Season of Change(114)

                Evy’s bitter laughter filled the air. “Even your father knows that he can’t be trusted with you. You can see the darkness in his eyes. His father still has the power to take him any time or he would have sold this house long ago.”

                Evy didn’t know him at all, but Slade had no more fight left.

                “Slade?” Christine stared at him. There was no sparkle in her eyes. No smile, either. He’d crushed her optimism and her defenses.

                “Dad, say something.” Grace tugged at his hand.

                “Dude.” Flynn came to stand next to him. “Tell her you won’t let them go.”

                The house. The closed windows. The locked door. The bedroom upstairs that hadn’t been touched in eight years. Eight years...

                The closets. The belts. The ties. Eight years of seeing his father’s face. Eight years and it was still as vivid in his mind as if it had happened yesterday.

                He could tell himself ten ways from Tuesday that he wouldn’t try to kill himself again, which was true, but he hadn’t put the past behind him. And until he did, he didn’t deserve to make anyone any promises.

                “Pack your things, girls,” Slade whispered, staring at Evy. And then stronger: “Pack your things and go.”

                Grace sobbed and ran into the house. Faith glared at him and ran after her.

                “I told you before, Slade, you can’t be close to anyone ever again.” As if she hadn’t done enough damage, Evy targeted Christine, closing the distance separating them. “You’d trust him? You’d trust him not to crack after a fight and finish himself this time? You’d trust him alone with your kids, when they’re screaming for some toy he didn’t buy them? You’d trust him not to lie to you when he can’t even stop lying to himself?”

                Christine hadn’t taken her eyes off Slade, but still, she said nothing.

                * * *

                THE TWINS WERE GONE. Evy was gone. The old-timers were gone. The windows were shut.

                Evy and the twins were headed to the airport. The potluck attendees were presumably spreading the good gossip they’d witnessed before tucking themselves into bed—Remember when Daniel Jennings hung himself? It was nearly a double suicide.

                Slade’s generation remained, having pow-wowed outside and said goodbye to the twins before following him into the house—Will and Emma, Flynn and Becca, Christine and Nate. Flynn had sent Truman home with Agnes.

                Christine sat on the foyer floor, back to the wall, arms wrapped around herself. She hadn’t stopped staring at him.

                Nate stood a few feet from her, legs and arms akimbo, as if Slade were a suspect and Nate was ready to block any attempt Slade made to run.

                Nate. Now, there was a man who’d do right by Christine. Tall, principled, and brave. Wouldn’t catch Nate trying to off himself. Or lying about it. Wouldn’t catch Nate choosing profit over promises.

                The rest of his friends were wedged onto the couch beneath the front windows.

                “I don’t need an intervention.” Slade sunk deeper into his father’s chair, wishing they’d all go away, even Christine. Especially Christine.

                “We disagree.” Will’s gaze was as firm as his grip on his fiancée’s hand.