Underestimated Too(22)

“Let’s set some ground rules. No talking about what we talk about here at home, okay?” Deidra asked, again looking at Drew. I knew why she didn’t want us discussing this at home. She wanted Drew right there where she knew he wouldn’t hit me. It was probably a safe move on my part, although I would have liked nothing more than continue this conversation at home.

“Drew, I can take a cab. I kind of want to,” I pleaded, walking to the car with him.

“No, Morgan. I’m fine. I promise. I want to be with you. I need to be with you.”

“I kind of wanted to go somewhere. I didn’t want to go home yet.”

“I have some time. I’ll take you.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I confessed.

He stopped, pulling my hand to stop with him. “Where do you want to go?”

“I want to go to the cemetery.”

“To your father?”

“He’s not my father,” I protested. I never wanted to be associated with that man—ever.

“I don’t want to go there, Morgan.”

“You don’t have to, Drew. Just let me take a cab. You can go home.”

Drew groaned and turned me before opening my door. “This is why I didn’t want to do this. You don’t need to hear this stuff.”

“I do, Drew. I want to know. I want to know it all.”

Drew, softly kissed my lips and opened my door. I knew he didn’t want me to know what he’d been through. He felt like he needed to protect me from it, but I felt like the only way he was going to protect me was to get it out. I was sure that Drew would crack if he kept it bottled up much longer. I’d be the one to go down with him. It really wasn’t implausible to be a story in the Las Vegas Review or make the channel eight news for a murder-suicide. I could see it happening. I could see it plain as day.

I texted Alicia in the car, asking if she could stay with Nicky for a while. Of course she could, only needing us back in time to get Vincent from school.

Drew drove up the dry lane, leading to the same cemetery that we’d buried Randal in. We never walked around that day. We didn’t go any further than the air conditioned tent where a handful of people said farewell to Callaway. When he passed, Drew was doing everything in his power to win me over, keep me with him and away from Dawson. Both our moods were different then. This day felt more like a mournful day than that day did. Both our moods were sort of somber now.

Holding my hand, Drew led me to the section where three graves lay side by side with matching headstones lined in a row. First was Michael, then Randal, and then Drew’s mother. That was the first time I’d even known his mother’s name. I was a horrible wife. I didn’t even knew her name. How could I not know her name?





Chapter 8





“Meredith Melissa Kelley,” I read out loud, looking at the photo of Drew’s mother placed in the center of the gray marble headstone. She truly was beautiful. Drew pulled me close with one arm, staring down at the remains of his mother.

“She is beautiful, Drew. How could her mother let that happen to her?”

“She was sick, just like my mom was.”

“Are you sick, Drew?”

Drew snickered, and kissed my forehead. “Probably. Are you?”

I snickered too. “Probably.”

“I really let her down.”

“Drew, you were a kid.”

“But I grew up. I could have taken her away from there. I could have gotten her away from him.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“She wouldn’t go. She loved him for whatever reason. She always made excuses for him.”

“Would she have loved him had you told her?”

“Come on, we’re not allowed to discuss this, remember?” he reminded me, moving down the line to Michael’s plot. I had a feeling she would have. I guess I was like Drew’s mom in some ways. No other woman in her right mind would love Drew after doing the things he had done. I loved him. I loved him more than anything. Maybe I was sick too, it wasn’t right. I shouldn’t love him.

I stared down at Michael’s plot, feeling hate, bitterness, and anger at this man, not only for what he did to Drew, but my mother as well. He didn’t have to want me. He had millions. He knew about me. He could have paid her child support and not let me live that way.

“Drew, let’s pee on it,” I blurted after a few moments.

“What? No. You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m not. Come on. Let’s do it,” I pleaded, unbuttoning my dress pants.

“Morgan,” he protested, looking around the empty cemetery. “Stop it. You’re not pissing on Michael’s grave.”