“It’s okay,” I say, hoping to quell his feelings.
“I should have told you about her.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I guess because you never asked. You’re different than anyone else I have ever been with. You don’t ask a lot of questions about where I’ve been and who I’ve been with.”
“Oh. Well, it’s not that I’m not interested, because, trust me, I am. But I figure you’ll tell me what I need to know, whenever the time is right.” I shrug and add, “Your past is really none of my business.”
“But it is your business,” he says sharply. He is looking down at me, and I give him a what-the-fuck-is-that-supposed-to-mean look. “It’s your business because the women I have been with are a part of who I am. They matter to me because they all became a small part of me in some way. A small part of who I am today.”
I’m not sure if this is my cue to start asking him questions, but right now, I am too fucking tired to go there.
We walk down the hallway together and lie down on my bed. I shift down into the crook of his arm and close my eyes. What if he tells me a bunch of shit I don’t want to know? What if whatever he has to say about his past changes things between us? It won’t, I tell myself. Because whatever it is—when you love someone—it doesn’t matter.
Chapter Thirty
David drives me to work on Tuesday, and when I get to the office, I know that I must start my day with a phone call. I have decided against calling Ricky, at least for now, so instead I search the internet for the phone number of the hospital in the town where I grew up.
When I tell her why I am calling, the somber young woman who answers the phone transfers me to another line. The phone rings a few times, and a male voice answers.
“Nurse’s Station. Trauma I.C.U. May I help you?” I tell him I am calling to find out the status of a patient named Michael Groff.
“Are you a family member?” he asks. Yes. I am his stepdaughter. Emma Searfoss.
“Ms. Searfoss,” he says when he returns to the line after putting me on hold for a few minutes, “I’m sorry no one from your family contacted you about this, but Mr. Groff died yesterday morning. Your brother Ricky made the decision to remove your father’s ventilator.”
Holy fuck. Michael is dead. “He wasn’t my father,” I say bitterly.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says. “Would you like to speak with one of Mr. Groff’s physicians? I can have someone call you to provide you with further details if you’d like.”
“No, thank you,” I say. “I’m good.”
I say goodbye and hang up the phone.
I sit in my cubicle staring at the calendar pinned to the wall. My hands are in my lap, and I feel as if the floor is rising beneath me. As if I am about to be catapulted up into the air. As if I could jump up out of this seat and throw myself right up into the sky. Relief and elation are pouring out of my body. It is over. He is over. I think of my mother, and I am thankful, for the first time, that she is not alive. That she did not have to see this. That she did not know about the shame of Michael’s business activities or that he was murdered so brutally.
I don’t think I could be any happier about Michael’s death. Still...I start to cry. I sink my face into my hands and begin to weep. It is half out of relief and half out of sorrow. For my mother, not for Michael. Not for him.
My shoulders are hunched over my body, jolting sharply with each sob, and soon I feel a hand at the top of my back. It is resting there softly, slowly moving back and forth.
“Emma,” I hear. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” It’s Matt. He is crouched down next to me, trying to look at my eyes. I straighten my back and wipe the tears away with my fingers.
“My stepfather died yesterday,” I say quietly. “I just found out.”
“Oh, Emma. I am so sorry,” he says. I can hear the compassion in his voice. I don’t want it.
“Don’t be,” I say. “The man was an asshole. I’m crying because I’m relieved. Not because I’m sad.”
“Oh,” he says. He looks very confused, and after a time, he stands up and puts his hands in his pockets. “Is there anything you need?”
“Just to get back to work,” I say. “But let me text David first and tell him what’s going on.” I smooth my hair back off my face and twist it down over the front of my shoulder. “Can you come back in a few minutes?”
“Sure. Are you sure you want to stick around today because I know they’ll be cool with you going home if you want to.”