily, and I, taken on Mount Washington, the stunning Pittsburgh panorama behind us. We had just finished riding the historic Incline car to the top, our hair whipping around our flushed faces as we stood on the observation deck admiring the three rivers that snaked under massive iron bridges, coming to meet at what locals called The Point. The Mackenzie I loved was passionate and bright, full of adventure. How could a woman so full of light let a man snuff her out?

  I sipped my drink, then heard a distant sobbing. At first I thought Lucas or Willow had had an accident. I checked outside; Willow was still pushing Lucas, who exhorted her to ‘make me fly, Will!’

  The sobbing was coming from upstairs. I tiptoed to Ryan’s room and pushed the door open a crack. Lying facedown on his bed, head buried into his pillow, Ryan shook with sobs and my heart broke. My boy was crumbling apart, and there was nothing I could do to save him from disappearing.

  ‘Hey, Ry. May I come in?’

  He whipped his head up in embarrassment, eyes rimmed in red and wet with tears.

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ He shuffled aside, making room on his bed for me.

  ‘Are you worried about the charges?’ There was no point tiptoeing around reality. Here we were, facing the ugly head-on. My son had spent the morning at the police station being picked apart like he was already guilty.

  ‘What if I go to jail, Mom? I’ll never be able to get a decent job; I’ll have a permanent criminal record. And Aria … I love her, Mom. I would have never hurt her on purpose. Does she hate me?’

  I stroked his hair, my fingers tangling in his chestnut curls.

  ‘Honey, you’re not going to jail. We’ll fight this together. And Aria’s not the one who went to the police. Owen did. He’s trying to ruin our lives because he’s a vengeful man, but he won’t win.’ I rested my forehead against his, then whispered, ‘I have a plan to stop him.’

  He looked at me, eyes intense. ‘Do you think I raped Aria?’

  Ryan read my face, searching for the truth. He was the son of a rapist, so it had crossed my mind. But Ryan was nothing like Geoffrey.

  ‘Of course not. I know you, and that’s not something you would do. I wish you didn’t have to worry about this. You need to put your focus on keeping your grades up, enjoying the rest of baseball season, and looking forward to college next fall. Can you do that for me?’

  He shrugged. ‘I guess. If this all goes away and I’m not spending my freshman year of college in jail. I just wish I knew what Aria was thinking right now … if she thinks I raped her.’

  ‘Only you two know the truth.’

  ‘I don’t know, Mom. It’s all so fuzzy, like I told the cops. We were both wasted, and she was all cuddly with me. When I kissed her, she kissed me back. I thought that meant yes. I wasn’t trying to force myself on her. But like I said, we were both kinda drunk, so I don’t know if maybe I should have stopped …’

  ‘Stop right there. Don’t you blame yourself for this. You both are responsible for your choices that night. If you both were drinking, then you both made poor choices that put you in this position. It’s not your fault if you didn’t force yourself on her.’

  What did force actually mean, though? Manipulation? Coercion? Simply taking advantage of a drunken girl? There were too many nuances to slap a definition on what was rape and what wasn’t. I’d been the victim before. I knew how it destroyed lives, but this was my son we were talking about. Was he solely responsible for both their bad choices?

  A week ago I would have said yes – that drinking with an underage girl then taking advantage of her submissive nature was knowingly wrong. But now that my own son was the one doing it, that emphatic yes became a wobbly no. Protecting my family loosened my moral code.

  ‘Do you think the cops will see it that way?’

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that. Rape is a serious offense, and it all depends on how Aria spins it. But I think that since you both were drinking, the cops will see it for what it really is – a mistake that you both agreed to at the time.’

  Even as I uttered the words, I wondered if I truly believed them. I could believe them now, for the sake of my son, but what about that night so long ago? If I hadn’t followed a veritable stranger down that alley, if I hadn’t worn that outfit … Was I basically consenting because I hadn’t escaped, or because of what I’d worn, or because I wasn’t strong enough to fight back? And was what happened with Ryan and Aria essentially the same thing? If I hadn’t been so blinded by trust, would any of that have ever happened? And if I could have stopped it but didn’t, did that make it my fault – or worse, my choice?

  These were questions I had asked myself for years, a mixture of guilt and crooked responsibility that led to self-blame and ultimately self-loathing. I couldn’t imagine that the little boy I’d doted on for eighteen years could be capable of stealing the innocence of a young girl. I wondered how many parents couldn’t see the monster through the bias of parental love. But my son wasn’t a monster. I had to keep telling myself that.

  The memory of that night gripped me, pulled me under. It swallowed me whole, like it often did when something triggered it. A movie. A novel. A #MeToo testimony on Facebook. Right now it was the face of my own son looking up at me, the distant echo of his rapist father. I couldn’t help the tears that now came.

  ‘Mom, are you okay?’ Ryan sat up and hugged me, consoling his own mother for a pain he didn’t even know about. I didn’t want to tell him what he came from. I didn’t want to slice open my scarred-over wounds, but maybe it was time the truth came out. Maybe the truth would teach Ryan what my parenting couldn’t – that he should never create a victim. If the heartbreak of discovering what happened to me saved a girl from being his prey, then my job as his mother was to break his heart.

  ‘No, honey, I’m not okay.’ It trickled out. A word here, a sentence there, an entire story of suffering. ‘There’s something you need to know about your past. Your biological father, Geoffrey Faust … he wasn’t a boyfriend or anything. He … he was a casual acquaintance. And he took advantage of me. He didn’t check whether I consented – and I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to ever make that same mistake.’

  ‘Oh my God, Mom. I’m so … sorry. But I promise I’m not like that. I’d never intentionally hurt Aria … or anyone else.’

  ‘I know.’ I reached for his hand and squeezed. ‘You have nothing to be sorry about. From a tough situation came the most beautiful gift I could have asked for. You made my life complete, gave me hope that not every bad thing that happens defines the future. A blessing came out of that darkness, and I wouldn’t trade you for anything. Not even if it meant having a do-over.’

  ‘Do you think I’m like him?’ Fear trembled in his words, a fear I had wondered about many times myself. Now I knew the truth.

  ‘No, you’re nothing like him. You’ve got a beautiful heart, a caring soul. That’s why I’m telling you all this, so that you know how much pain you’re capable of causing. With one action you could destroy a woman. But also, with one act you could empower her. It’s all about choices and making the right one.’

  My truth was louder than words. He was pensive for a long time. I didn’t know what thoughts rumbled through his head, or how my revelation would impact him. Then he asked me, ‘Be honest – do you see him when you look at me?’

  My mind flashed back to seeing Geoffrey again for the first time since that awful night. I didn’t recognize him – if he was indeed the same Geoffrey Faust – the years had changed him so much. In fact, he looked nothing like I remembered, and nothing like Ryan. But in the hazy memory of that night, when Geoffrey still had his youth, I saw Ryan’s features.

  I wanted to lie more than anything, but Ryan deserved honesty. After all the years of half-truths, I couldn’t keep spinning the web. ‘Sometimes, yes. You have his eyes. Bright blue. But who I really see is your dad – Grant. You’ve inherited all his best qualities. His inte
lligence. His heart. His humor. The things that matter most. That’s why I didn’t want you to meet Geoffrey. I don’t want you to have anything to do with him.’

  ‘Does anyone else know?’

  ‘Auntie Mac knows everything.’ I wondered if Mackenzie was still their auntie, now that we weren’t friends.

  A thought burrowed into me, connecting scattered dots. Only Mackenzie knew about what Geoffrey did … and yet Owen had mentioned protecting Ryan and me. Mackenzie may have told him, which wouldn’t have shocked me. Even though I had sworn her to secrecy, she’d always felt obligated to tell Owen everything, even other people’s secrets. Perhaps Owen was referring to something that happened with Geoffrey. Had he gotten involved in some way?

  I could always visit Geoffrey again and ask him myself, but something was suspicious. Lots of things, actually. First, his denial. I hadn’t expected a confession, but it was as if he had no earthly idea who I was or what I was talking about. How could he have completely erased that night? Either he was a serial rapist who couldn’t keep track of his victims, or he truly didn’t remember it.

  Then there was the fact that nothing about him rung a bell. Even his voice didn’t sound the same. People’s voices didn’t change that much, did they? And a voice wasn’t something you could easily fake. Although I had known so little about him back then, he had left a brand on my memory that still burned. I had expected my showing up out of the blue after all these years to shock him, at least a little. And yet he was completely unfazed.

  The details didn’t add up. Geoffrey swore he didn’t know me, and I had to admit, he was pretty damn convincing. He didn’t look like the man I remembered. The more I pieced together, the more jumbled it got. The only explanation was that Willow hadn’t found the same Geoffrey Faust from my past, and Owen possibly had something to do with it.

  ‘You said Auntie Mac knows about it,’ said Ryan. ‘Do you think she told Aria?’

  ‘No, not Aria, but possibly Owen. I think Mac might have told him based on something he said today.’ I didn’t add that I was starting to think it was possible – maybe even likely – Owen had something to do with the unknown fate of the real Geoffrey Faust.

  ‘You saw Mr Fischer?’ Ryan asked. ‘Did you speak to him about the charges?’

  ‘Yes, and like I said, I might have a way of convincing him to drop them.’

  ‘Mom, please don’t. He could hurt you.’ Bruises still marred Ryan’s face where Owen had pummeled him. My fingertip traced the purple ring around his eye socket. Come to think of it, the Geoffrey at the apartment had brown eyes, not the vibrant blue that Ryan had inherited. I knew it in my gut – he wasn’t the Geoffrey Faust from my past, but the real one was out there somewhere, and somehow Owen knew where he was.

  ‘That’s exactly why I can’t let Owen get away with it, honey. He’s violent. Assault charges are just the beginning. We’ll go back down to the police station to press charges against him – see how he likes having an arrest record.’

  ‘So he can get a slap on the wrist? They’ll probably side with him since I’m technically an adult and he only gave me a black eye for having sex with his underage daughter when I deserved worse.’

  ‘Then what, Ryan? Unless I can dig up dirt on him, how am I supposed to stop him, short of killing him?’

  The question hung in the air, stifling and heavy.

  ‘Then that’s what we do – kill him.’ I turned toward the doorway, where Grant now stood. Without another word, he set something on the dresser, then slid it closer to me.

  A prescription bottle. I crossed the room and picked it up, thinking it must be the pain medicine for Ryan’s face. As I read the drug name, I realized it was for something much more sinister.

  ‘Grant, you shouldn’t have brought this into our home,’ I whispered to him. I couldn’t say what I wanted to say, that the thought had crossed my mind more than once. That just maybe this could save our family.

  ‘Mom, Dad, what is that?’ Ryan asked, peering over from the bed.

  ‘Nothing.’ I slipped out of the room, heading for my bathroom. Shoving the bottle into my vanity, I leaned against the sink, my breath shallow, my thoughts racing.

  This is the only way, the darkness echoed inside my brain. I couldn’t shut it off, not until Ryan was safe and Owen was no longer a threat.

  It was at that moment I realized I had lost myself to the demon clawing its way out of me, because I was willing to do anything to protect my child … even to the point of murder.

  Chapter 32

  Lily

  SUNDAY MORNING

  Tony looked so serene lying next to me, asleep in the bed we had shared once upon a time. The bed that should have been ours. The bed that held memories of erotic foreplay, passionate screwing, and tender pillow talk. It had been so good with him. Why did I have to burn down everything I touched?

  Although it was still dark outside, I knew Tony would wake up soon, groggy and confused by the drugs and alcohol. First he’d wonder what happened, then he’d wonder how it happened. But for now, I’d relish the nostalgia. I was too anxious and blissful to sleep. Contrasting emotions swirled inside me – everything but regret. I could never regret a night with Tony, no matter how much I should have felt guilt over it.

  I’ll admit it, what I had done was wrong. But when he had left so brusquely earlier, with such contempt for me in his eyes, I had to fix it. I had to burrow my way back into his heart. Hours after he left, I had figured it all out. I opened up with an invitation for a peace treaty. A toast to signing the divorce papers.

  ‘Bring over all the paperwork,’ I had said when I called. ‘I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign if it’ll make you happy. All I want is for you to be happy.’

  A lie, of course. I didn’t want him to be happy; I wanted me to be happy. If I couldn’t have him, I’d destroy him instead. And several spiked drinks later, he was putty in my hands.

  I touched Tony’s face, tracing his chin. The past twelve months had distanced us, and yet I felt closer to him now more than ever. And it wasn’t just the after-sex high. We had shared something real, and while I had spent our entire marriage erecting a wall he couldn’t penetrate, it had merely been a wall of glass. He had seen the broken girl behind the glass and loved her anyway.

  From under the covers he stirred, and I snuggled into the crook of his body. It felt so warm and safe, unlike all the other men I had dated over the past year. They had been hard bodies intended to fill a temporary gap between my sheets, but they had never been Tony. No one could compare to him.

  I remembered when the accident first happened, I had been left crippled both emotionally and physically. The cuts all over my body represented the cuts all over my soul. The strong, independent woman I had been suddenly vanished into a fearful sobbing mess. I could barely function, the constant pain shredded my will to live, and the surgery to repair my back left me swollen and scarred. Yet through the opiates, the physical therapy, the slow healing process, Tony assured me of how beautiful I was, how strong I was – all that motivational shit people feed you when you want to shove a pistol in your mouth and be done with it.

  He had been right, though. My body eventually healed, my scars faded … but the drugs … those I couldn’t shake. Whether it was phantom pain or full-blown addiction, I don’t know why I couldn’t stop. Tony had begged, pleaded, threatened – and yet the pills always came first. I always chose them, or maybe they chose me. I don’t know. But eventually Tony gave up, and I couldn’t blame him. I certainly wouldn’t want to live with someone like me, never knowing from one day, one hour to the next which version of me you were getting.

  The day he left, he broke me for good. I couldn’t see myself through the haze after that. I became a shattered mirror, my cracks hiding any good left inside me. My weakness became my weapon, shards of glass I’d cut myself with: Alone, slice. Depressed, slice. Ugly, slice. Until I’d bleed my heart out onto the floor, staining everything and everyone around me. F
riends, family, lovers. I became unbearable to be around, so I buried the pain a little deeper.

  Tony had been my only chance at redemption, and I had blown it back then. But I wouldn’t lose him again, no matter what it took.

  Tony and I were both naked. Wrapping him in my arms now, I spooned him with my breasts pressed against his back. My touch stirred him awake. He stretched languorously but didn’t turn over.

  ‘Good morning, beautiful,’ he said, yawning.

  I had missed that daily greeting. As I nuzzled his neck and wriggled against him, I realized it had also been my first full night sober in months. This moment suddenly felt like a turning point for me, like in a romantic flick when everything begins to flow back to where it’s supposed to be for the happily ever after.

  I fondled him and he stirred to life. ‘Want to go for a morning ride?’

  He chuckled throatily and turned over. ‘You better know it – Liliana! What the fuck?’ His back stiffened as realization settled in, then he jumped out of bed and pulled the corner of the sheet, wrapping it around his waist.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, all innocence.

  ‘What’s wrong? Did we … what happened last night, Liliana?’ His wild eyes roved around the room, as if he’d forgotten why he came here.

  ‘We made love. Then did it again. And again. You told me you wanted to give us another try.’

  Okay, so he was stoned when he said it, but it was still true.

  ‘Oh no. Oh no no no.’ Tony rummaged along the floor for his clothes, growing more frantic by the second.

  ‘Calm down, Tony. You’re freaking out. Take a breath.’

  ‘Calm down? I just cheated on the woman I want to marry! What did we drink last night? Did you – you drugged me, didn’t you?’ He was throwing words now, and the blue vein on his forehead throbbed. ‘Damn it, Liliana!’ He slammed his fist on my bedside table, rattling the lamp and alarm clock.

  I slunk out of bed and threw on a robe. ‘You’re scaring me. Can you please slow down and relax?’