Chapter 46: Chapter 46
Scott calls his mother at work telling her she doesn’t have to lift a finger for dinner, that we have everything under control. I do a brisk cleaning of the main floor which already looks good and set the dining room table. I’m not sure if this is a fine china moment so I go with using her everyday dishes. Scott starts prepping by chopping the vegetables and then we work together on the main course. We chose a salad and minestrone soup followed by a vegetarian lasagna. By the time Deborah finishes work, the house smells of marinated pasta sauce.
Our work is done for the most part when Scott grabs his keys from the table and calls out, “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?”
His face goes all cute on me, “Where do you think I’m going?” He kisses me on the side of my lips.
“Don’t I plead; you look so cute like this? I hate when your hair is too short, it makes you look like you’ve been in combat.”
“It doesn’t matter what I look like on the outside, it’s what’s on the inside that counts,” he insists.
“That’s only what ugly people say,” I joke. “I’ll just have to find another husband who will stay sexy for me,” I warn.
“I’ll give you sexy when we’re alone tonight,” he teases. “Let me go now, or I won’t be back in time. I still have to hit the liquor store,” he says impatiently.
“Get red,” I order. “Sure.” He pecks me on the cheek and makes tracks out the door. He is going to massacre his best feature next to that gorgeous body and chocolate brown eyes of his while leaving me alone to my own devices. I continue cleaning placing loose papers in the drawers they are adjacent to. That is when I notice a photograph of a couple hanging out of an opened envelope inside the drawer. Curiosity gets the better of me and I pick it up, removing the picture to have a better look. Naturally never having seen Scott’s father before, it’s understandable that I’m curious. That’s what I tell myself when I pull the picture from the drawer.
My eyes landed on Deborah who looks to be about the same age as she is now and then the man, oh my God, the man! I have to blink and rub my eyes making sure I’m not seeing things. The man is undeniably my father. They are standing so close in the picture and he is kissing Deborah and it isn’t on the cheek! It’s the kind of kiss that well, that he doesn’t share with anyone other than mom. This photograph is unmistakably romantic. Dad!
I checked the back of the picture for a date. It was taken two years ago. I search the envelope finding a piece of paper with it that reads:
Deborah,
We’ll tell the kids after they compete. There’s no reason to upset them beforehand. Once we tell them, I’ll file the papers.
Love Moyes
My heart pounds, as my blood hits boiling temperatures while coursing through my veins. I take deep breaths telling myself I’m jumping to conclusions, but the picture is worth hundreds of words and it explains so much. Mom and dad became so distant from each other before he died. He was spending more time at work and less at home. I never really knew how my parents found out about Scott needing a partner, but this explains everything.
I can’t imagine how long their affair has been going on. I wonder if mom was ever suspicious or worse yet, does she know? If Deborah and dad were together, then, why didn’t he mind my relationship with Scott? Maybe he didn’t take our relationship seriously; he probably figured we wouldn’t last, a teen romance that would fizzle out in time. Scott and I would have ended up as stepbrother/sister rather than husband and wife! Why didn’t Deborah tell us after he died?
I have to know if Scott was aware and if so if he kept it from me. I can ask Jeremy, he’ll tell me the truth. The big question is do I want to know the truth, and if Jeremy knew about his mother and my dad and didn’t tell me, will I be able to forgive him? I decide to shower before everyone returns. I feel heavy with disappointment in dad, Deborah, maybe even Scott. I place the photo back the way I found it before lowering the heat on the oven and removing the lid to the lasagna so the cheese on top will melt.
Dad and Deborah? Really? Was he that unhappy? Why hadn’t I noticed? How could he do that to mom? How could he do that? The disappointment I feel towards his actions overwhelms me. Suddenly the shower curtain moves to startle me. It’s Scott, his hair is now cut short, and I hate it, “I was calling you, are you okay?” he asks.
Words evaded, nodding yes when I’m not. He turns the water off and hands me a towel, “They’re here, and you better get ready.”
“Thanks.”
I look into his warm brown eyes, which have given me so much comfort over the past few years, and then it clicks, he knew. I don’t have to ask anyone. I just know, he knows. When I get downstairs they are all in the family room. Deborah is sitting with a handsome dark-haired businessman that looks to be in his mid-fifties. When I enter the room, everyone stands making me feel self-conscious. Deborah glanced at Ian, “Ian this is Isabella, Scott’s wife, Isabella this is Ian.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say pleasantly, reaching for his hand. I glance at Scott then back at Ian and Deborah.
“Dinner is ready,” Scott hurries us.
The lid must have been off the lasagna too long because I can smell burnt cheese as I pass the kitchen on my way downstairs. Scott and I hand out the soup and place the salad and lasagna in the middle of the table for everyone to help themselves. Deborah sits at the head of the table, Ian the opposite, Scott and I on the sides. I stay quiet the majority of the dinner conversation listening to Scott and Ian get acquainted on small talk. Scott appears to be enjoying himself and genuinely happy for his mom.
I will have a word with him later, after our dinner guest leaves.
I turn in earlier than everyone else hoping to fall asleep before Scott goes to bed. I change quickly and snuggle under Scott’s cozy comforter. I’m hoping the evening will run into the early hours so I won’t have the urge to confront him on what I know tonight, but I’m not that lucky.
Scott comes into his room shortly after I retire. He switches the light on and sits next to me on the bed, “Okay, would you like to tell me what’s bothering you? You were noticeably quiet at dinner.” I shield my eyes from the obscenely bright light until they adapt, “No, I’d rather not, I’m tired, Scott.”
“Tired of what?” “Just tired.” The walls feel like they are closing in on me. People that I care for the most are failing me. If he wants to know what made me quiet at dinner, I might as well show him. I scramble to get out from underneath his blankets, “Where are you going?” he stammers.
“To show you what’s bothering me.”
I cover myself with my housecoat walking quickly towards the staircase. Scott follows close behind. I notice a stream of light coming from his mother’s room, she is still awake. I switch the light on in the family room and retrieve the photo, handing it to Scott. He takes it in his fingers and studies it before looking at me and shaking his head before dropping the photo onto the table. He cups my face but I step back and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” I was incensed with anger.
“I was protecting you, us.” He admits.
“You were protecting me? Us? Seriously? He was my hero! You knew what he meant to me and you still kept his shitty humungous secret. Did you know while he was alive?”
He hesitates which gives me my answer, “I’m sorry.”
“Does mom know?”
Looking down, he’s unable to maintain eye contact, “No, she doesn’t.” “Didn’t you think I was going to find out eventually? It’s on you Scott, if they didn’t tell me, you should have. How long was your whore mother fucking my father for anyway?”
Scott’s eyes turn black and if I wasn’t so angry the look he is giving me probably would scare me but instead, it pisses me off more. He grabs a lamp which is the closest thing to him and throws it hard against the antique mirror lying over the fireplace, smashing it to bits. Shards of glass fall to the floor and Deborah’s bedroom door opens. He storms out of the house slamming the door behind him, leaving me alone in the room with the mess he made and the incriminating picture. His tires squeal angrily as he drives down the street.
Deborah slithers back into her room; I can hear her door close. I take the picture but leave the glass on the floor and barricade myself back in Scott’s room. Hours later it is pitch black when I hear Scott downstairs cleaning the glass. When he’s done, I hear his footsteps and then my door. The bed dips stirring me. He turns the light on, forcing me to shield my eyes. His bloodshot eyes lost their look of anger and he reeks of alcohol, “I love how much you loved your father. The last thing I wanted to do was destroy your hero. I hate mom for choosing your dad, but he chose her too. I begged them to stop but I have never seen her happier. She loved him the way you did.”
“I hate him for being with her, I hate you for thinking that you had to keep it from me, and I hate her for doing that to mom. How can she look at my mother in the face after what she did? You should have told me.”
“I’m sorry.”
I begin sobbing into my pillow. He strokes my hair. The picture lays on the nightstand next to me, “I’m not staying in HER house after what she did to my family. I’m telling mom what they’ve done. I don’t want her to ever find out that I knew and didn’t tell her, the way you did.”
“Will she benefit from you telling her, or will it just hurt her? Whatever you do, don’t let this affect our relationship.”
“Of course it affects us. You didn’t tell me!”
Scott works on me tirelessly, thinking he’s fixing what needs to be fixed of my broken heart. The fact that he doesn’t or can’t confide in me puts us miles apart from each other. He attempts to right his wrong, using his soft touch, gentle kisses, and lovemaking. I participate but I’m not feeling it. I’m merely going through the motions so the conversation will end sooner.